i 






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THE FAMILY LIBRARY 

OF 

Poetry and Song 

BEING 

€)^om ^clcrtions frnm t^t gcsl gotts, 

ENGLISH, SCOTTISH, IRISH, AND AMERICAN ; 
INCLUDING TRANSLATIONS FROM ANCIENT AND MODERN LANGUAGES. 

EDITED BY ^ 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

tCHitl) an iSntrotJuctorj Crcatior bj tftt ESitor 

" POETS AND POETRY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE." 

REVISED, AND ENLARGED. 

m 



JnlrejEcs, Jfllustrotions, anb 'ia.ntograpljic i^ac-similcs. 



NOV /^I886 
NEW YORK: /^ ' 

FORDS, HOWARD, AND HULBERT. 



\ 



ft-' 



-^ 



f^ 



\Nl 



< 



^X 




Copyright, 

In 1870 AND 1877, By J. B. Ford and Company. 

In 1880 AND i886, By Fords, Howard, and Hulsert. 



l^ 



■B' 



r- 



-a 



PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 



rriJIE marked success of "A Library of Poetry and Song," as first issued in 
-L the year 187U, showed that the work supplied a real need of the public, 
whose confidence in Mr. Bryant, as its editor, has been borne out by the worlc 
itself. 

•Shortly before his death, observing with gratification tlie great jjopularity 
attained by his book and the growing demand for it, Mr. Bryant desired to 
thoroughly revise the work and make it still more worthy of the public esteem 
and his own fame. And, although its popular acceptability seemed no whit 
diuiiuished in its original form, tlie publishers thought it wortliy of a thorougli 
revision, enlargement, and improvement. Accordingly, witli Mr. Bryant's active 
co-(jperation, the work was subjected to an entire reconstruction, both as to 
matter and form; the laljor having been finished just before Mr. Bryant's 
death in 1878, and being, as has been stated, the latest of his completed 
literary tasks. About one fifth of the material of the former volume was 
eliminated, and twice as much new matter added; great pains having been 
taken to insure the correctness of the text, witli a view to making it a standard 
for reference, as well as to give an ample provision for general or special 
reading. 

Tlie name "Library," which has been given it, indicates the principle 
upKii which the book has been made, namely: that it might serve as a book 
of reference ; as a comprehensive exhibit of the history, growth, and condition 
of poetical literature ; and, more especially, as a companion, at the will of its 
possessor, for the varying moods of the mind. 

Necessarily limited in extent, it yet contains one quarter more matter 
than any similar publication, presenting nearly two thousand selections, from 
more than five hundred autliors ; and it may be claimed that of the poetical 
writers whose works have caused their names to be held in general esteem or 
affection, none are unrepresented ; while scores of the productions of unknown 
authors, verses of merit though not of fame, found in old books or caught out 
of the passing current of literature, have been here presented side by side 
with those more notable. And the chief object of the collection — to present 
m f"'l r-h 



iv PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 

an array of good poetry so widely representative and so varied in its tone as 
to offer an answering chord to every mood and phase of human feeling — has 
been carefully kept iu view, both in the selection and the arrangement of its 
contents. So that, in all senses, the realization of its significant title has been 
an objective point. 

In inirsuauce of this plan, the highest standard of literary criticism has 
not been made the only test of worth for selection, since many poems have 
been included, which, though less perfect than others in form, have, by some 
power of touching the heart, gained and maintained a sure place iu the 
poi)ular esteem. 

The enlargement and reconstruction of this work entailed upon Mr. Bryant 
much labor, in conscientious and thorough revision of all the material, — 
cancelling, inserting, suggesting, even copying out with his own hand many 
poems not readily attainable except from his private library, — in short, giving 
the work not only the sanction of his widely honored name, but also the 
genuine influence of his fine poetic sense, his unquestioned taste, his broad 
and scholarly acquaintance with literature. To assist him, especially in the 
principal gathering and classification of the material, the Publishers, with his 
concurrence, obtained the services of Mr. Edward H. Knight, of Washington, 
I). C, of whose good taste, wide reading, and peculiar talent for systematiza- 
tion they had availed themselves in the first preparation of the original work. 
This edition also had the advantage of the critical discrimination of Professor 
Eobert E. Eaymoud, of Brooklyn, N. Y., who made it his care to revise all 
the copy before sending it to the printers, to correct erroneous readings per- 
petuated from careless editions of various authors, and to add the numberless 
touches of the literary artist. 

The Publishers desire to return their thanks for the courtesy freely 
extended to them, by which many copyrighted Americau poems have been 
allowed to ajipear in this collection. In regard to a large number of them, 
permission has been accorded by the authors themselves; other poems having 
been gathered as waifs and strays, have been necessarily used without special 
authority, and where due credit is not given, or where the authorship may have 
been erroueously ascribed, future editions will afford opportunity for the correc- 
tion, which will be gladly made. Particular acknowledgments are offered to 
Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for extracts from the works of Fitz-Greene Halleck, 
and from the poems of William Cullen Bryant ; to Messrs. Harper and Brotliers 
for poems of Charles G. Halpine and Will Carleton ; to Messrs. J. B. Lippin- 
cott & Co. for quotations from the writings of T. Buchanan Bead ; to Messrs. 
Charles Scribner's Sons for extracts from Dr. J. G. Holland's poems; and more 
especially to the house of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., — whose good taste 
and intelligent enterprise have given them an unequalled list of American 



fl ^ a 

I PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. V | 

poeticiil writers, comprising many of the most eminent poets of the land, — 
for tlieir courtesy in the liberal extracts granted from the writings of Thomas 
Bailey Aldricli, lialph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Henry Wad.s- 
worth Longfellow, James liussell Lowell, Florence Percy, John Godfrey Saxe, 
Harriet Beecher Stowe, Edmund Clarence Stedmau, Bayard Taylor, Bret Harte, 
John Townsend Trowbridge, Mrs. Celia Thaxter, John Greenleaf Whittier, and 
others. 

In addition to the above acknowledgments, readers will see in the " Index 
of Authors" references enabling tlieni to find the publi.shers of the entire 
works of any American writer to whom theii" attention has Iteen called by 
any fragment or poem printed in this volume. This "Library" contains 
specimens of many styles, and it is believed that, so far from preventing the 
purchase of special authors, it serves to draw attention to their merits ; and 
tlie courtesy of their publishers in granting the use of some of their poems, 
here will tind ample and practical recognition. 



U^ ^ 



[fi- ^ 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



I'Atii: 

PUBLISHERS' PHEFACE iii 

TABLE OF CONTENTS vii 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ix 

INDEX OF AUTIIOL'S xi 

THE EDITOR TO THE READER 1 

THE POET (Fat-siniilu of Mr. Bryant's Manuscript) 3 

INTRODUCTION : Pdeth and Poetky ok the Englihii Language .... 7 

POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH 17 

POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP 53 

POEMS OF LOVE 63 

POEMS OF HOME 159 

POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE 183 

POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT AND ESTRANGEMENT 205 

POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH 235 

POEMS OF RELKilON 311 

POEMS OF NATURE 301 

POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR 453 

POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR 4iil 

POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM :>":. 

I'DEMS OF THE SEA 5r,;» 

[g . ^ 



f 



viii TABLE OF coy TENTS. 

I'OEMS OF ADVENTUKE AND RUIUL SPOKTS 591 

DKSl'KirTIVE I'OEMS 623 

rOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND UEFI.ECTION 665 

I'OEilS OF FANCY 74S 

POEMS OF TRAGEDY 71'1 

PERSONAL POEMS 813 

HUMOROUS POEMS 853 

IN'DEX OF FIRST LINES 921 

INDEX OF TFl'LES 935 



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n 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



STEEL ENGRAVING. 
PoiiTBAiT OF William Cullen Buvant 



. Frontispiece, 



EAC-SIMILES OF AUTOGRAPH MANUSCRIPTS. 



William Wordsworth 

William Cullen Bryant (tlu-ee-pac:^ MS. 

Edmund Clarknce Steuman 

John Kkat.s 

Edgar Allan Poe .... 
John Howard Payne .... 
"H. H." — Helen Hunt Jackson . 

Thomas Hood 

A\'n,i,iAM GiLMORE Simms . 
Lku^u Hunt .... 
JosiAH Gilbert Holland . 
Alfred Tennyson . 
Walt Whitman . 
Gkorge H. Boker . 
Nathaniel Parker Willis 
John Greenleap Wiiittier . 
Oliver Wendell Holmes . 
Fitz-Greene Halleck . 
Bayard Taylor . 
George Perkins Morris 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning 
John Quincy Adams 
Jean Ingelow . 

George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron 
Hunry Wadswortii Longfellow 
Uam'h Waldo Emerson 



Tlio 



Poet") 



To 



front par/e xli 
3 

17 
17 
17 
.53 
.53 
235 
235 
311 
311 
311 
301 
453 
491 
491 
505 
505 
559 
559 
591 
591 
G23 
065 
748 
791 



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[0 -^ 

^ X LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Thomas Gkay 813 

IIaRIUET 15EUCUEB Stowe SI I! 

Ltdia Huntley Sigouuney 8L'5 

JouN G. Saxe 858 

RiciiABD Heney Stoddakd 853 

James Russell Lowell 853 

WOOD ENGRAVINGS. 

Bryant in uis Library, at Cedarmkke xli 

Longfellow in jus Study 21 

TiiK Old Arm-Cuair 10 

IlKIGIl-Ilo! 70 

Tell me how to Woo Tiiek . . 8(i 

Summer Days 107 

The First Kiss 13-I' 

BlRTII-PLACE OF JolIN HOWARD ?AYNE 175 

Wiiittiee's Home in Amesbury 2G3 

After a Summer Shower 392 

Longfellow's Home, in Cambridge 495 

Bridge and Battle-Ground, at Concord 533 

Lowell's Home, in Cambridge OS-t 

Emerson's Home, in Concord 721 

The Bower of Bliss 752 

Stratford-upon-Avon S13 



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INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



NaTfies of A 



Publisfurs of the poetical works of A 
Authors' tu 



lur iters may be found in cottnection with t/te 



ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY. Pa^f 

tjiiincy, St.iss.. ij<j-!-t.-'..x>'.. 

The Wants of M.m 668 

ADAMS, SARAH FLOWER. 

Ennliml, 1805-1848. 

" Nearer, my God, to thee " . . 337 

" The mourners came at break of day " . 261 
ADDISON, JOSEPH. 

Hn^-t.incl, 1672-1719. 

Cato's Soliloquy 734 

Scmpronius's Speech for War . . 511 

'* The spacious firmament on high " . . 33S 

AKENSIDE, MARK. 
IiiiKl..iil, i;-.-i77'). 

Delif^hts of Fancy 748 

Virtuoso, The 859 

AKERMAN, LUCY E. 

" NothinR but leaves" 333 

AKERS, MRS. ^lAZX-R-ETH (Florence Percy). 

b,-i- ALLliN, ELlZAIlUni AKIiKS. 

ALDRICH, JAMES. 



IliMlli-Ile.l, A 



293 



y- 



AI.DRUH. IHD.MAS TiAILEY. 

"lS.!re''.,ii(l aficr llic'Rain . . . .638 

li,l.,Kli" Head of Minerva, On an . . 708 
" When the Sultan goes to Ispahan " . . 150 
Ii,l,;,.l,. r .; Iloutlit^n, Mftllin & Co., Uoilon. 
ALK.XANDER, CECIL FRANCES. 

'"Buriarof'Moses"' 344 

ALEXANDER, H. W. 

Poor Fisher Folk (Frcmi the French : yictor 

Hugo) 577 

ALGER, WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE. 

Frcoli.wn. M.iss.. 1.. I«Ji. 

Parting Lovers, The {.From llu Chinese) . i86 
"To Heaven approached a Sufi Saint" {From 
the Persian : Dscliellaleddin Rumt) . . 327 
rulilishcrs : Kolterts Brothers, Boston. 
ALISON. RICHARD, 

lll.t'l'll'l. 1'- 161I1 I NJllurV. 

" There is a Rarden in her face" ... 64 
ALLEN, ELIZAHETH AKERS. 

Left Hehind 207 

My Ship 23,S 

Rock mc to Sleep 73 

The Bobolink 440 

i'ul.li.hir, : llr.ii^.|iion, Mifflin & Co., Boston. 

ALLINCHAM, WILLIAM. 

H.illv ,1' iMi'.r), Ircl.uid, li. i8:iJJ. Lives In London, Eng. 

Fairies, The 763 

Lovely Mary Donnelly .... 155 
Touchstone, The 742 

ALI.STON, WASHINOTON. 

(..jori;ttf,wn, S. C. 1779-1843. 

America to Great Britain 532 

Koyhood 37 

Rosalie 237 

ALTENBURG. MICHAEL. 

Gcnii.iiiy, 1185-1640. 

Battle-Song of Guslavus Adolphus, The (Tr.) 468 

r.xii 



ANACREON. 

(.I.:...-, .t 4;6n. C. 

( ira^shopper, The i.CoT.vley's Translation) 
.Spring {^tf(?r*'f Translation) . 
ANDERSEN, HANS CHRISTIAN. 

I>ciiiii.irk, 1«05-I87S. 

The Little Match-Girl [From tlit Danish) 
ANDROS, R. S. S. 

lltrkclcy. Mass.. d. i8». 

Perseverance . 

ANGELO, MICHAEL. 

Ilaly, 1474-1S6J. 

•'If it be true that any beauteous thing" l.y.E 
Taylor^s Trafulation) ..... 
"The might of one fair face " {Taylor's Trans. 
ARNOLD, EDWIN. 

lini;l.iTii].l. i8,i 

Almond Blossoms 

The Secret of Death 

ARNOLD, (iEORGE. 



I„.rospc.,:t,on 

Jolly ()ld Pedagogue . . . . 

Seijlernber 

I'ul.lisfiuis: llouBlilori, MilUn & Co., Boston. 
ARNOLD, MATTHEW. 

Ecirf.ui(l, I). 1823. 

Desire 

Dover Beach 



69 
) 69 



For! 



I Me 



, The 



ofUhland). 



Gravi 
Philomela .... 
Terrace at Berne, The 
ASKEWE, ANNE. 

lin^;l.ind. i^ao-1546. 

The Fight of Faith . 
AU.STIN, SARAH. 

ILiifil.iiKl, I7g3-i8'>7 

The Passage {Front the Germ 
AVERILL, ANNA liOYNTON. 

The Birch Stream 

AYTON, SIR ROBERT. 
Scllaiid. i57.^i(,,'!. 

On Love 

W(,man's Inconstancy .... 
AYTOUN, WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE. 

™l!'u'i'ied Flower, The 

Execution of Montrose, The 

Heart of the Bruce, The 

BAILEY, WILLIAM WHITMAN. 

Epigaja Asleep 

BAILLIE, JOANNA. 

.Stntlaiifi, lyfc'-iSsr. 

McathCock, The 

"U])! Quit thy bower " .... 
BARBAUI.D, ANNA L^ETITIA. 

i;r,i;l.""l. .7.n-■R^S- 
"I.lfel I know not what thou art" 
S,ild)ath of the Soul, The . 
Summer Evening's Meditation, A . 
BARHAM, RICHARD HARRIS {.Thomas In- 
gotdsby^ Esq.). 
Ent.'l.iTi<l. I7WH-I845. 

City Bells 



".^ 



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INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



--f± 



Deatli of a P.iu^litcr, On the 



ckdaw of Kl 



The 



Misadventures al Margate . 
UARNARD, LADY ANNE. 

Auid Robin Gray 
BARNFIKLD, RICHAKD. 

lillKlaiul, i^J4-iMI.. 

Address lo the Nightingale 
DARTON, BERNARD. 
HiiKl.md. 173.1-1H49 

Bruce and the Spider 
Caractacus . . . . 
" Not ours the vows" 
Sc.i, The . , . . 
BATSON, ROBERT. 
Hin;l»iul, 

Ouuicverc to Lancelot 
BAYLY, THOMAS llAVNES. 

UllljliilKl. .,-.j;-iSf,, 

The ftlistletoo Bough 
BEATTIE, JAMES. 
Hermit, Yhc 



Morning 3(><; 

BEAUMONT, FRANCIS, awl FLETCHER, JOHN. 

liii|jkiiiJ, 1580-1610 !uul is;(^iOas. 

Disguised Maiden, The 6SS 

Folding the Flocks 431 

" Hence, all yc vain delights" , . . 3.^5 

Invocation to Sleep 677 

BEDDOES, THOMAS LOVELL. 



-,8«. 

I Wilt ca 



case thine heart*' 



BEERS, MRS. ETHELIN ELIOT ili/M Ly>. 

GosliL-ii, N.V,. i.ij ,-ia;i 

The Picket-Guard ... 
rublishers; I'ortur A; contcs, Thiladclphia. 

BENNETT, WILLIAM COX. 

lirconwiili. iMi);., li. i&jo. Lives In London. 

Babv May 

Baby's Shoes 

Invocation to Rain in Sununcr 

Worn Wcdding-Ring, The .... 

BENTON, MYRON B. 
AiiLMii.,, N. v., I.. 18J4. 

■Ihe Mowers 



linKl.m,l, 16S4-.75,. 

Westward Ho 1 
BETHUNE, GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

N.-1V Votk. iajs-J.%a. 

Hvnin to Night .... 



BLAKE, WILLIAM. 

linfl.liul. .7.,7-lfc7. 

Garden of Love, The 
Sunflower. The . 
Tiger, The 

BLANCHARD. I.AMAN. 
Um-I,iii<l. ia.!-,94<. 

The Mother's Hope 
BLAND, ROBERT. 

Home (/•>."« llltGrtck) 

BLOOMKIELD, ROBERT. 

Farmer's Hoy, The . 
Lambs al Play . 
Moonlit;ht in Sntnmcr 
Soldier's Return, The . 



^. 



Black Reoimcm, The 



Dirge for a Soldier . 

Prince .\dcb 

Fublishcrs ! J. li. Lljiiiincotl & Co., PhlLrdclphll 



BOLTON, SARAH T, 

Su«i.ort, Ky..l.. ii,.«. 

Lett on the Battle-Field . . . . 
IIONAR. HORATIUS. 

.■>c..lL,li,l, li. iSoS 

" Beyond the smiling and the weeping '' 

How Long ? 

IIOURDILLON, FRANCIS W. 

U„Kl.o„l. Now living. 

Light 

BOURNE, VINCENT. 

lillKl.in.l. I6y5-i;47. 

'■ Busy, curious, thirsty fly" . 
lUnVl.ls, 1 VKiHlNE ANNE. 

'I . ■ '1 I'll,. Mks. Cakcu-ink Bowles. 
Hiiw I 1 , w 1 1 I lAM LISLE. 

" tniiic 111 thc-^c scenes of peace " . 



BOWKING, SIR JOHN. 

l.iiKl.m.l. .;9.-H!?.'. , , , .... 

" From the recesses of a lowly spirit 
God (From tht Rmsiait of Drrzlinvm) . 
Nightingale, The (From the rorliieiuse) 
Nightingale, The {From tht Dutch) . 
Not Ripe for Political Power .... 
BRAINARI), JOHN GARDINER CALKINS. 

New LoluK.il. Colin., 179(1-1838. 

Deep, The 

" I saw two clouds at moming" . 

Niagara, The Fall of 

BRANCH, MARY L. BOLLES. 



■Ihc P. 



rifled Fi 



BRENAN, JOSEPH. 

Ireliiml. li. iB.-y ; il. ill New Orlcllis, 1857. 

" Come to me, dearest" 204 

BRETON, NICHOLAS. 

hllKl.iiiil. 155S-16114- 

Passage in the Life of St. Augustine, A . . j2s 

Piiillida and Corydon 44 

Phillis the Fair 09 

BRLSTOL, LORD. 

Sec John Dir.tiv, Earl of Bristol. 

BROOKS, CHARLKS T, 



I tie Gtr 



,0/K, 



Tjb 



Alpine Heights f/^f. 

m.uhrr) 

Fisher, The [From tht GermaH 0/ Got I he) 
Good Night [Frotii the German 0/ Kilmer) . , . 
Men and Boys(»(;w* the German t^f Kdmrr] 527 
Nobleman and the Pensioner, The (From the 

Geriiiati 0/ l^^e/Ytt) ..... 476 

XT ,.. ^»f_._l. I •!'„ /..*.■■ \ 



"/ 



WMchCrrans/ation) 
Sword Song, The (From the Gtrmt 

K'drfitr) 

Winter Song (From th* Gemtan) 
I'liWislmn i lloiii;litoii. Millliii & Co.. Boston. 

BROOKS, MARIA GOW EN (Maria del Occidtnte). 



4C8 



Mo 



. Mas 



■1845. 



citing purple dying" . 

Dis.ippoiiitment 

BROt>KS. CHARLES SHIRLEY. 

iMlgl.OKl. 1815-1874- 

The Philosopher and his D,lughter 

BROUCH. KOrF.RT B. 

\r|.'l.l'iii Xi-llv 

BKn« N. 1 1; \\i I'S. 

" 11 Iho pleasant d.iys of old! " 

BROWNE, WILLIAM. 

i;ii,:l,iiiil. i-.9ii-"i4< 

" Shall 1 tell vou whom I love " . 
Siren's Song, The ... 
" Welcome, welcome, do I sing" 
BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD. 

I'rovi.loiioo, U, I., I.s..4-i87a. 

Burial of the D.ane ... 
Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The 
" Let us alone " . . . . 

PiiWisliiTs ; Houghton, Mifflin & Co.. Boston. 



-ff 



\n 



INDEX OF AUTHORH. 



Xllt 



BKfJWNING, EMZABKTM IIARKKT 

A •- tr„„\ 





iirl L.i.ly. A 




M 
M 
I'. 


„„..,. S.„„l, S-„w,c 
.\y\ VcB, TIlO 

rrl Wallcr'i Wifo 
(llirr and I'ocl 
■ •ticiil IiiBlrnnicnti 
rliiiK l.ovcri,. 


slo 
A 



SIrcp . . 

Sritinclii from tlio Portugticso 
VInw acrons the Koman CamiKigna, A 
Wordsworlli, On a Portrait of 
BROWNINf), ROIiERT. 

Iliii;h.ii.I. I.. iBi!., 

livelyn Mope 

MowcrV Name, The . 

Mcrvd Kiel 

How tliey IjrouKlit ttioOood N 



. Ai> 



In 

Itir.idcnt of the French Camp 

M<:<:tinj< 

I'ic'J Piper of Mamelin, The 
'I'lic Kinif h cold 
" 'I'ho \I.,lh's kiBn, flr«t ! " . 
BRYANT, JOHN MOWAKI), 

Clliiiiiiliii;l'.ii, M-i'/.;.. n. 1^^//. 
I.iltle Cloud. The . 
Valley Brook, 'Iho 

Winter 

BRVANT, WILLIAM CULLEN. 

tuiii".ili>!t'.ll, MliM.. .79»-lKj8. 



Panic- Kieltl, The . 

" Bloftcd arc they that mourn*' 

Di-alh of the Floworn, 'I'ho 

KvtninK Wind, The . 

Palima and Kadiian . 

Flood of Viars, The , 

T'orc^tt Hymn, A 



,' Anli(|nity of 
ian, To the 



FrinKcd fl 
Future Lii 

Love of flod. The (Fram llu Pmtnfal) 



mosMinlo, lo a 

My Anlunio Walk 

Oh, Fairest of rhc Rural Maids 

PlaoiiuK of the Apple-Trce, The . 



ow-Sl.owcr,The . 
n|{ of Marion's Men 
ir of l!clhl..hcm, 'llic 



To .T Waterfowl 



1 & Co.. New Y',tk 



& 



Little Milliner, The . 
Wakeof Titn O'flara . 
BURLKIfJH, Gi:ORGIi; 8. 

AlN.fl. i.. 

A Prayer for Life 
liUKLI'.lfill, WILLIAM H. 

''l')cl)orali'i','c'e '"''.''''■ . 
BURNS, ROIiKKT. 

Br.oll,nirl, ,,-., ,,,/,. 

" Ac fond kiRR before wc part " 

Afion Water 

Auld Lang Sync 

PankBo'Doon.Tho . 

P.annockhurn .... 

Ilard'n Kpit.aph, A 

Ponnio Wee Ihinff . 

" (-'a' the yowcts to the knowca" 

Comin' through the Rye . 



ill 



(.'otler'n Saturday Nluht, Tho 
DavlcSillar, To . . 

" Duncan Gray cam' hero lo w( 
FJc((y on Captain Hendcrnon . 
" For a' Ihat and a' that " . 
) rashes, ^> I " 



•MirccnKrowlh. 
IliKhland Mary 
'•/..ho Ande 



.myjo" . 

li-ycorn . . . 

woman o'or complain " 



Mary Mori«on 
Mountain Daisy, To a 



< ye h. 



Tar 



Th( 



Lesley?" 



n O'Shanler .... 
he day returns, my Ijostim burns' 
"There's nae luck ahout the house" 
Toolliachc. Address to the 
To the Unco Guid . 
" Whisllo antl I '11 come lo you, my lad 
BUTLER, SAMUF.L. 
i;.,Ki,....i, ,&,,,v„, 

Hildlhras' Sword and DatHfor . , 
1 1 udibras, I'he LokIc of . . . 
Hndiliras, The Philosophy of . 
Hiidibras, The Rclixion of . 
WILLI, 

ll..iMV, N 

" NotliiiiK lo wear " , 

iil.l|..lir,« : ir.iu/liloii, Miraili /V Co., llo«n 



l;VPf)N CFOPG 



i^ohMMim hy r 
Coliseum, 'fhi 
iJanlcl lioruie . 
iJealh (•//// G(V<«»-) . 
Dream, Ihc . 
KvcnitiK iOon yuan) . 
F'ilial \Atsz 
First Love . 
(Jrcco- ( The Giaour') 
fJrecco Whildn l/aroM) 
Greek Poel, Son^ of tho 
' akc L< 



: GORDON, LORD. 
I my native shore " . 
[.mnliKht' . ■ . ■ . 



Latest Vrrws .... 
" .Maid of Alliens, ere wc pari " . 
Man -Woman 
Mazeppa's Ride .... 

Mural 

Napoleon {Chl/(h llarM). 
Napfileon, Ode to 

NiKhl 

Orient, The .... 
" O, snatched away in beauty's bloi 
Outward Pound 
Princess Charlotte, Tho 
Rhine, 'Ih'. .... 
Rwer, Soiijtof Ihc 

.Sea Grot 

.Sea, Realm of the .... 

Sea, The 

" she walks in beauty" 
Skull, The .... 

Klorm at NiKliI on Lake Lcman . 

Sunset 

S« 



I'he k 



dear maid ' 



CALDWICI.L, WILLIAM W. 

,NowlMiry|i<,rl. .Mncs., Ii. I'.d,^ 

In Slimmer Time 

R<«c Hush, 'llie U'rom llu- GrrmuH) 

CALIDASA. 

Imli.n. itl (.csl.iry 1!. (;. 

Raby, The ( Tramlalion i>/Slr William '/m 
Woman { TransttUiott of IVilsoii) 



^ 



10^ 



INDEX OF AUTUOliS. 



--a 



lAl.l.AN.VN. lAMKS JOSEPH. 

li.l.m.l. v.^v iS-<) 

llouii.imu- ll.ui.i 

CALVERl.l V, I. IIAKl.KS U 

'' AMii/'riio ''' 

Cock nml llle Uiill. I'hs 

CAMOENS, I.IUS Uli. 

'"I'lilKhiV'n'.ovi (/V.iiw. o/Li>nl Stnuts/i'nl) 
CAMl'lSKl.l., rilOMAS. 



CHAMBERLAYNE, WILLIAM. 

liuuliiiul, 1619-16^ 

Chastity 

CHANNINC;, WILLLVM liLl.KKY. 



uIp 10 WaUlegrave, The 



Kvoiuui; M.ir, riie 

Kxile >.l' Krm . 

U.ino«<-,U;r..i"ul. 

HohcnliiuU-u . 

Kiis, I'hr Kirsl . 

Lpvhicl'a Wuruinis . 

M, lid's Rcimm»lraii«, The 

M.irli.\l Elegy ( From tht Grttk of Tyrlitm) . 454 

Nanuleuii aiid the liritish Sailor 

I'oUiml 

Kiver of Life, The 
Soulier's Ore.lni, The 
" Ye Mariners of Enslaml " 
CANNINC., C.EOKOE. 



!■ rieiid of Humanity and the KnifcQrindcr . 863 
CAREW (or CAREY). LADY ELIZABETH. 

l-.iH5l,m.i. ful.liNhcl 1N3. 

Kevenge of InjuriM 740 

CAUEW, THOMAS. 

^' Oive me more love or more disdain " . , ha 

" He (hat loves a rosy cheek "... 75 

" I do not love thee for th.it t.lir " ... 75 

" Sweetly breathing, veriiiU air " . . . s^i 

CAREY. HENRY. 

li.itl.iml, i«.,-i74,i. 

Sally in our Alley 54 

CARLETON, WILL M. 

llluo, l>- l.St3. 

The New Church Orean .... f'")^ 

riiWUhi.-.^ I llaci.cr.\: lli.-llu-r-.. New York. 

CAKY, ALICE 



.~1S71. 

Dying Hymn, A 
Enchantments 
b'ire t>v the Sea, The 
Make Believe 
Ottler lor a I'icture, An 
Pictures of Memory 
Spinster's Stint, A . 
Uncle Jo 



CHARLES OK ORLEANS. 
Ir.iiuv. I WI-14P5. 

"The fairest thing in mortal eyes' (Tntn 
/(itioH (if /ferny /*. Cary) . 

SpiiiiK 

CHAKl IS nil IIRST. 



CHAl I I K U'N. I IK)M.-\; 

Minstrel's Song . 
CHAIH'ER. GEOFFREY. 



I.mi Pilgrin 



CHORLEV. HENRY FOTHERGILL. 

LllUluiul, 18.*-|N'J. 

The Brave 6ld Oak .... 
CHURCHILI, CHARLES, 

liiiKlanil. i;,»-ijfH. 

Smollett 



SS6 
4.6 



H-l.lll.l, lOTl-l?'^. 

The Blind tloy "SS 

CLARE, lOHN. 

l.iiKl.ui.l. i:.ji-iSr4. 

l,.il.,.i.-i,riie 



mWivhcn. 1 ll.MiKhlon. MWIIn .<t Co., lUv.ton, 
CARY, HENRY FRANCIS. 

Uiwl.iml, i;;.-iS44. , 

'' The LMrest thing in mortal eyes ( / r. 
CARY. LUCIUS (Loni Fd/UiNti). 

lillKltlinl. rM*.-i64S. 

Ben Joiison's Commonplace Book . 

CARY, piuEBE. 

■ utul, O 
i and 
, The 

Neater Home 

Pe.ace 

I>iWiOu'is 1 IIoii|;lil,M\. Mliniii ,* C,-.. Uwton, 

C.\SIMIR THE C.RE.Vr, KINO OF POL.VND, 

"'"Vt kindles all my soul" (From Iht t'olisV) 
CASWALL, EDWARD. 

^' Nly C.od, I love thee " (From Ikt Latin) . 
CELANO, THOMAS DE, 

l)ies \rx\rmnslitlioH o/yoin .-1. Di.r) 
CHADWICK, lOHN WHITE. 

MatWdu-.l.l. Mi^v, t.. 1S4.V 

The IVo Waitings 

CHALKHII.I, lOHN 0'rob.iWy /..i.<* HW/.".). 
The .Angler 



SiTininc-i M.io.ls . 
CLARKE, JAMES FREEMAN. 

ll.uu.v.i, S. 11., I.. 18|,>. 

Cana , _ . 

The Caliph and Satan . 
I'ul.lMicrs 1 lloii^liion. Miltllii S to.. 1 
CLAUDIUS, 

The Hen('/'m«-.v'.>/i.'>i) . 
CLEl Wli. wn I lAM. 



CLl \ II w 1 '. liUIN. 

To liie .Miiiioiy of Ben Jonson 

CLOUC.H, ARTHl^R HUGH. 

UlluLuul, iSi..-iaoi, 

** As ships becalmed" . 

'• With whom is no variableness " 



5o,S 



S41 
748 
S15 



COFFIN, ROBERT BARRY (il.irrr Gnty). 

IIiuIm.h. N. Y., iSao-iSSO. 

Shiiw at Sea ''i 

COLERIDGE. HARTLEY. 

liuiJlfliul. i7,JO-l849- 

Sli.akespeare ^i.^ 

".She is not fair to outward view" . . . !*'* 

COLERIDGE. SAMUEL TAYLOR. 

liiw'l.m.l. i'>-isj<- 

.'\nswer to a Child s Question ... 143 

Cologne ''N 

Epigrams R'*4 

Fancy in Nubibus 7.5o 

Genevieve '07 

Good Great Man, The . . . . ; (>?" 

Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni 33S 

Knight's Tomb, rhe 4*^ 

Metric.rl Feet ....... 9>9 

Quan-el of Friends, The (C*rislahl) . 
Rime of the Ancient Mariner . 
I COLES. ABRAHAM. 



7*3 



Stab.\t Mater Dolorosil (From Ikt Lalm) 



Vr- 



-^ 



a-^- 



jnjjkx of a unions. 



■a 



COLLINS, ANNE. 

" The winter being over" 
COLLINS, MORTIMER. 
hn'^Uwl, tsti-i-iiii. 

Comfort . . . . 
Darwin .... 
COLLINS, WILLIAM. 

I.n'l, ijw^ty/i. 
linK, Ode to 
,w [ileejj tlic IJrave " 



'iiv 



», The 
COLMAN, GEORGE (The Younger). 

I!ii;;lan.|. 176a i8j6. 

GluggityGluK .... 
.Sir M.trniaduke .... 
Toby TohHpot .... 
CONGREVE, WILLIAM. 

Mui»ic ..... 

Silly Eair 

COOK, CLARENCE. 



COZZENS, FREDERICK SWARTWOUT. 

.New V«jrk. f'it»-t>J^ 

An Ex|)ericticc and a Moral 

I'uMishcrs ! J|.,i,ylit.,n, MiJIlm U t;o., U'j^loa 

CRAIJRE, GEORGE. 

liUiil.,n.I. ,Tjri'.y. 

Approach of Age, Tlic ... 
Mourner, The ... 

Peasant, The 

Quack Medicines 

CRAIK, DI.VAH MARIA MULOCK. 



Al 



Kii 



Uorcln- 



:... b. iHtH. 



Abram and Zimri 
COOK, ELIZA. 

liiiXlari.l, 1,. 1817. 

" Hang up his harp ; he Ml wake no more* 
Old Arni-Cbair, The .... 

Sea Murmurs 

COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON. 

Ucrklc-y C>j., V;i.. iHid-tHyi. 

Florence Vane 

COOKE, ROSE TERRY. 
Hartror'l, C'jnri.. b. 1827. 

RJive du Midi 

I>u>,libli..'r> : Houghton. Mlinin & Co., Dotton. 
COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE. 

IJurliiitjloii. .N, J., 1789-1^51. 

My Hrigantine 

CORNWELL, HENRY SYLVESTER. 

The Sunken City 

COTTON, CHARLES. 

Eii;;lan.l. i6y>-i(«7. 

Contentation 

Retirement 

COTTON, NATHANIEL. 

EnaLin.!, ir.,i-/7a8. 

The Fireside 

COURTHOPE, WILLIAM JOHN. 

i;ni;l..n.l. 

Chorus of English Songsters . 

Ribc of Specieij, 'i"hc .... 



Cht 



licle. The 



Grasshopper, The (From tht Greek) . 
Hymn to Light, From the 

Invocation, The 

Of Myself 

COWPER, WILLIAM. 

lioadicea _. 

Ojntradiction 

Cricket, The 

Dueling 

I'reenian, The 

Happy Man, The 



^- 



He 

Humanity 

My Country 

My Mother's Picture 

Nightingale and Glow- Worm, The . 

Oaths 

Rose, The 

Royal George, On the Loss of the 

Russian Ice-Palace, A 

Slavery 

"Sweet stream, that winds" .... 
The Nose and the Eves .... 
Verses supposed to be written by Alexander 

.Selkirk 

Winter 

Winter Walk at Noon 



By the . 

* liuried tf>-day " 

Dead Czar .Nicholas, The 

Fletcher Harper, lo the Memory of . 

Her Likeness 

Lancashire Doxology, A . , . 
Mercen.iry Marriage, A . . . 
Now aiifj Afterwards .... 
Only a Woman .... 
Philin, my King 



in, m 
Too Late 
CRANCH. CHRISTOPHER PEARSE. 

Alcun.ltu. li. C, I,. ,i,,j. 

Correspondences 3^,1 

Thouglit «/j 

I'uUiihcfs; Houghton, Mifflin ai Co., and Koberu Bros. 
CRASHAW, RICHARD. 

I:n>it,n.l. ii„^A,j. 

Music's Duel 7^, 

Supposed .Mistress, U'ishes for the \\h 

"Two men went up to tlie Teropie to pray" . 324 
CRAWFORD, MR.S, JULIA. 

Ircl;iri.i. 

" We parted in silence " i:,i 

CROLY, GEORGE. 

Irebn.), iir,^,u„. 

Genius of Death, The 720 

Leonirtis, The Death of ... , 5,/^ 

Pericles and Aspasia 5,/j 

CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. 

.Sc.Ml.,,,.!, if'.i-i'.ifi. 

"Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie" . 159 
Poet's Bridal-Day Song, T)ie . . ,<y, 

Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, A 
CUNNINGHAM, JOHN. 

Irelan'I. nvf-t^T^ 

Moniing jr^jj 

CURRIER, ELLEN BARTLETT. 

Ail.iHcvl. II. 

Silent Baby 2, 

CUTTER, GEORGE W. 



5«4 



DANA, RICHARD HENRY. 

IZ.mA,Mi-.. M.is f.-i-iHT,. 

Beach Bird, The Little . 
Husband and Wife's Grave, The . 
Island, The .... 
Pleasure-Boat, The .... 

Soul, The 

J'tjl.itblicri : Ch;ulc5 Scrjbncr's Sons, New York. 
DANIEL, SAMUEL. 

lin,:Liin'J, it/z^iliv,. 

Love is a Sickness .... 



388 



Gambols of Children, TTie 

Song of the Summer Winds . 
DAVIDSO.N, .MARGARET. 

The Storm ( Leonore) ..... 392 
DAVIS, THO.MAS. 



an.l, 

Hanks of the Lee, The 
Flower of Finae, 'Hie . 
Maire Bhaii Astor , 
Sack of Baltimore, The 
Welc/jme, The . 



DECKER, THOMAS. 
The Happy H<.'art 



^ 



f 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-Qj 



U 



UE LlSl.K, ROUGET. 
lt,«iuv. i?9--. 

The Maiseillea Hynm 5-S 

DERZHAVIN OAVKUL RO.MANOVlTCll. 

CoA{,TraHs/aliOH^Sir yi'Mn BiHvriHg) . 330 
DE VEKK, AUr.REY. 

Early Friendship 61 

D11U1IN, CHARLES. 

Kucli.ua, l'4?-lSi4. 

Tom Howling 5S7 

PUSniN, THOMAS. 

tnal.i".!. 177>-1S41. 

.-Ul'sWell 5S5 

SnuK Liiile Island, The .... 516 

DICKENS, CHARLES. 

Ivy Green, The 4-i* 

DICKINSON, CHARLES M. 

l...«viUc. N. v.. K 1&4.-. 

The Children ..... iSi 

DICKSON, DAVID. 

i;i«l.m.l, .*S!-it«-.-. 

The New .Icrusalem .V3 

DIGBY, JOHN, EARL OF BRISTOL. 

^' Sec, O, Seel" ibb 

DIMOND, WILLIAM. 

The Mariner's Dream 5^7 

DIX, JOHN ADAMS. 

B,-sc.»«vll. S. 11.. 179S>-lS70. 

Dies Ira; (.^ri>/KM<ri,i.'/») . . . .313 
DOBELl., SYDNEY. 

Ihnl.vml, lfc4-lS;^. 

Absent Soldier's Son, The . . • . i()S 

Home, Wounded 3i» 

H.nv'smy Bov? 570 

M.irkel wife's Song 461) 

Milkmaid's Song, The 17 

" She UMiclies a sad string of soft recnll " . n)f" 

Tommy 's dead 269 

DOBSON, AUSTIN. 

liefore Sedan 4S0 

Growing Gray 7'5 

DODDRIDGE, PHILIP. 

Enslnml. I7s>--i7fl. 

^'.Amasing, beanteous change I . . . SJ") 
Duni Vivunus, Vivamus .... 335 
DORR, JULIA CAROLINE RIPLEY. 

ChniK'Ston. S. C, li. 1835. 

Outgrown 336 

Three Ships, The 759 

l'\iMisliei!. ! .1. 11. Llpi>li\cc.|t & Co., Pliilii<lcli*la. 

DORSET, CHARLES SACKYILLE, EARL OF. 

UllKl.uul, toS7-i7,-o. 

The Fire of Love ... . . S5 

DOUGLAS, MARIAN. 

See Gri!HN. .Annik D. 

DOWLAND. lOHN, 

Eiwl.uul. ivboul iw... 

Sleep 677 

DOYLE, SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS. 

linjil.uul, !>, iSu\ 

The Private of the Buffs . ... 473 

DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN. 

New V,.ii; Oily. i7ms-..<.-.v 

American F'.iK. *l'he ..... 536 
Culprit Fay, 'rhe 769 

DRAYTON, MICHAEL. 

lini;l.uul. i56!-,6,i,. 

Ballad of Agincourl, The .... 456 
" Come, let ns kisse and parte " . . . 191 

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM. 

Scothiul, itSi-iSjo. 

Ends of Life, The J04 

Thrush, The 43* 



l)l;\ I'l N. lOMN'. 

\l.-\,in.i. 1 ^ I'cMsl, or the Power of Music . 
I'.leonol.l 

t Hiver tJromwell _. 

Portrait of Joltn Milton, Lines written underthe 

Og 

Song for St. Cecilia's Day, .A . . . 
Veui Creator Spiritus(.A>i»M Mi- liitiM) 

Zirari . . 

DSCllKLLAl.EDDIN RUMI. 

IVisIn, 

" To heaven approached a Sufi saint " ( Trans- 
/.ition ,/ U: K. .^/J:er) .... 
nUKFEUlN, I. ADV. 

ll.-liuul, iS..7-i8t..-. 

L.miem ol the Irish Kmii;l.lnt .... 
IHINI.IIP. .lOllN. 



'Oil 



I ask I 



DUKYEA, WILLIAM RANKIN. 

A Song for the " Hearth and Home" 
DWIGHT, JOHN SULLIVAN. 

l!u>t,.ii, Mil>s.. 1>. 1813. 

True Rest 



107 



DWIGHT, TIMOTHY. 

Nv'ilhiduj.ton. M.,Si., i7S-.-iSr7. 

Columbm 533 

DYER. JOHN. 



Aunli.i, r.. 



DYER, 



SlU 



Hill 

1 lAVAUD. 



■* My minde to me a kingdom is" , 
EASl'MAN, CHARLES GAMAGE 

lU,tl.„Kl...i, VI., isit^isoi, 

,'\ Suow-Storm 

EDWARDS, AMELIA BLANDFORD 



three grains of corn, 
ELLIOT, El!ENEZER(7'Af 0.r« 



ther" . : 
!«• Rhymer). 



Burns S37 

Poet's Epitaph, A s.-; 

Spring j.'ij 

ELTON, CHARLES ABRAHAM. 

liiii;UiiKl. 1.. iil'oul 1770, 

I>ameut for Bion (Fri/m the Gretk q/Moschus) jSj 
EMBURY. EMMA C. 

.NVvv Y,.tk. iSo.v.i;*.i, 

Duke of Reichstadt, On the Death of . . S33 

riiWisliets : ll.iii».r & lirolheis. New York. 

EMERSON, RALPH WALDO. 

UoMoii, .\l.i^.v. i!»,;-iSSa. 

Borrowing 746 

Boston Hvmn 5i<. 

Brahma ' 73.- 

Conci^rd Monument Hymn .... 53,? 

Each and All 305 

Friendship 59 

Good By 71'^ 

Hen. Cras, Hodie 74*' 



He 

Humble-Bee, To the 44^ 

lustice 71* 

Northman. . 74*' 

Poet 7-1*'' 

Problem, The (-73 

Qualr<iins and Fragments .... 741. 

Rhodoia, The 4-M 

Sea, The s^^ 

Snow-Storm, The 403 

PuWIsliers i Hoiightoi.. Milllln Jir Co., Uoston. 

EYTINGE, MARGARET. 

.\iiu-ric.l. 

Baby Louise 31 

FABER, FREDERICK WILLIAM. 

The Right must Win 356 



4? 



f 



INDEX OF AUTHOEH. 



-a 



FALCONER, WILLIAM. 

The Shipvyreclt 
FANSHAWE, CATHERINE, 

Enigma CITie Letter H) . 
FAWKES, FRANCIS. 

tnzlii/i'l, ■711-1777- 
Hie Brown Jug 

FENNER, CORNELIUS GEORGE. 

Culf-Weed .... 
FERGUSON, SAMUEL. 

Forging of the Anchor, The . 
Pretty Girl of Loch Dan, The . 
FIELDING, HENRY. 



FIELDS, JAMES THOMA.S, 

i'ortim^utJi. ,N'. H.. (%i7-t«gi- 
Dirgc for a Young ttrl . 
Nantucket Skipper, The . 
Tempest, The 

PuMisticr-. ; Hought'/g, .MilBm & Co, BosttM. 

FINCH, FRANCIS MILES. 

lllia'..-,, N.y„ b. i«a7. 

T*he Blue and the Gray . 
FINLEV, JOHN, 

CiBcirmatJ, O. 

Bachelor's Hall .... 



FLAGG, WILSON. 

Tlie O" Lincoln Family 400 

PobliJieis : Hougtiton, MiSm it Co., Boa'.>u. 

FLETCHER, GILES, 

*' Drop, drop, slow tears" .... 322 
FORD. JOHN. 

'iTie MusicalDuel 7+, 

FORRESTER, ALFRED H. (X^rf<jf CrmiouUt). 

En^bu-J. b. 1875, 

To my Nose 918 

FOSDICK, WILLIAM WHITEMAN. 

Cii.cimiati, O;. t32s-ia!o. 

The Maize 420 



FOSTER, .STEPHEN COLLINS. 

ya:-jrii-i. fa., t»/^i>At, 

My Old Kentucky Home 
FOX, W. J, 

En^Und, b- 1785, 

The Martyr's Hymn (German 0/ Lulher) 
FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN, 

Paper 



y-^ 



FREILIGRATH, FERDINAND, 

Gcmiany, b. i^jo. 

Lion's Ride, The (.From the German) 
Traveler's Vision, The 

GALLAGHER, WILLIAM D. 

PhiUddj/hia. Pa-, b. i&jg- 

Autumn .... 

GARRISON, WILLIAM LLOYD. 

NcwUjryi>-jn, Mai^, 1804-1^79. 

Sonnet written in Prison . 
GAV, JOHN. 

tu'/LinJ, i6%!-i732. 

Black-eyed Susan 

Hare and many Friends, The 
GAYLORD, WILLIS. 

Lines written in an Album 
GERHARDT, PAUL 

llie Dying Saviour . 

GERMAN, DELIA R. 

Amenca- 

The Wood of Chancellorsville 



GILBERT, WILLIAM SCHWENfK. 

liUifiiti-i. b. i8/.. 

I o the Terrestrial Globe . 
Yarn of the " Nancy Bell," The . 
GILDER, RICHARD WATOON. 

lioi<i':nl<jym. .N, J., b, 1^44. 

Dawn ,..,.., 
PuUiih.:TS ; Charles Scribntr'i Sk-ns, .Vew York. 

OILMAN, CAROLINE HOWARD. 

ii'mon, Mjv^.. b, i;q4. 

The Child's Wish in June 
GLAZIER, WILLIAM BELCHER. 

HjI1v»c!(. M.t, b. r3«7. 

Cape-Cottage at Sunset .... 
GLUCK. 
'jennajjy. 

To Death (Tranilation) .... 
GOETHE, JOHAN.V WOLFGANG VON. 

OcTIfisiiy. i;j^i%j3, 

Fisher, The (Tranj, C. 'A. Brooki) 
King of Thule, 'VhKiTrani B. Taylor) 
Mignon's Song ( Tratu. F Hemani) 
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER- 

IrcUnd, 1725-1774, 

Deserted Village, The , , . , 

Great Britain 

Holland 



Ho 

Madame Blaize, Elegy on 

Mad Dog, Elegy on the Death of a 



The Frost . 
GRAHAM, JAMES, EARL OF MONTROSE. 

" My dear and only love " . , . , 
GRAHAM OF GARTMORE. 

ScMt,n-l. 

" If doughty deeds my lady please " 

GRAHAME, JAMES. 

S^Mliui.i, i7'.<-i8n. 

The Sabbath 

GRANT, SIR ROBERT, 

Scotland, iTSis-igrf. 

Brooklet, The 

Litany 



* Die down, O dismal day " , . 

Homesick 

"0 winter, wilt thou never, never go ? " 
GRAY, THOMA.S. 

EnsLw-l, I7i'^i;7i- 

Elegy written in a Country Chtirchyard . 
Eton College, On a Distant View of . 

Spring 

GREEN, ANNIE D. (Marian DougUi). 



bri; 



. H. 



Puritan Lovers, The 

Two Pictures 

PublJshefi : H.yu;itit.,n, Mifflin & Co,, B«aon. 

GREENE, ALBERT G, 

Pr'/ii.l.r!>cc, K. 1„ i3vj-t2<8. 

"Old Grimes is dead" 

Publisher : S, S, Rider, Providence, R. L 

GREENE, ROBERT. 

England, 1 560-1592, 

"Ah! what is love" 

Content 

Samela 

Shepherd's Wife, Song of the ... 
GREE.NWOOD, GRACE. 

See LiPFi.s'cr>TT, Sakah J. 
GREGORY THE GREAT, ST. 

Darkness is thinning (TVdw/. 7. jV: AVa^) , 

Veni Creator Spiritus (Prom tlu Latin by jfohn 

Drydinj 

HABINGTON, WILLIAM. 

En^jland, 1655.^645, 



4, 

-tr 



e-- 



-^ 



IXPEX OF AUTHOKS. 



HALLECK, FITZ-GRKENE. 
Guilfor\l. Conn.. i;oo-i86;. 

Alnwick Castle 635 

Burns Sa? 

Fortune 696 

Jt^eph Rodman Drake .... 854 

Rl.irco l!oz<.iris 524 

On A Portr.^il of Red J.ickcl . S43 

Wcchawkcn 633 

PtiWishors : P. Appleton S; Co., New York. 

HALPINE, CHARLES G. (.AfiUs 0'Jitt/(y). 

Ufl.uui. iS>)-iSt-j. 

Quakei-dom — The Formal Call ... 106 

rubii^hcrs : ll.irpcr vS: Brothers. New York. 

HARRINGTON. SIR JOHN. 

Hllgl.lilJ. ISM-16I3. 

Kortune ^55 

Of a cerlaine Man SS.<; 

Of Writers that cirp at other Men's Books . Sjs 

Treason ^.^5 

W.irres in Ireland, Of the .... 405 
HARTF, nRET. 

Allvinv. N.V.. Iv 1S35. 

Dickens in Oimp S40 

Dow's Flat Sq9 

Her Letter SSg 

900 



Plain L,ans^i.-ne from Truthful James (Heathen 

Chinee) . ^ SSS 

Pliocene Skull, To the .... Sgj 

Ramon SoS 

The Society upon the Stanislaus . . SSS 
!\iblislicri : HoiigluoH, ^timil\ & Co., Boston. 

HARTE, WALTER. 
>V.Ues. I7^x>-x;;4. 

A Soliloquy 44' 

HAY, JOHN. 

S.ilcm. In.l.. Iv iSjs 

B.nnlvTim V" 

Woni.ui's Low 334 

Pul»Ii.;hcrs : Houffhton. Miffiln & Co.. Boston. 

HAYNE. PAUL H.^MILTON. 

Ch.irU-htoll. S. C, iSj.-lSSS. 

Love scorns Degrees 69 

Preexislence 734 

PiiWislicrs : 11. J. Hale & Son. NewYVrk. 

HEBER. REGINALD. 

Enjjlaiul. irS3-vS.«. 

" If thou wert by my Side, my love . . 171 

HEDGE, FREDERICK HEN'RY. 

C;uul>ridifc. Mass.. b. 18^. , „ „ 

"A mightv fortress is our l.od" {FntH tht 
GfrmoH of Martin Litlier^ . . . .335 
HEMANS. FELICIA DOROTHEA. 

Enijlanil. 1TS4-ISW. 

Craves of a Household, The . . . • 305 

Homes of Etvsland, The .... iSo 

Kindred Hearts 5* 

landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The . 551 

Meetins of the Shiiis. The . .^ . . 57 

Mignon's Song iFromthc Gfrman o/Gcel/u) 737 
Treasures of the Dceft The . . . .57^ 

Wordswirth, To S3 5 

HERBERT, GEORGE. 

Church Porch, The 33? 

Gifts of God, The 696 

Life 717 

Praise 



Lent, A True . 

Night Piece. The 

Primrose, Tile , 

Primroses, To 

" Sweet, be not proud " . 

Thanksgiving for his House 



& 



Revival 

" Said I not so ? " 
Virtue Iinmort.il 
HERRICK, ROBERT. 

Ennl.m.l. i5.)i-it,-». 

" .V sweet disorder in the dress 
Ben lonson, Ode to . 
Ber. Jonson, Prayer to . 
Blossoms, To . ; . 
Corinna's ^ing a Maying 
Country late. The . 

Daffodils 

'* Go, happy rose 1 " . 
Holy Spirit, The . 
■:iss,The .... 



Time 

Violets ... . . 

Virgins. To the .... 

HERVEY, THOMAS KIBBLE. 

Elislalul. ir99-l8;». 

'* Adieu, adieu 1 our dream of love" 

Love 

HEVWOOD, THOMAS. 

l.n,;l:.n,l. 



HIGGINS, JOHN. 

EnelanJ. Tinic of gii. 
Books 



HILL, THOMAS. 

Nov Hrun>»i.-k. N. J., h. iSlS. 

The Bobolink . 



HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO. 

New York tTity, 1S06-1S34. 



ity, i8o6-l8S4. 
Monterey 



IHiblishi 

HOGG, lAMES. 
Scoti.uia, i7r--isi?. 

lock Johnstone, the Tinkler . 

kilmenv 

Skvlark, The .... 

When tlie Kyc come Hame 
HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT. 

Uclchcnovvn. M.-issi.. iSi»-iSSi. 
Cradle Song ( Bitlrr-Stvtet) 

Publislicni : Cli.irlcs Scribncr's Sons, Nci 

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. 

Cnmliri.lse. Mass., Iv 1S09. 

Bill and Joe ... . 
City .ind Country 
Coutentnient .... 
Daniel Webster . 
Height of the Ridiculous, The 



Kalvdid 



Ode for a Social Meeting 
Old Ironsides . 
One-Hoss Shay, The . 
Plowman, The . 
Rudolph the Headsman 
IMl.lisl.ci •• • "'"'"■ '■ 



(>6<) 
S44 
S7C, 



i:lnon, Mifflin &■ Co., Boston. 

HOLTY, LUDWIG. 

"^ Winter Song ( TranshUiex p/CharUsT. . 
HOME, JOHN. 



HOOD, THOMAS. 

Englaml. i;5S-iS45. 



Autumn 395 

Bridge of Sighs, The . . 
Diversities of Fortune 
Dream of Eugene jVram, The 
F.aithless Sally Brown 
" Farewell, life !" 
Flow 



Forlorn Shepherd's Complaint, The 

CKjld! 

Heir, The Lost . . ■ ■ 

Infant Son, To my . 

" I remember, I remember ' 

Moniing Meditations 

No 



Nocturn.al Sketch .... 

Ruth 

Sailor's Consolation, The 

Song of the Shirt. The 

" We watched her breathing " 

" What can an old man do but die " 



-^ 



a- 



INDEX OF AUTHOnS. 



^ 



HOOPER, LUCY 

Ncwl)ury|;ort, Mass., 1816-1841. 

Three Loves 

I'ulilislKTN : J. H. Ulpiiincolt & Co., PhUaiklplila. 

HOPPIN, WILLIAM J. 

Charlie Machree 

HOWE, JULIA WARD. 

Sew York r:ity. h. if.it). 

Battle Hymn of the Republic . 

Royal Guest, The 

I'liblklicrs : Moii^'hton, MiHIin & Co., Boston. 

HOWITT, MARY. 

Enj,'l,iii(l, b. 1799. 

liroom Flower, The 

Use of Flowers, The 

HOWITT, WILLIAM. 
Hiit(l.iiirl. i;9>-i«7o. 

Departure ol the Swallow, The 

Summer Noon, A 

HOWLAND, MRS. MARY WOOLSEV. 

EnAin.l, 1,. iSp; il. New York. .864. 

First SprinK Flowers .... 

** Now I lay me down to sleep " . 

Rest 

PublUhtTs : E.I". Dullon & Co.. New York. 

HOVT, RALPH. 

.Mew Y.jrk. ig'jS-lSya. 

Old 

Snow. — A Winter Sketch . . . . 
HUGHES, DR. RICHARD. 

Enn!;m'l. i8Ih century. 

A Doubt 

HUGO, VICTOR. 

Ir.ince, iSo2-i>a^. 

The Poor Fisher Folk {^Alexander's Tratts.) 
HUME, ALEXANDER 
Scoilind, 1711-1776. 

The Story of a Summer Day 
HUNT, LEIGH. 

Jin^land. 1784-1857. 
Abou Ben Adhcm 
Child durinj; Sickness, To a 
Cupid Swallowed 
Fairies' .SonK 
Glove and the Lions, The 
Grasshopper and Cricket, The 

laffar 

f' Jenny kissed me " . 
Love-Lelters made of Flowers 

Miy 

Mahmoud .... 



■Mji 



Trumpets of Doolkamcin, The 
HUNTER, ANNE HOME. 

En^.la,..], 174-.-182.. 

Indian Death-Song 
HURDIS, JAMES. 



A Bird's Nest 



INGELOW, JEAN. 

liii^iaiid, b. tHy}. 

Divided 

High-Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire 
Like a Laverock in the Lift . 
Maiden with a Milking-Pai), A 

Seven Times One 

Seven Times Two .... 
Seven Times Three .... 



iFo 



' of Sunderland 
INGOLDSEY, THOS. See Barham. R. H, 
JACKSON. HELEN HUNTC'H. H."). 

A.nh.;rst. M.'.v... ,8j:.,385. 

Coronation 

My Legacy 

PublisJiLTs : Roberts Eroihcrs, Boston. 

JACKSON, HENRY R. 

Savaniwh, Ga., b. 1810. 

My Wife and Child 

JACOPONE, FRA. 

Slabat Malcr Dolorosa {Co/es's Translalion) . 



JAMES, PAUL MOON. 

Eni;l.,n.|, <1. 1854. 

The Beacon 574 

JENKS, EDWARD A. 

.New|,ort, .S. It., b. 18)5. 

Going and Coming 728 

JENNER, DR. EDWARD. 

Eii|;);in.l. i;4;)-i3i-,. 

Signs of^Rain 381) 

JOHNSON, EDWARD, M.D. 

EnL.|.,n.|. I',ib. 1817. 

The Walcr-Drinkcr . . ... 494 

JOHNSON, SAMUEL. 

Elinlrin.l. ir.,^i-?4. 

Charles XII 816 



JONES, SIR WILLIAM. 

Eniil.ind. 174(^1704. 

liaby. The (From tlu Saiiskril) 
*' Vvhat constitutes a State ?" 
JONSON, BEN. 

lii.i-l.in.l. 1574-1637. 

" DrinK to me only with thine eyes " . 
Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H . 
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke 
Fantasy ...... 

" Follow a shadow, it still flics you " . 
Freedom in Dress .... 

Good and Fair 

Noble Nature, The .... 
Robin GofidfcUow .... 

Those Eyes 

.Shakespeare 

True Growth, The .... 
Vision of Beauty, A . . , . 



Mv Bird . 
Watching 
KEATS, JOHN 

Enirl.imfTi.-'/^i^si. 

Eve of St. Agnes, The . . . . 

Fairy Song 

Grasshopper and Cricket, The . 
Ode on a Grecian Urn . 
Ode to a Nightingale . . . . 
KEBLE, JOHN. 

En;;l.iiidT i7r^ifi66. 

Example 

KEMBLE-BUTLER, FRANCES ANNE. 



Absence 
Faith . 



KENNEDY, CRAMMOND. 

Scotlanfl, b. 1S41. 

Greenwood Cemetery 
KEPPEL, LADY CAROLINE. 

Scotland. 

Robin Adair 

KETCHUM, ANNIE C. 

Benny 

KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT. 

Prt.|..rick Co.. M.I.. I77'^i843. 
The Star-spangled Banner . 

KIMBALL, HARRIET McEWEN. 

New H.impslMrc, b. 1814. 
All's Well . . 
KING, HENRY. 



Death < 



if a Beautiful Wife 



En^Und, 1819-1875. 

A Rough Rhyme on a Rough Matter 
Merry Lark, The .... 

Sands o' Dee 

Three Fishers, The ... 



KINNEY, COATES. 

I'cnn Y..n, N. Y.. b. i8s6. 
Rain on the Roof 



e-.- 



724 



748 

84 



S13 
66s 
65 



-^ 



0-- 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-^ 



^- 



KNOWLES, HERBERT. 

Richmond Cluircliyard, Lines written m . 309 

KNOWI.ES, JAMES SHERIDAN. 

Iri:l,.ll,l, .7.-.4-iSt..., 

Swilzcrl.iiul 529 

KNOX, WILLIAM. 
Scotlaiul, i7if./-isj5. 

"O, why siiould the spirit uf mortal be 

proud ? " 301 

KORNER, CHARLES THEODORE. 

IkTiiiany. lyji-iSi.i. 

Good TSlighHTram/alwa <>/ C. T. £>-aoAs) . 504 
Men and Hoys " " " . 527 

Sword Song, Tlie " " " . 468 

KRUMMACHER, FRIEDERICH WILHELM. 

OcniKiiij', i774-i«(vS. 

Alpine Hc\^hli (Traris/tttiott t}/ C. T. Broohs) 407 
Moss Rose, The (rra«j/«/io«) . . .433 
LAMI), CHARLES. 

EllKlnil,!. I77;-.SM, 

Farewell to Tobacco, A . , . . 491 

Housekeeper, The 451 

John Lailiu, Esq., To S32 

Old Familiar Faces, The 3O2 

LAMB, MARY. 

UiiltliUid. i;(.5-i847. 

Choosing a Name 18 

LANDON, L^TITIA ELIZABETH. 

liiK'land, iSo:.-iSiS. 

Death and the Youth J34 

Female Convict, The 294 

LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE. 

Ullj;l.ui(l. I775-I.*4. 

Macaulay, lo 836 

Maid's Lament, The 279 

One Gray Hair, The 715 

LANIER, SIDNEY. 

ClKirli;stoil. S. C. iS4?-k';Si. 

Ccntenuial Meditation of Columbia . . 545 

Tublisliors : J. 1!. Uppiiicott & Co.. niilculel|)liin. 

LARCOM, LUCY. 

Lowell. Mnss.. l>. 1S36. 

By the Fireside 176 

I'liblisticrs, Hoiijjliton, Millliii & Co., Doston. 
LE FANU, J. S. 

Lnjjlaiul. il. 18:4. 

Shamus O'Brien 519 

LEIGH, HENRY S. 

liiWlaiul. 

Only Seven 909 

The Twins S91 

LELAND, CHARLES G. 

l'lul.uloll>lli;l, I'il., li. 1S24. 

H.ans Breitmann's Party . . . . 901 

Ritter Hugo 902 

Publishers : T. U. Peterson & Bros., riiil.idcliiliia. 

LEONIDAS. 

Alfxaiulriii. vr-ii^. 

Wame {Traiislatiott 0/ Roitrl BlatiiO . . 175 
The Mother's Stratagem (Tr. J'. /ir.>i"-<:«) . 24 

LEVER, CHARLES JAMES. 

Irdiuul, .S«-iS-j. 

Widow Malone 905 

LEWIS, MATTHEW GREGORY. 

niiKlnn.l. 1--S-IS.8. 

The Mani.ic 256 

LEYDEN, lOHN. 

Scotl.iii.l. 1775-1811, 

Daisy, The 426 

Noontide 370 

Sabbath Morning, The 370 

LIPPINCOTT, SARAH J. {Grace GreemvooS). 

I'oini.cv. N. Y.. I). .8.-!. 

The Poet of Today .... 738 

I»iil»liblicrs: Ticknor \- C'o.. Boston. 

LOCKER, FREDERICK. 

tnjjhiiKl, l>. ii!-.-4, 

* My love is .ways near" . . . . 6f> 

On an Old Muff 876 

" The world 's a sorry wench, akin " . . 877 

Widow's Mite, The 246 



LOCKHART, JOHN GIBSON. 

Scntlaiul, 1793-1854. 

Lord of Bntrago, The 
Znra's Ear-Rings 
LODGE, THOMAS. 



\KN WAD.SWORTH. 



LOGAN, JOHN. 

SctHhiiuI, 1748-1789 

Cuckoo, Ti. t 

"Thv trir,, 
LONGFF.I I .'W, 
I'orllan.l, M i 

Agassi.-, I iluctli lUllhd.ly of 

Birds, I'lea for the .... 

Carillon 

Children's Hour, The . 

D.^iybreak 

Divina Conimedia . . 

Evangeline in the Prairie 

Footsteps of Angels .... 

God's-Acre 

Hawthorne . _ . 

Household Sovereign, The {Ilan^itt^ i 

Hyniii to tlie Night '..'.'. 
Launch. Tlu 



Maidenlwcd 



Nun 



St {Evnnsilim) 



Psalm of Life, A 
R.nin in Summer . 
Reaiier and the Flowers, The 
Resijtnalion .... 
Retribution 

Sea-Weed .... 
Snow- Flakes . 
Village Blacksmith, The 
Warden of the Cinque Ports, The 
IniiL'liton, ^IIB 



I'ulilisliers ; llniigliton, MllUiii & Co., Boston. 
LOVELACE, RICHARD. 

liHt:lau.l. i6iS-i(,sa. 

Alihca from' Prison, To 

Lucasta, To 

Lucasta, on Going to the Wars, To 
LOVER, SAMUEL. 

trcland, i797-i^''Xi. 

Angel's Wliisjier, The 
Father Laud and Mother Tongue 
Low-backed Car, The . 
Rory O'More .... 
Widow Machree .... 
LOWE, JOHN. 

Sti.ll.ill.l. 17'.'-17')'<. 

Mary's Dream .... 
LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. 



1819. 



First Snow-Fail, The . 
Freedom, Ode to 
Henry Wadsworth Longfello 
Invitation, An . 



nets 



Summer Storm .... 

Villa Franca 

Washington, To .... 
What Mr. Robinson thinks 
William Lloyd Garrison 
Winter Pictures .... 
Winter's Evening Hymn to my Fire 

Yussouf 

I'lihlishers : Hnii(rhtoii, Mimiii& Co.. Boston. 
LOWn 1 , "MARIA WHITE. 



847 

'79 
6S4 



M, 



. MiHliii & Co., Uostoii. 
LOWEl.l,, HUBERT T. S. 
Cliulin.lijc. Mass.. I). lSl6. 

The Relief of Lucknow . 



:^ 



[&-- 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



^ 



LUTHER, MARTIN. 

Ocniiany, 1481-1546. 

"A mighty fonress a oar GoA" (Tra>nlatu>n 

o/F.H. Hedge) 335 

Martyrs' Hymn, The ( Translation a/ W. J. 

Fax) 328 

LUTTRELL, HENRY. 

EnylaiKl. A contemporary and associate of Byron and 



Mo 



832 



On Miss Maria Tree 
LVLY, JOHN 

Kniil.uid, 1534-ifco. 

Cupid and Campaspe 148 

LYNCH, ANNIE CHARLOTTE (.Mrs. Bella). 
Bcnniiiyton. \'t,. b. about 18a). Lives in .New Votlc 

On a Picture aoi 

I'ublislicTs: H.irixr & Brothers. New York. 
LYTLE, WILLIAM HAINES. 
Cincinnati, o.. 1826-1863. 

Antony and Cleopatra 293 

LYTTELTON, LORD GEORGE. 

"Tell me, my heart, if this be love" . . 70 

LYTTON, EDWARD BULWER, LORD. 
linylind, i&3,-i3;j. 

Claude Mehiotte's Apology and Defence 206 

Etrurian Valley, In the . . • 628 

LYTTON, ROBERT BULWER, EARL(Oa/«< Mere- 

dith). 
England, b. 18 ;i. 

Aux Italicns 228 

Changes 230 

Possession ■ 'S'* 

The Chess- Board 106 

M.'VCAULAV, THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD. 

I£ni;l..Tid, 18/^1.57. 

Horatius at the Bridge 507 

Monconlour 516 

Naseby 5'7 

Roman Father's Sacrifice, The ... 794 

MAC-CARTHY, DENIS FLORENCE. 

Ireland. 1820-18^. 

'Ah, sweet Kitty Neil!" 5' 



Ali< 



Ireland 523 

Labor Song 502 

Love and Time <^^ 

Summer Longings Tfio 

MACDONALD, GEORGE. 

1-nal.ind, b. 1824. 

Babv, The 18 

Earl O'Quarterdeck 603 

MACKAY, CHARLES. 

Scotlanil. b. 1814- 

Cleon and I 66S 

Small Beginnings 697 

" Tell me, ye wmged winds " . . . .332 

Tubal Cain 488 

MAGINN, WILLIAM. 

IrcLinil, 1753-1842. 

Waiting for the Grapes 142 

MAHONY. FRANCIS (Fallier Prmt). 
Ireland. iSvs-ia/,. 

liellsof Shandon, The 65S 

Bonaparte, Recollections of (/"rt^wj^^ra^/^fr) fiz2 

Flight into Eg>'pt, The 344 

Passage 637 

MANGAN, JAMES CLARENCE. 

Ireland. i8o3-i8.',9. 

The Sunken City {From the German) . . 752 

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. 

tni^'ian !. i304-iyy3. 

X'he .shepherd to his Love . . . .104 
MARSDEN, WILLIAM. 



What is Ti 



T^'t 



MARSTON, JOHN. 

England, 1575-1674. 

A Scholar and his Dog 855 



[&^- 



Death of the White Fawn 
Drop of Dew. A . 
Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda 
MARY. 

tjueen of Ilunsary. d. 1558. 

A Prayer 

MASSEY, GERALD. 

EnKl.in.l. b. 18;* 

" O, lay thv hand in mine, dear" . 
Our Wee While Rose . 
Passionate Pilgrim's Song, The 
McMASTER, GUY HUMPHREY. 

Clyl.f. N. v.. b. Hi',. 

The fJld Conlinentals 
MEEK. ALEXANDER BEAUFORT. 

Colulllbi,!, S. C. I814-1865. 

Balaklava 

MELEAGER. 
Grcvce, 9li[i. C. 

The Vow (Translation e/ MerivaU 
MERIVALE, JOHN HERMAN. 

LnKl;<nU. Ir79-i844. 

The Vow (From the Greek 0/ MeUager) 
.MERRICK, JAMES. 

En;.'Lind. 1720-176',. 

The Chameleon 

MESSENGER, ROBERT HINCHLEV. 



Give me the Old 711 

METASTASIO, PIERRE A. D. B. 



MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS. 

Scotl.in.l. l;34-i7«8. 

The Sailor's Wife . 



MILLER, CINCINNATUS HINER (7oayuin). 



MILLER, WILLIAM. 

Scotland. 

Willie WInkic . 



MILMAN, HENRY HART. 

Unaland. I7vi-i8'<9. 

Hebrew Wedding 164 

Jewish Hymn in Babylon .... 33O 

MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON (LordHouehtoti) 

Lnyland. i8>v-I^;;- 

Brookside, 'I he . . . . - 92 

Good Night and Good Morning . . . 31 

London Churches . . .... 25a 

MILTON, JOHN. 

Enj:lan-I. 160^1674. 

Abdiel 347 

Adam and Eve, Nuptials of ... 160 
Adam's Morning Hymn in Paradise 



Ada 



I Ev 



iiy, 



Battle of the Angels 

Blindness, fJn his 330 

Blindness. On his own (7a Cyriack Skinner) 672 

Christmas Hymn 724 

" Comus," Scenes from .... 755 

Creation 363 

Cromwell, To the Lord-General . . 817 

Evening in Paradise 374 

Haunt of the Sorcerer .... 756 

II Pcnseroso 710 

Invocation to Light 3''.'7 

L' Allegro TO 

Lady lost in the Wood .... 755 

Lvcidas 2H2 

May Morning 384 

Nymph of the Severn 75^ 

Satan's Address to the Sun .... 805 

.Samson .Agonistes 241 

Selections from " Paradise Lost " . . 241 



>bei 



Tacking Ship oft Shore 57' 



-& 



\n- 



IXDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-^-a 



B- 



MITFORD, MARY RUSSELL. 

Englaiul. 1780-1855. 

Rienzi to the Romans 512 

MOIR, DAVID MACBETH. 

Scolland. 1798-1351- 

Casa Wappy 268 

Jaraie 's on the Stormy Sea . . . 574 

Rustic Lad's Lament in the Town, The . . 19S 

Song of the South 415 

MONTGOMERY, JAMES. 

Scotland, 1771-1H54. 

Birds 433 

Common Lot, The 3=9 

Coral Insect, The sSt 

Daisy, The 42<i 

Forever with the Lord 353 

■' Make way for Liberty !" . ... 528 

My Country 5°5 

Night 376 

Ocean, Tlie 560 

Pelican, The 444 

Sea Life 5S0 

MGNTREUIL, MATHIEU DE. 

To Madame de St^vign^ 8^5 

MOORE, CLEMENT CLARKE. 

New York Cit}-. 1779-185=. 

St. Nicholas, A Visit from .... 44 

MOORE, THOMAS 
Ireland, i7;<^iS52. 

Acbar and Nourmahal 112 

" As by the shore, at break of day " . . 544 

" As slow our ship '* 189 

" Eelieve me, if all those endearing young 

charms" " . -123 

Birth of Portraiture, Tlie .... 103 

Black and Blue Eves 143 

Campbell, To '. S32 

Canadian Boat-Song, A 6iS 

*' Come, rest in this bosom "... 133 

Eclioes ........ 92 

" Farewell, but whenever " ... 193 

" Farewell to thee, .Araby's daughter," . . 2S9 

" Fly to the desert, fly with me " . . 95 
Lake of the Dismal Swamp, The . . .782 

'• Let Erin remember the days of old" . 518 

Linda to Hafed 207 

Love's Young Dream 224 

" Oft, in the stilly night " . . . .237 

" (1, breathe not his name" ... S34 

Origin of the Harp, The 762 

"("), the sight entrancing " . . . 465 

Spnns {Fro,,! t/ie Greek or A iiacreon) . . 3 84 

Syria ..,.'.... 4-3 

Temple to Friendship, A .... 61 

" The Harp that once through Tara's halls" 518 
The Young May Moon . " . . . .151 

" Those evening bells " .... 237 

Valeof Avoca, The 59 

Vale of Cashmere. The .... 414 

Verses written in an .Album .... 87 

MORE, REV. HENRY. 

Elli;laiirl, d. i8o= 

Euthanasia 720 

MORLAIX, BERNARD DE. 

France. I=l!i Century. 

The Celestial Country (Tra,is. J. M. .Vea/e) 311 
MORRIS, GEORGE P. 

Pliiladelpliia, Pa., iSco-1864. 

The Retort S9. 

" Woodman, spare that tree " . . .41 

MORRIS, CAPTAIN THOMAS. 

IinL,'Iaiid. ]'ub. 1786-1802. 

The Catalogue 153 

MORRIS, WILLIAM. 

England, b. 181J. 

Atalanta Conquered 1 1 1 

Atalanta Victorious no 

Idle Singer, The 666 

March 379 

Pygmalion and the Image . . . .113 



MOSCHUS. 

Greece, 3d Century B. C. 

Lament for Bion { Traiu. o/C. A. Elton). . 2S2 
MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM. 

Jeanie Morrison ,5 

" My heid is like to rend, Willie " . . 232 

" They come ! the merry summer months " . 3S5 
MOULTON, ELLEN LOUISE CHANDLER. 
I'o.iifret. Conn., b. 1S35. 

Late Spring, The 24; 

Troth-Plight ,7: 

MOULTRIE, JOHN. 
Entriand. pub. 1859. 

The Three Sons 30 

MUELLER, WILLIAM. 
Germany. 1794-1827. 

The Sunken City (7'ra«j. y. C. ;i/,in^a«). . 752 
MULOCK, DINAH MARIA. 

See Craik, Dinah Mulock. 

MUNBY, ARTHUR JOSEPH. 
England, b. 1828. 

A Pastoral 82 

Apres 695 

MYERS, FREDERICK W. H. 
England, t>. 1843. 

From "St. Paul" 359 

NAIRNE, CAROLINA OLIPHANT, BARONESS. 

Scotland. 1766-1845. 

Laird o' Cockpen, The 156 

Land 0' the Leal, The 292 

NASH, THOMAS. 
England. 1558-1600. 

" Spring, the Sweet Spring " . . , . 3S4 

NEALE, JOHN MASON. 

England, 1818-1866. 

" Art thou wearj. ? " [Lntm of St. Stephen tlu 

Sabaiie') .327 

Celestial Country, The (From tlie Lathi 0/ 

Bertiard tie lilorlaix) 311 

" Darkness is thinning" {From t/ie Latin of 

St. Gregory the Great) .... 322 
\ txi\\d.'B.^%\%(Froi,i the Latin) . . . 319 
NEELE, HENRY. 
England, 1798-1828. 

" Moan, moan, ye dying gales "... 235 
NEWELL, ROBERT HENRY {Orfhem C. Kerr). 

New Vcrk City. b. 1836. 

National Anthems gii 

Publishers: Lee c'i: Sliepard, Boston. 

NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY. 
England, b. i8.ji. 

Flowers without Fruit 741 

The Pillar of the Cloud .... 326 

NICHOLS, MRS. REBECCA S. 
Greenwicli, X. I. I'nh. 1844. 

The Philosopher Toad 7S9 

NOEL, THOMAS. 

Enirland. Pub. 1841. 

The Pauper's Drive 257 

NORRIS, JOHN. 

England. 1O57-1711. 

My Little Saint 142 

NORTH, CHRISTOPHER. 

See Wilson, John. 
NORTON, ANDREWS. 

Hinghani. Mass., i78'i-lS53. 

After a Summer Shower 392 

NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH S., HON. 

England. i8.:«-i876. 

Arab to his favorite Steed, The . . .612 

Biugen on the Rhine 47'J 

King of Denmark's Ride, The . . . 2SS 

Love Not 24" 

Mother's Heart, The 32 

'* We have been friends togetlier ".,5s 

O'HARA, THEODORE. 

Kentucky, ab.nut i82o-i8t)~. 

The Bivouac of the Dead . . . .54° 

O'KEEFE, JOHN. 
Ireland. 1747-1853. 

" I am a fnar of orders gray " . . , ^''~ 



-3 



[& 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



--^ 



OLIPHANT, THOMAS. 

War's Loud Alarms (J^i 

Ttilftaiarn) .... 
" Where are the raen ? " l,From 
OPIE, AMELIA. 

England, i76»-i853. 

The Orphan Boy's Tale . 
O'REILLY, MILES. 

See Charles G. Halpine. 
OSGOOD, FRANCES SARGENT. 

Boston. M.iss. 1812-1850. 

To Labor is to Pray . 
OSGOOD, KATE PUTNAM. 

FryeburiJ. Me,, h. 1841. _ 
Driving H " " 



the IP'eli/t of 
1 the same). 



Publishers : Hougtuon, .Mirtliii & Co., Boston. 
OUTRAM, GEORGE. 

Scotlanii, i3o5-iy<A. 

The Annuity 

PAINE, THOMAS. 



PALMER, JOHN WILLIAMSON. 



" For Charlie's sake " 
Thread and Song . 
Publisliers'^ Charles Scribner's 



1 The. 



Tlie Soul's Cry ... . 
Publislier ; A. D. F. Randolph. Xcw York. 
PALMER, WILLIAM PITT. 
Stockbrklge. Mass., 1805-1884.. 
The Smack in School 



Mr. Simms 

PARKER, THEODORE. 
Lexington, Mass.. i8io-i86j 

" The Wav, the Trtith, and the Life " 
Publishers ; D.'Appleton & Co., New York. 
PARNELL, THOMAS. 

Hnt-lin.!. i67.,-iri7. 

'' When your beauty appears " 
PARSONS, THOMAS WILLIAM. 



On ; 



PATMORE, COVENTRY. 
England, b 18=3- 
Mistress, The , 
Rose o£ the World, The 
Sly Thoughts . 
Sweet Meeting of Desires 
Wisdom . 



PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD. 

New Yoik City. i;s2-i352. 

Home, Sweet Home .... 
Brutus's Oration over the Body of Lucreti; 
Publisher : J. Munsell, Albany. .N'. Y, 
PEALE, REMBRANDT. 

Near I'liil.ldelphia. Pa., 1778-1860. 

Faith and Hope 

PEARCE, 

The Heaving of the Lead 
PERCIVAL, JAMES GATES. 
Berlin. Conn.. 1795-1856, 

May 

Coral Grove, The 

Seneca Lake 

Publishers : H.nitjln.in, Mi91in & Co., Boston. 
PERCY, FLORENCE. 

See Allen, Elizabeth A. 
PERCY, THOMAS. 

England, 17:8-1811. 

Friar of Orders Gray, The 
" O Nancy, wilt thou go with me ?" . 
PERRY, NORA. 

After the Ball 

Jane 

Love Knot, The 



fr- 



pettee, g. w. 

Sleigh Song 

PFEFFEL. 

i^erni.iiiy, i73&-i.go9. 

The Nobleman and the Pensioner {Trans- 
lation 0/ CharUs T, Brooks) 

PHILIPS, AMBROSE. 

England. i(>75-i749. 

" Blest as the immortal gods " {From tlie 
Greek) 

PHILIPS, JOHN. 
England, 1676-17.18. 

The Splendid Shilling 



PHILOSTRATUS. 

" Drink to me only with thine eyes" {Traits- 
lation 0/ Ben Jonson) 

PIERPONT, JOHN. 

Litchlield, tonn,. 1785-1866. 

My Child 

Not on the Battle- Field .... 

Passing Away 

Passing Bell, The 

Warren's Address 

Whittling 

PINKNEY. EDWARD CO.\TE. 

Annapolis, Md„ i8os-l8=8. 

A Health 



. C. Armstrong & Son, New York. 



POLLOK, ROBERT. 

Scotland, 179>-I837. 

Byron 
Ocean . 



, The 



POPE, ALEXANDER. 

England. 16S8-1744, 
Addison . 
Author's Mi 
Belinda . 
Dying Christian to his Soul, The 

Fame 

Future, The 

Greatness 

Happiness ..... 
and Couplets . 



Nature's Chain 
Profusion . 
Quiet Life, The 



Ruling Passion, The . 
Scandal . . . . 
Sporus, —(Lord Hervey) 



Universal Prayer, The 
POWERS, HORATIO NELSON. 

New York, b. 1826. 

Bums 



PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH. 

Eii^lanil. 1802-1^39. 

Belle of the Ball, The . 

Campbell 



PRENTICE, GEORGE DENISON. 

'°Th"e closing Ye'ar ' 

PRIEST, NANCY AMELIA WOODBURY. 



. 1837-1870. 
r the Rii 



PRINGLE, THOMAS. 
Scotland, 1789-1834. 

" Afar in the desert " 

PRIOR, M.^TTHEW. 

En.dnnd, I>^4-1721 

The Lady's Looking-Glass 



238 



-^ 



& 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-^ 



PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. 
biKlnml. iteo-isoj. 

Doubting Heart, A 

Lost Cliorrf, A 

'* Dtily waitiii,^ " 

l*cr Pacem nd Lucem .... 

Wmn.iu's Question, A . . . . 
PROCIEK, BRYAN \\ .[Barry Cornwall). 
Hiv,:l;in(l. 1787-1874. 

Address to tlie Ocean .... 

Blood Horse, Tlie 

" Kor love's sweet sake " . 

C.olden tiirl, A . . . . 

Hnnter's Sons, The. 

Life 

IKvl, The 

" I'eacc ! What can tears avail ? ' 

Petition to Time, A . 

Poet's Song to his Wife, The 

Sea, The 

*' Sit down, sad soul " . 

•' Softly woo away her breath " 

Song of Wood Nymphs 

Stormy Petrel, Tnc . 

White Squall, The 
PUNCH. 

Homba, King of Naples, Death-Bed c[ . 

Chemist to his Love, The . 

Collegian to his Bride, The 

1 ones at the Barber's Shop .■ 

Roasted Sucking Pig 

QUARLES, FRANCIS. 

Enetinnl. 1592-1&44 

Delight in God 

Vanity ofthe World, The .... 
RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. 
UiiM.^ind, 155^1618. 

Lines written the Night before his E.Kecution . 

Nymph's Reply, The 

Pilgrimage, The ,..,.• 
RAMS.W, ALLAN. 

Scoll.ind, 1685-17SS- 

Lochabcr no more 

RANDOLPH, ANSON D. F. 

Wooilbrid^e. X. I., b. iSi-o. 

Hopefully Waiting 

RANDOLPH, THOMAS. 
Enj^bnd, 1(105-1634. 

Fairies' Song ( Translation 0/ Lci^h Hunt 
from the Latin) . . ■ .' . 
RANKIN, J. E., D. D. 

■' "" . iS-8. Pull. Boston. 1867. 



)!u 



SlS 



RASCAS, BERNARD. 

The^Love of God ( Trans, of W. C. Bryant') 351 
RAYMOND, ROSSITER W. 

Ci.uimnti. llhio. 1>. 1840, 

Cavalry Song 4C>^> 

Complinionts of the Season .... 26 

Grecian Temples at Pajstum, The . . . 619 

Imiironiptu 8<)2 

Knth 2J 

" Shall 1 love you like the wind, love" . 79 

.Song of the Sea 7'io 

Troopers' Death, The {From the German) 467 
RE'^D, THOMAS BUCHANAN. 

Cllcslcr. P.I.. i8i.--l8;5. 

Angler, The 621 

Brave at Home, The 505 

Closing Scene, The 651 

Drifting 751 

Reapei^s Dream, The 347 

Sheridan's Ride 539 

I'uhlKlicrs 1 J. 11. Uppincott & Co.. Hiil.iclclpliia. 

REDDEN, LAURA C. (Hmuard Glyndon). 
SoiinTsct County, Md., b. about 1^40. 



Ma 



Baby Zulma's Christmas Carol 
RICHARDS, WILLIAM CAREY. 
London, l£ntj., li. 1817. 

Under the Cross . . 



84S 



RITTEU, MARY LOUISE. 

City, li, 1837. 



Bayard .,, 

Difference, The i ,s s 

Once . 131 

Perished 2 jo 

Sub Silentio ^,s 

Why? !<S 

ROBERT THE SECOND. 

Veni Sancte ^\i\\\\\\^ {.Translation of Catha- 
rine iVink-Morth) 317 

ROBERTS, SARAH. 

foilMiinutli, N. II. 

The Voice of the Grass 437 

ROGERS, SAMUEL. 

Enijinml, 170.1-1855. 

Descent, The 40S 

Ginevra 005 

Great St. Bernard, The 40S 

It.ily I2S 

Marriage 65 

Mother's Stratagem, The {Front the Greek) . 34 

Music 6)1 

N.aples (12 

Rome 629 

Sleeping Beauty, A .^S 

Tear, A 712 

Venice fcS 

Wish, A 17s 

RONSARD, I'IKRRE. 

Return of Spring (7>(:«j/iz^/tJH) . . . 3S2 

ROSCOE, Wll.l.lAM, 

The '^iother Nighting.ale(^»-D«//«5'/(i«ii/i) 444 

ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA GEORGINA. 

''"ii'i'l'kiiiV'Maid, The f'7 

Up-Hill 326 

ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL. 

Uligl.ilul, i8-.8-if8=. 

Blessed Damozel, Tile 75? 

Lost Days 7'7 

Nevermore, The 7-" 

Sleepless Dreams 70S 

ROYDEN, MATTHEW. 

Sir Philip Sidney S16 

SANBORN, F. B. 

River Song 755 

SANGSTER, MRS. MARGARET E. M. 

Nc». Kocliclle. N. Y.. 1.. 1818 

" Are the children at home " . . . .270 
SAPPHO. 



of Liiihos I 



Blest as the immortal gods 
of A mlrrose Philips) . 
SAXE. JOHN GODFREY. 

Higllgatc. \"t.. 1816- 

American Aristocracy 
Death and Cupid 
Echo 



s me softlv 



how I lore you " . . 
Railroad Rhyme .... 
Stammering Wife, The . 
Wom.in'sWill .... 
Publishers : Hoiij,'hlon. MitHiu & Co.. Boston. 

SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 

Scotland. 1771-1S32, 
Bear an Dhuiiie 
" Breathes there the man " . 
Christmas in Olden Time 
Clan-Alpine, Song of . 
Coronach (Lady ofthe Lake) 
Gathering Song of Donald the Black 
Helvellvn . '. . . 
High Seas, The . 
Mncgregor's Gathering . 
Melrose Abbey 
Norham Castle 
Rose, The .... 
Scotland .... 
" Soldier, rest! thy warfare o 



-^ 



f 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-^ 



blag Hunt, llie 

*' The heath this night must be my bed ' 

True and the False, The . 

'* Waken, lords and ladies gay " . 

Waterloo, The Charge at . 



SEDLEY, SIR CHARLES. 

lingUiiKf, i6ii-i;o.. 

Child and Maiden 

" Phillis is my only joy " 

SEWALL, HARRIET WINSLOW. 

America. <1. .833- 

Why thus Longing ? 

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. 
liiii;!-""!. 11O4-1616. 

-Airy Nothings ( Tempest) .... 
" Dlow, thou winter wind " (/li Vau Lille It) 
Cleopatra (// ntony and Cleopatra) . 
Course of true Love, The (.Midsutnmer 

Night's Dream) ..... 
Dagt'er ofthe Mind, A (A/ocA'/A) . 
Dover Cliff (A'/«i- Arar) .... 
Dream of Clarence [Richard III.) . 
Fairies' Lullaby ( Midsummer Night's Dream) 
Fancy {Mercitant 0/ Venice) 
*' Farewell ! thou art too dear " 
" Fear no more the heat " {Cymlrelirte) 

Friendshij) (Hamlet) 

Grief (//«>«&/) 

" Hark, hark! the lark " (.Cymieliiu) . 
Hotspur's description of a Fop {Henry IV.) 
Imagination (Midsummer Night's Dream) . 

Lear's Prayer 

Love (Merchant of Venice) .... 
Love Dissembled ^As Von Like //) . . 
Love, Unrequited ( Tivel/lh Night) . 
Love's Memory (All's iVell timl Ends Well) 
Martial Friendship (CVrrWrtWKf) 
Mercy (Merchant 0/ Venice) . • 

Murder, The (Macbeth) 

Music (Merchant 0/ Venice) 

l.\a%\z (Twelfth Night) 

Old Age of 'rcmperance .... 

OWv'm (Twelfth Night) 

" O mistress mine ! " ( Twelfth Night) 
Ofiportunity (Julius Carsar) .... 

Othello's Defence 

Peace, no Peace 

Peddler's Pack, The (tVintcr's Tale) 

Perfection (A-Zk^- 70/17/) 

Portia's Picture (Mercltant 0/ Venice) 
Queen Elizabeth, Compliment to (Midsummer 

Night's Dream) 

Queen Mab (Romeo and fuliel) 

Reputation (0M.7&) 

Romeo and Juliet, The Parting of 

Seven Ages of Man (As You Lite It) 

Shepherd's Life, A (Henry VI.) 

Sleep ( Henry IV. Part i) . 

Sleep (Henry I V. Parti) 

Sltep iCymleline) .... 

Sleep (.Wacleth) .... 

Sleep ( Tempest) .... 

Soliloquy on Death (//«»//(•/) 

" Take, O, take thoselips away " i^Md 



■efo, 



Measure^ 
'* The forward violet " . 
** When icicles hang by the wall 

Labor 's Lost) .... 
" When I do count the clock " . 
"When in the chronicle" . . . 

" When to the sessions of sweet silent thought " 
Wols^y'sVxlKHenry VIII.). 
Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell (Henry VIII.) 
SHANLY, CHARLES DAWSON. 

Amcric.!. Puh. iS'A 

Brierwood Pipe 



Civil War 



SHARPS, R. S. 

Engl:tnd, 175^1835. 

The Minute-Gu 



SHEALE, RICHARD. 
Chevy-Chase 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE, 
iiagtand. 1792-1823. 

Autumn .... 

Beatrice Cenci 

Change .... 

Cloud, The .... 

lanthe. Sleeping 

' ' I arise from dreams of thee ' 

Lament, A . . . 

Love's Philosophy 



Mu 

Night .... 
Night, To . . . 
Ozymandias of Egypt . 
Skylark, To the 

"The sun is warm, the sky 



View from the Euganean Hill 

War 

" When the lamp is shattered 
SHEN.STONE, WILLIA.M. 

Unf-Lind. I7U-17<'3. 

Hope .... 
Schoohnistrcss, The . 

SHEPHERD, N. G. 

Auitrica. 

" Only the clothes she wore " 
SHIRLEY, JAMES. 

EnjjIaiKl, i594-i<.66. 

Death, ihe Levclcr . 
SIBLEY, CHARLES. 

ScoiL'itnJ, 

The Plaidie . 



lis 



656 
296 



SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. 

EngtinrJ. 15^-1 ^^<;. 

Love's Silence . . , . 
" My true-love hath my heart ' 
Sleep .... 



SIGOURNEY, LYDIA HUNTLEY 

-Vorwich. O.nn., t-qi-t'^/>^. 

Coral Insect, The .... 

" Go to thy rest, fair child " 

Indian Names 

Lost Sister, The 

Man — Woman .... 
Publishers : H.imcrslcy & Co.. Hartford, Conn. 

SIMMONS, BARTHOLOMEW. 

Ireland, pul>. 1843 ; A. 18:0, 

To the Memory of Thomas Hood . 
SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMORE. 

Cliarlciton. -S. C. ;?f/.-i87o. 

Gra|>e-Vine Swing, The . 

Mother and Child .... 

Shaded Water 

I'ul.lKlicrs : A. C. Amistrong i Son, New York. 

SMITH, ALEXANDER. 

Scotland. i?.yf-i^^. 

The Night before the Wedding 
SMITH, CHARLOTTE. 

Eii;:land. 1747-18-^5. 

The Swallow 



^- 



SMITH, EMMELINE SHERMAN. 
New Baltimore. N. V., b. jgsj. 

Bird Language 

SMITH, HORACE. 

Address to the Alabaster S.^rcophagus . 
Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition 

Flowers. Hymn to the 

Moral Cosmetics 

Tale of Drury Lane, A 

The Gouty ^terchant and the Stranger 

SMITH, SEBA. 

Turner, .M'-., 179^-1828, 

The Mother's Sacrifice 

SMITH, SYDNEY. 

England. I-7I-l>i4S. 

A Receipt for Salad 



-^ 



\Q~^' 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-a 



sornii'v, MKs. Caroline bowlk 

' '\->ickwt-Uvti, Tho .... 
Taupcr's Ucrtth'liriU The . 
t'lnMTivwiuHl Sluift. Tho . 
Yovins ^''.\y Hcinl, Tlve 
SOl'lHKY, ROISI'.KT, 

Alleuhcim. Tli,- li.vtllc of . 
Oui«iACIi-f l.oiK.K-, rlio . 
Kmmcil's KpiiAi'li , , . . 
Gixl's JlulKliwivloH Uatlo . 
GireuwoiHl Shrift, The . 
HoU>- Iref. I'lm .... 
liUol Hoy, The . . . , 
iHchcnno kiH'k, The , 
Well of Si. Kcyiie, The . 
SPENCKR. C.VROUNE S. 

C.^t^kill. N. V„ I8,w. 

l.iviixg \V.Atew 



I«biul. ir>-lS.i4. 

liclh Oelert 

" 'r,K> lute I sli\>>«<l " . . . . 
Wile, t'ltildi'en, and Friends . 
SPENSK.R. V.nMUND. 

Roxnsr of Bliss. Tho 

Cave of .<lcei>. The . . . . 

K.l_Mth;di\mion. The .... 

Mniistrv of Anijels, The . . . 

I'na .Old the l.ion .... 
SPOKFORn, HARRlF.r rRKSCOlT. 
O.il.ik, Mc. K iSk. 

Night ,<ea. The .... 

Yanitv 

l^l|.li^l«■r^" . II.Micliwu. Mill\iii ,'« Co.. n.v.nu>. 

SPRACl'E, CHARLES. 



IV 



, M.v 



KftiHilv Mcetiivji, Tito 
Indians . _ . 
Winced Wonilupiwrs. The 
^^lWiJ^^■K ! IL>«|!hlou. MlMln & Co.. liostvw. 
STARK. 

' "TheM.^dern lielle .... 
STEOMAN. EDMUND CLARENCE. 

Betrothed .\new .... 
Cavalry Sonc .... 
Doorstep, The .... 
lohn Brown of Osawatoiuio 
Old Admiral. The .... 
What the Winds hriltE 
l\il.lKhMs: ll,.ii,;l,t..i>. Mifflm*Co., tloston. 

STERHNO, TOHN. 

Sooll.,...!, ,!\«^,S44 

-Alfred the Ilari^jr .... 
Brantifnl Day, On a . . . 
Spice-Tree. The .... 
STEVENS, OEORC.K ALKXANDKR. 



n.l. 



>.-S4. 



T'he Sto 
STILL, JOHN. 

'"" Oood '.-lie """' .... 
STlt.I.M AN, HARRIET W, 
SnriliitK in his Sleep . 

STODDARD, I.AVINIA, 

I'.uiW.ixl. (■.,1111.. i:S-^is.\\ 

The Soul's Detrance . . 
STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY. 

Hills).,,..,, \t.,«,. 1,, i!i!5, 

Bn^hma's ..\nsvver 

'* It never eiMnes ag-ain ** 

T«M Anclwui, The . 

^^,t■li^ll,■I^! ll,.,icl,t„ii. MiUlta ,t: C,>.. H,v,l 

STin^DART, THOMAS TVD. 

S,VllA\Hl, Iv iSl.V 

The Anslets' Tn-stins-Tree . 




srt>RY, ROBKUr, 

"^'rhc'wluMlo* 

STORY, WILLIAM WKI'MORE. 

i>.lloni. MrtSN.. I'. itUv, 

Cleojwttra 

Bati «t Low 

Yiolet, The 

INilOlslieiM l.llll... Itrown v'6 Co., lliwlon. 

Sl'inVE, HARRIET BKF.CHER. 

l.ittliHolil. Cmi., !■. iSi... 

A Day in the Panifili Dorin . 

Lines to the Mentory of Annio . 

'• Only a Year '• .... 

Other' World. The . . . , 
rul.llslvcrs,! H,.utlvi,ui. Mlltlln .1: C.v, lloshm, 

STRANGFORD, LORD. 

lillvUlut, i7.'',>-it4^.;. 

lllishted Love (»v». Mv P.vtm'Ms,) 
STREET. ALFRED B. 

IViicliViTi.M,-. N. \.. iSii-iSSi. 

Nishtfall ... 

Settler. 'The 

SUCKLING, SIR JOHN. 
I'.itel.nul, i<»v>-ic,4i. 

Bride, The 

*' I prithee send me back mv heart " . 
M,<ods . . . ' . 

" Why so iwle and wan ? " . 

SURREY. H^RD. 

l^inl.iii,!. ni<-is<;. 

Giw I'lnce, ye Lowrs . 
Means to attain Happy Life, Tho 
SWAIN, CHARLKS. 

linsl""!. i*.->S;4 



SWIFT, lON.-VTHAN. 

llvl„i.,l,"l«.7-l?4S. 

" 'I onis ad resto m.trc * . . . . 
SWINBl'RNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. 

I.HkI.ouI. Iv. iS.ir. 

Disappointed Lover, Tho 

Love 

Match, A 

" When the hounds of spriirs " . 
SYI.YESTER, JOSHUA. 

l.nijl.m.i. u^3 IMS. 

"Contentment 

Soul's Errand, 'The .... 
" Were 1 as base as is the lowly plain " . 

TALFOURD, SIR THOMAS NOeW. 

Symimthy (.From " Ion ") . . . 

TALHAIARN OF WAIFS, 

War's Loud Alarms ((Vi>>*.i»/'s T^nMS/afifm) 
" Where are the men ? " [OlifA.^Hi's Tntus.) 

TANNAHILL, ROBERT. 

S,,,|laii,l. ir;4-iSi.'. 

Flower o" DumWane, I he 

" The inids*s dance aboon the burn " . 

TAYLOR, B.'WARD. 

KcllUftl SiHMff, P-.i.. »S.'S-lSrs. 

Arab to the Palm, I he . 
Bedouin Love-SoHR . . . 

Centennial (^de 

Kins ol'Thule {From Iht GfrmiiH i>/Gitt*t) 

Lute-Player, The 

Passession 
Ri>se, The 
Song of the Camf 



PiiWisliersi Ilouslnon. Mifllin .V C.v. IVvsInn. 

T.-UI.OR, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

l.„»villo, N. v.. 1>. rS..... 
Beautiful River, The 
Northern Lights, The . 
Old Village Choir, Tho . 



Athnlfand Ethilda 



U- 



--& 



IMDEX Oh' AUTUOlOi. 



—a 



f& 



TAVLOK, JAM'- 

l:„y,U,rl, ■-,*)-.«-<- 

IMiilowjjJicr'ii Scal':», '1 h*; .... 785 

Toad's Journal, I he 7«8 

TAYI-UK, JKFKEKY.S. 

''''■'[■'I'lc'tiiifmafd 7«<' 

TAVLOK, JKUKMY. 

Heaven JS'J 

TAVLOK, TOM. 

Iin;{l.iii<l, l«17-l«»>. 

Abraham Lincoln 846 

TENNANT, WILLIAM. 

»t/,ll.iri.l, ii!!(-iil4», 

Ode II, I'eatc 4'>4 

TENNVSON, ALFKKL). 

liil;j:..i.l, I,. I»<y 

" A»k me ii« more" (/VZ/KWO • • . 'lo 

" iireak, hrwik, break " , . . . *35 

liugle. The (/V/W^i.) 4" 

(,'harxe of Ibc Liiiht lirijjade . . . 4'M 

" Come into the (garden, Maud" • '/' 

" Come not when I am deiuK" (Pritueil) . 150 

iJead Kriciid, 'Ihe 5''' 

iJcalh of Arthur it? 

iJealh of the Old Vcar, 'J'hc . . . ■727 

KjKle, Ilic 447 

Enocli Arden at the Window . . . -223 

Foohiih Virifins, Tlie 7'7 

Korlunc. — Knid's Song '>/> 

Oodiva «44 

Ifero to l^andcr rV' 

" Home they brought her warrior dead " (I'rln- 

crtM) JV) 

In Memoriam, Selection> from . . . 2^4 

Land of Land., The 5>S 

l.ocktley Hall ai4 

Mariana 233 

Miller'n IJaughtcr, The .... 131 

New Year's live 725 

.N'orthern Farmer, The . . . -/>j 

" O swallow, swallow, flying south " i,Pritue$i) 120 

Ketr«rspection {Prhtceif) .... 235 

Sleeping Iteauty, The 124 

Song of the Brook 40^ 

Spnng 379 

Vicu.r Hugo, I o 840 

TENNYSON, CHARLES. 

liiii;'ari'I(IV..llu;ror A.r.). igAt^J^. 

Ihe Ocean 639 

TENNV.SON, FREDERICK, 

hiii;li/il(lir..lli>.r>/f A. T.), b, VI//1. 

Blackbird 640 

TERRET'r, WILLIAM 15. 

I'latonic 61 

THACKKKAV, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE. 

Age of Wisdom, TTie »53 

Church frflte, At the 67 

End of the Play, The ..... 25!! 

Little Billee -874 

Mahogany Tree, The 714 

Mr. Molony's Account r,f the Ball . . 904 

Peg of Liniavaddy 647 

Sorrows of Werlher »75 

White Squall, The 588 

THAXTBR, MRS. CELIA. 

l»le>'/»*lj./al>„ I.. lHjy 

The Sandpiper 446 

I'uUiili.:r«, lI'Mjiil'ion, MllHin «j Co., lUnVio. 

THO.M, WILLIAM. 

Sc/ilim.l, tr^r''M„ 

The Mitherless Bairn 39 

THOMSON, JAMES. 

Angling 621 

Connubial Life '« 

Domestic Birds 432 

Hymn on the Season! J77 

Nightingale Bereaved 441 

Plea for the Animali 704 



Rule Britannia 
Songsters, The . 
8ug Hunt, 'I'hc 
Summer Morning 
War for the Sake of Peace 



Wii 



r Seen 



THOKF.AU, HENRY DAVID. 



l'ul,llslicr» ; H.AJZlilo". Mldllii Ik to., I>'«.t./ri. 

THOKNBUKY, GEORGE WALTtIC 

l'.iigl.init, lii-Jh-tHp. 

Ihe Jester • Sermon 
THRALE, HESTER LYNCH (Afri. I'u 

The Three Warnings 
•I'H URLOW, XX»RD {.Edward Hcmtl). 
)-.iizi,.ii.i. i7ai-i»»>. 

Beauty 

Bird, To a 

TICK ELL, THOMAS, 

I'o a Lady befrjre Marriage • 
TIMROD, HENRY, 

Cli^irlot'rti, S. C. ly/jtf-tV/J. 

Katie 

I-ubli>lKr.: v.. ]. Male 4 fi'm. New York. 

TRENCH, RICHARD CHENEVIX. 

lillgUn'l, b. !»>?. 

Ifarmosan 



TROWBRIDGE, JOHN TOWNSEND. 

Oifl.-.i. ,•.'. ■{ , I,, lie.;. 

At Sea . 

Dorothy in the Garret . 
fjld Burying Ground, The 
VagaUjnds, Ihe 

|-ul,li-j"... : lla.|«r ^ l!r.,li,..,.. :.>» y.,rk. 

TUCKEKMAN. HENRY THEOIX»RE. 

b'/»t'.n. M.iv.., i.'.iTi.'^i. 
NcwjK^ Beach 



I'ul/liOieri : H'n-ihvm, Mifflin U Co., lloMOO. 

TUPPER, MARTIN FARf^UHAR. 

iMigUiul. \, Oil',. 

Cruelty to Animals, Of 

TURNER, ELIZA SPROAT. 

feni../lv;mii.. 

An Angel's Vi«it 

TVCHBORN, CHIDIOCK. 

linzUii.l. 

Linen written by otie in the Tower . 

TYRT/F.US. 

(ifr.'.r. 7ih century B. C. 

Martial Ehigy ' Trans. Tfujmai Campbelt) 

UHLAND, LliDWIG, 

(,.:riri;iiiy. t^''i^-CM. 

Landlady's Daughter The ITraniUlion 0/ 

7. .V. nwiKhf) 

Passage, The (Trant. It. W. Lmg/rllmui 

UPTON, JAMES 



Friends Deparud 
VENABLE, WILLIAM HENRY, 

olii... 1. I>i)',. 

Welcome to " Boz," A . 
VENANTIUS, FOKTL'NATUS. 

Vcxilla Regis ( Tramlnlion o/John M. NeaU) 
VERB, EDWARD, EARL OF OXFORD. 

I-.iiiffai.'l. ,^5~t'x,4. , . M 

"If women could be fair 
VERY, JONES. 

Salem, M.iv%,, iV.iy^-l- 
Latter Rain, The 
Nature .... 
Spirit Land, 'Hie 

VICENTE. GIL. 

fijrtuv^l, 148-rf-iJ^7. 

Tlie Nightingale {Tram. Sir 7. nmurmg) 



:^ 



f 



XXVUl 



INDEX OF AUTHOHS. 



n 



h 



VIl.l.KOAS. KSTKVAN MANUKL UK, 

VISSOHKK, MARIA I KSSKl.SCHADK, 

riie Nislouviwle ( t\\\m. Sir J, ^toeriof) 
WAKK. WILLIAM ISASIL. 

S«,vi«S m>t McAtiiixs 
WAl.LKR. KOMUNIX 

».»\lle, Oil a . 

lU-, l.wrty Kivtel 

" The sowl's vlark i.vttAite " 
WALLKK, lOllN KKANCIS, 

lnl.lHvl, Iv iSuv 

'lUc StMlllllllJi^WhMi Soll^ 

WALSU. WILLIAM. 

Riviury lu l.o\< .... 
WALTON, IZAAK, i,S« John Chaukhi 

TUf AnsW>"» Wish 
WARK. JR.. HKNRY. 

HilV<lVAUl. M.lvv, 1V*-1."^*,4> 

" I will thAt men i>r«,v f v«rywhc« " 
WARINO., ANNA UtmTI.V. 

W.vUv I iwt l>uK l«sj\ 

■ My limfs .<re in tt\)' ham) " , 
WARNKR. U. K. 

The l.llcr 

WAR'IX>N. THOMAS. 

UiwUvl. ■•-•O-IMV 

KctiTvmi^ut 

WA,>iSON, 11AVU1 ATWOOl^ 
NUm.\ K life.-!. 

Lovr .\j;.uii»t Lo\"« , . , . 
WA.^TKl I, SIMON. 

liwAn.l. .1. i^.-!, 

^Liii's Movulily .... 
WATSON. JAMKS W. 

l\p.X(ititiil S«o\v 

Wo«nv(«U» l">e»th .... 
W.vnS, ISAAC, 

i>lwUl\,l. lv\'4~lf*J, 

(.YwUp Sons. .\ . . 

lusijsinticiuit K,\i*leiic« 

Summcv KvcnuxS' A ... 

WAioiL vnnviN, 

tiwJ.111.1, iS\'. ii.\\H.r.l * The L»«C4*iJihv iVrt.' 
^' Lhc tliilc Si i' lhi» bo«i»( o' miiw " 
WKUSLKR, nXNMFL. 

.■vvU,l<ii\ , \ U , l^*.-lS5.•■ 

Tlip Maivoiy of the Hi<art 
WKnsrKR, JOHN 

Liimeul of Vii^iniu*. 
WK)K. HARRISON. 

Vhc Knsslis'lv RoWn . 

WKHSY. AMKI.IA IV 

,Vm,-ii.,i, i&i~»S;..\ 

OoUlcn RiivsliM. Tha 
OU M,.U. the , 
'IN\ ilijiht .\l S«M 
WVSI.KY. OHARLKS, 

l^l\J;Uu^^. i,\<>-»sSS. 

Wfrsltiixj; jAC«b 
WKSI.KY. TOHN. 

ll«!.TO.I, OVJ-i^i, 

The Lo\Ht v\i Gixl SuiMitme 
WKSrwOOW THOMAS. 

liilKl.m.l, K .,<n, 
in Hmx-*!! 

i.itUe iwn . _ , 

"' ViuWr Hiy window " . 
WllVWKLL, \YU.L1.\M, 
Vhy«c« .... 



WHITK, JOSKl'll in.ANCO, 

Nijjiu .... 

WHITK, HKNRY klRKK, 

tiarly lVinii\i*e, To ihc . 
HArwst MtHui. To ihi? 

WHITMAN, SARAH HKLKN. 

ri,>vi.U'".,\ K, I , toVt-iSfS. 
.\ Slill Oiiv in .Vuuuwn . 



WHITMAN. WAIT'. 

Wo.t UilK. N.V, K iSm. 

The MiKkiixii^Rinl . . , . 

WHl ITTKR, lOHN C-RKKNl.KAF. 

Ililv.iWll, M.m. K \S>V 

AKm'ih .^liloi. I'o Iwr 

Ai.lV-l!, I'l.lVfV o( . , . 

An^fl ,.1 l\iti<-iKf , The . 
l!,iiK>u> Kiicidiie 

lUivUv ,M I'ry 

R-iirlo,'l Uoy. The , . • 
Reneilicite (0»"**4*«* Jii^timfi . 



Ihitns 
lVnlenni.U Hvmn . 
K« iM Kleeiion, The 
b^srfWf II. The . . 
Kivmoni. lohn 0. 
H.illcxI., V^it-0.re«ne 
H,AnuUon l»eAeh . 
lihaKnl , 
Kvteph Saii-jie, To 



Maiul Mnller 

MieliiiS, riie .... 
My l'l.ivin,Ale 

Nesw RMtmeu, Soixgofthc . 
New Knslanil in Winter . 
INilm-'lXve. The 
l\>el'» RewAul, The . 
INimpkin, The . • 
Kelortnev, The . 
Kobin, The .... 
i\lUustiei> ! ll,*ilRhK>n. MilHin .^ 0<v. 11. 

WILCOX. CAR1.(^. 

Ne«l*.Mi. N. U.. Tr,n-4Sffr. 
li.. ■ ■ ■ -- 



WUJ^K. RICHARO HKNRY. 

livl.v.1,1. K 1,^ i .1. New iMe^nvs. La., 184J. 

Ufc 



iwislul. K liUtf. 

The l^ianuwd . 
Wlt.l-\Rn. KMMA. 



WlLtlS. N.VrUANlKl. TARKKR. 

l\,«ll«i\,l. M.-„ \S>'.-i,s\" 

lieltVy Viiieon, The ... 

Letvr, The 

l\i«'h.^sins 



Wn.l.SON, ARAHKU-A M. 

0.>lv>ii,t.AV,;"a. N. V. 

To the Sextant of the Meelins House. 
\VII.l.SON, RYRON n^RCEVTHE. 

The tMd Setseant .... 
Wn.SON, JOHN {KitStHiy 

Kv«nin^ Cloud, The 



Louis XY. 
Miral>eau . 
,■ CoH»s« . 



Rose and the Oavmtlet. The 
WfNKWORTH, CATHARINV 

Yeni Sanct* Spiritus (,F»vm ti^ I. ,tfi\) 



Ltr 



INUKX 0/'' AimiOHH. 



i."^ 



Wirill'.K, OKOKOK. 



, „^1,., 



I lovcil a l.'is»i a fair nnc " . 
" l,<ir<l I wlicii tli'*<! glorious liffhls I * 
;.lir|,lii:ril'i> K<:M<lulioii, 'Mie 
' on, OK. JOHN (I'lltr I'ltidar). 

■I,., I, i;<wa;v. 

(.1,1.,.;, 'Jo 

My, To a 

I'ilKririiii anil the I'ciW, 'I Im . 
I'.iz'fl'Scllcr, 'Iho .... 



»H 



WO I, I I, ' IIAKI.KH. 

' l; .,,.,! of Vifjolin IMoorc .... '.>,» 
WOOIAVOIITII, SAMUKL. 

.■;. Iri,,,n-. .Mi,«a,j ijHfiH-J 

The Old Oaken Ducket 1" 

WfJOI.SKV, SAKAH CHANNINO (,',uia» ( «,jIi,Iki:). 



.S.;w I l.i»,:rp, 0,1,11. 

In the Ml«t 

Lirilc Van 

I'ijl,ll5l,,;rai (/.obcrlfl UfrtliTr*. IJ'At'/ii. 

WOHI.ISWOK'1'II, WILLIAM 

i),-.(^,i;i» 

K'liKj.iiior, of Nature, The . 

lli:lvdlyM 

(Ii>/lilaii<l Girl of Invertnaid, To the . 



j(„ 



I nri.:r Vision, Tin; . . . 

Iniiniaiiont of lnim',riality 
Kiilcn and KallinK Leaven, The . 

I.on.lori 

\/M Uivi:, The .... 
1,1 



Marth . 
Mihori, To 



Mu.i 



The 



Kainlx, .... 

" She wa»a |,hanl/jin ol deliKhl" . . ''•/ 

Skylark, To the *f- 

.Sltc[)lc»»nc»» ''^''' 

Tinlcrn Ahhey V" 

ToiiMaint r'iuvcrlure "35 

Wc are Seven H 

WeMiniiistcr liridge "^'^ 

Worlrllmess j'" 

WOTTON, SIK IIKNKV. 

"■'liappV Ufcl'A . ^ • „ ''71 

Vcr«,.« in I'raiM: of Angling . . '.i> 

" You meaner Iwaulici* " ^'5 

WVA'rr, SIk THO.MAS. 

I.„«l.i„.|. i'/')-.H>. , 
Karnest Sint, An 
The iJeccivi.d l^vcr nueth 



XAVIEK, ST. I'KANCIS. 



"My' 



I lo 



urUCamell) , 

voi;l, kuwaiuj. 

I':r,»l.,ri.|. 

Song of Spring . 

voaNf;, UK. kijwaku. 

Ii;,zr.„|.l. I'^fiy'-i- 

kan, 

NarciKffa . . . 
FrocntHitnation . . 
Time .... 
ANONYMOUS. 

An Invective against Love 
Anne Hathaway 
April Violet, An . 
A Voice and Nothing Elue 
liookA .... 
Christian Calling, The 
CVioking and Courting . 
Cra/lle Song 

Diego OnLis in Kldorado 
Dreamer, 'I'll,! . 
Drurnmcr-lioy'n Burial, The 
Only 



nly for Liberty 
'anilatioH o/ ICtt- 



^y-- 



,.,. .,,,,1 I'aulinus 

I the ll,yrw:B, The . 

..„ ...n's Valentine, The 
il.,.„.l'» Wish, Ihc 
,;r,;r ihanlhee" 

ll.-l,-n of Kirkc/jnncll . 



n the Well 
entlernan, 'Hie . 



0.i,iilv/o,i,an, loa ('>. K.). 
i,.r..l,M,i,,noflheOldS<.hool, A 
iit'ii/.: Wiifthington, To 
'■ I ,■.. |.,| what I have fell" . 

o'ri.n.lMhc Oead' .'.'.' 

Oiiylawke'. 

" Marry Ashland, one of my lovers 

Ifiimilily 

Ind,,>n Slimmer 

I,,,1m„ Summer .... 

Ii,l.u,i ■, Oeath, Onan . 

I Church 

an.'l Willie f;re'y . ' . 
" K. >M, "ly memory (rreen " 
K niv John and llie Ahhol of (Janterhury 
K,>,>.„,z'snoSin . . . 
KiMyoK.olpraine 
Lady Ann Dolhwell's Lament . 
I,am,:iil of the liorder Widow 
Life and Kurrnily . 
Lillh- Ke,:t .... 
Litile fioldenhair 

l.illle I'us 

l.ove li^hlcns Labor 

e, The 



^:±. 



: lillK lov 



: for r./,mely grace" 
LykeWake Oirge, The . 
M.ikiMi? I'ort .... 
Melr<Ke Abbey. Iiisfiriplion on 
Miibiis', "lluzoen'/ls" 
Mod.-ri. Iloux: that J.iik built, The 
Miimm'/ at llelzrjni'ft Kxhibition, Am 
Mv l.-,ve .... 
'* My Ixjve in her attire" . 
My sv/,.et Sweeting . 
.Nobly Dwn. Thc(K. S. H.) 
N„rvr/ Song . 
Ol.l ';a,:lir. Lullaby 
fyl.l :,..b«,lho,is..., The . 
<ihi S..bool I'ni.ishment 
r*|.| S,;.i|,orl, An 
'>ri;'iii oflbeOpal 
Ori.liaii.,, The . 
I'olal/,, Ihe .... 
I'raxil,;le> . 
Ouiet from fjod . 



,Mlen-a-OaIe 
II, Tlie . ' . 



Siecc of li,dgrade . 
Slt'l,, A . 

Sk;ii,:r lielle, Our . 
Sk>l,:lon, To a . 
SkulU, On some 
Snails, l<cmonstranr.e 
.Sornebfidy 
Sfflnning-Whcel, The 



Ih the 
cs to the . 



ng wncei, 

/Kircl, I, 
Summer Oays 
Swell's Solilwiuy 
" There w.as sll,.n«: in he.l 
" They *re dear fish u, rne 
Threninly . , . . 



^ 



[& 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



-^ 



Topside Galah giS 

v;""|>. , 9.7 

Unsatisfactory 157 

Umil Death 159 

Useful Plow, The 496 

Vicar of Kray, The S57 

When Eve Ijrought woe .... S7S 



" When I am dead " 

" When I think on the happy days 

" When shall we all meet again ?'' 

White Rose, The .... 

" Why, lovely charmer " . 

Wife to her Husband, The . 

*' Will you love me when 1 'in old " 



PSEUDONYMS. 



Alfrfd Cro^vgitiU 
B,i>0' Cormvall . 
Bttrry Gmy 
Ethit Lynn . 
Fitther Proul . 
FIcrtnct Percy 
Cttr»-L(KV Rhymer 
Grace Greenwood , 
H.H. 

/fo-Mini GlymioH . 
yohn Chalkhill . 
Kit North . 
Maria del Occidente 
lilarian Douglas . 
Miles O' Reilly . 
OrfheHS C. Kerr . 
Lhi'eii Meredith . 
Peter Pindar 
Susan Ci'olidge . 
Thomas Ingoidsbyt Esg. 



ALFRED H. FORRESTER. 

HRVAN W. I'ROfTER. 
Rdl'.l u I' i;ai;i;\ COFKIN. 
ETllI I 1\ 1 1 1. 1 I' HKKKS. 
FRAN' i -- M \llo\V. 
El.l,- Nil Ml \kl.KS ALLF.N. 

Er.K\ 1 .1 K 111 I or. 

SAK Ml I \M I irmNCO'iT. 

HKI r\ III \ 1 lACKSON. 
LAl'K \ I KIUDEN. 
IZAAK WAl.TdN. 
JOHN Wll.SON 
MARl \ COWKN FROOKS. 
ANNIl^' 11, (IK I IN 
CllAKI Is C. II \1 PINK 
Ri>l;i K r II I \ i;\ \ 1 w M.L, 
R(iiii:i; I 1:1 I w I R 1 \ rroN. 

DR. liMl.X W OLCUTl. 
SARAH C. WOOl.SliV. 
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM. 



L 



& 



£] -a 



THE EDITOrt TO THE KEADER. 



[extract from MI{. lillVANT'S PREFACE TO "A NEW LIBRARY OF POETRY AND S0NO."j 

''f^ H I-; present enlarged edition of t lie " Library of Poetry and Song" hag 
liceii projected with a view of making the collection more perfect, 
both ill the choice of iioems and the variety of sources from which they are 
derived. Within a very few years past several names of eminence have been 
added to the list of poets in our language, and every reader would expect to 
find samples of their verse in an anthology like this, to say nothing of the air 
of fresiuiesK which these would give. 

That tlu^ demand for compilations of this character is genuine and very 
general is sufficiently demonstrated by the appearance, since the first edition 
of this was published, of Emerson's " Parnassus" and Whittier's " Songs of 
Three Centuries." These, however, do not seem to have suiipjanted liana's 
"■ Household Book of Poetry," which still retains its popularity. It often hap- 
pens that the same household contains several of these publications. 

The first edition has proved, commercially speaking, one of the most success- 
ful |)ubiications of the day ; and if the c-ompilation in its present shape should 
meet with the same favor, the Publisliers, it seems to me, can ask no more. 

When 1 saw tliat Mr. Emerson had omitted to include any of his own 
poems in the collection entitled '• Parnassus," I doubted, for a while, whether 
I ought not to have jiracticeil the same reserve. Vet when I considered that 

h ^ ' — d^ 



:i THE EDITOR TO THE READER. 



the omisiiioii on his part was so fur a defect, and that there is not a reader of 

his vohuiie who would not have been better jik^ased to jiossess several of lii> 

poems ahmg with the otliei's, I 1)eeaine better satisfied witli what I had done, 

and allowed such of my poems as I had inehided to remain. In one respeet, 

at least, the present compilation will have the advantage over Mr. Emerson's, 

namely, that it contains several of the poems with which he has ciiricheil lur 

literature. 

AVILLIAM CULLEN BUY ANT. 
New York, July, 1876. 



^ S 






^ J] 



&- ~ ^ 



e .^ 












tja 






y^- 



-^' 



s a 

INTRODUCTION: 

POETS AND I'OETUY OF THE EMiEISIl LANGUAGE. 



U- 



I.SUri'OSE it is not necessary to givi; a reason for adding anotlier to tlie collections 
of this nature, already in print. They abound in every language, fur the sinijile 
reason that there is a demand fur them. German literature, prolilic as it is in vers(;, 
has many of them, and some of them compiled by distinguished authors. 'J'he parlor 
tiiblo and the winter fireside reipiire a book which, when one is in the humor for 
reading poetry and knows not what author to take up, will sujiply exactly what he 
wants. 

I Iiave known persons ulm frankly said that they took no pleasure in reading 
piiili T, and perhaps the inindier nl' those who make this adruission would be greater 
were it ncit for the fear of ai)pearing singular. But to the great mass of mankind 
liijctry is really a delight and a refreshment. To many, perhaps to most, it is unt 
ifipiisite tliat it should bo of the highest degree of merit. Xur, although it bo true 
that the poems which are most famous and most highly prized are works of con- 
siilcrablc length, can it be saiil that thi' pleasure they give is in any degree proptu-- 
liiiHute Id the extent of their plan. It seems to me that it is only poerus of a 
ninilcrate length, or else portions of the greater works to wdiich I refer, that pro- 
duce tlie effect upon the mind and heart which make the charm of this kind of 
writing, 'i'he proper office of poetry, in filling the mind with delightful images and 
awakiuiing the gentler emotions, is not accomi)lished on a first and rapid jierusal, 
but re(i\iires that tlii! words should lie dwelt upon until they become in a certain 
sense our own, and arc^ adopfi'd as the utterance of our own minds. A collection 
such as this is intended to 1)0 furni.shes for this purpose portions of the Ijcst Eng- 
lish verso suited to any oi' thi' varying moods of its readers. 

Such a work also, if suliiciently extensive, gives the reader an opportunity of com- 
]iaring the poetic literature of one period with that of another; of noting the fluctu- 
ations of taste, and how the poetic forms which are in fashion iluring one age are 
laid aside in the next; of observing the changes which take place in our language, 
and the sentiments which at different periods challengo the public apjinibation. 
Specimens of the poetry of different centuries presented in this wa}' show how the 
great stream of humc'in thought in its poetic form eddies now to the right and now 
to the left, wearing away its banks first on one side and then on the other. .Some 
author of more than common faculties and more than common boldness catches the 
pulilic attention, and immediately ho has a crowd of followers who form their taste 
on his and seek to divide willi him the jiraisi;. Thus Cowley, with his nndeniable 
[7] 



0- 



IXrUdDUCTIUX. 



L;ciiius, was tho lic;ul of a miiiionni.s class wlio made poetry consist iu lar-l'etchcj con- 
t'fils, ideas oddly brought tugutlici', and (niaiiit turns of thought. Pope, following close 
upon l)ryd(^n, and learning nnicli from him, was the founder of a school of longer 
duration, which found its models in ISoilcau and other poets of the reign of Louis 
the Fourteimth, — a school in which the wit predominated over the poctrj^, — a school 
marked hy striking oppositions of thought, frequent happinesses of expression, and a 
caielully liahuieed modulation, — numbers pleasing at first, but in tho end fiitiguing. 
As this school degenerated the wit ahnost disappeared, but there was no new infu- 
siiui of poetry iu its place. When Scott gave the public the Lai/ of the Last Jfiii- 
.s7rc/, and other poems, which certainly, considered as mere narratives, are the best ve 
have, carrying tho reader forward without weariness and with an interest which tlie 
author never allows to suliside, a crowd of imitators pressed after him, the greater 
|iait of whom are no longer read. "Wordsworth hail, and still has, his school; the 
stamp of his example is visible on the writings of all the poets of the present dav. 
Even Byron showed himself, in the third canto of (Jhilde Harold, to be one of 
his disciples, though he tiercely resented being called so. The same poet did not 
disdain to learn of Scott in composing his narrative poems, such as the Bride of Ahij- 
dos and the Giaour, though he could never tell a story iu verse without occasional 
tediousness. In our day the style of writing adopted by eminent living poets is often 
seen reflected in the verses of their younger contemporaries, — sometimes with an 
eflect like that of a face belield in a tarnished mirror. Thus it is that poets are 
formed by their inlluence on one another; the greatest of them are more or less 
indebted fiu' what they are to their predecessors and their contemporaries. 

While speaking of these changes in the public taste, 1 am tempted to caution tho 
reader again.st the mistake often made of estimating the merit of one poet by the tno 
easy ]irocess of comparing hiin with another. The varieties of poetic excellence are 
as great as the varieties of beauty in flowers or iu the female face. There is no poet, 
indeed no author in any departnuMit of literature, who can be taken as a standard in 
judging of others; the true standard is an ideal one, and even this is not the same 
in all men's minds. One delights in grace, another in strength ; one in a fiery vehe- 
mence ami enthusiasm on tho surface, another in majestic repose and the expre,ssion 
of fooling too deep to be noisy ; one loves simple and obvious images strikingly em- 
]iloyod, or familiar thoughts placed in a new light, another is satisfied only with nov- 
elties of thought and expression, with >incommon illustrations and images far sought. 
It is certain that eaidi of these modes of treating a subject may have its peculiar 
merit, and that it is absurd to recjuire of those whose genius inclines them to one 
that they should adopt its opposite, or to sot one down as inferior to another be- 
cause he is not of tho isame class. As well, in looking through an astronomer's 
telescope at tliat beautiful phonomonon, a doid)Ie star, in which the twin flames are 
one of a roseate and the other of a golden tint, might we quarrel with either of 
them because it is not colored like its fellow. Some of tho comparisons made by 
critics between one poet and another are scarcely less jirepostorous than would be 
a comparison between a river and a mountain. 

The compiler of this collection has gone as far back as to the author who may 

le ^ ^ 



[9-^ 



-FV, 



IXTUUijVCTlUX. 



proporJy be called the father of En,i,'lish jioetiT, anil who wroto while our luiif^niaj^e 
was like the lion in Milton's account of the (■n'ation, when rising' from tlie earth at 
tlio Divine connnanil and 

" . . . . pawin;; to get IVfo 
His liiiiilcr parts," — 

lor it was still clogged by the iinassinjilated ])ortinn-; nf (he French tongue, to wii!:^h 
ill i)art is owed its origin. These were to be thrown aside in after years. 'J'lic vers' 
liralinn had also one characteristic of French vei'so which was soon after Chaucer's 
tiiue laid aside, — the mute or final e had in his lines the value of a syllalile by 
itself, especially when the next word began with a consonant. liut though these 
lieculiarities somewhat embarrass the reader, he still finds in the writings of the old 
]ioet a fund of the good old English of the Saxon fireside, which makes them worthy 
to be studied were it only to strengthen our hold on our language, lie delighted in 
describing natural objects which still retained their Sa.xou names, and this he did with 
great beauty and sweetness. In the sentiments also the critics ascribe to him a de- 
gree of delicacy which one could .scarcely have looked for in the age in which he wrote, 
tiiough at other times he avails himself of the license then allowed. There is no 
majesty, no stately march of numbei-s, in Ids poetry, still less is there of lire, rapidity, 
or conciseness ; the French and Italian narrative poets from whom he learned his 
art wriite as if the people of their time had nothing to d(j but to attend to long sto- 
ries, and Chaucer, who translated from the French the lioinaiiut of the Jiose, though 
a .i;reater poet than any of those whom he took for his models, made small improve- 
niinit upon them in this respect. His Troylus and Cr//si'i/ilc, witii but little action 
and incident, is as long as either of the epics of Homer. The Canterbury y'ale.t, 
Chaucer's best things, have less of this defect; but even there the narrative is over- 
iniiiiite, and the personages, as Taine, the F'rench critic, remarks, although they t:ilk 
Well, talk too much. The taste for this prolixity in narratives and convei-sations Ijad 
a long duration in Fugiish poetry, since we find the same tcdiousuess, to call it by 
its true name, in Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis and his Liia-eee, written more 
than two hiiiidre(l years jati'r. Yet in the mean time the old popular ballads of ICng 
lanil and Scotland had been composed, in which the imidents follow each other in 
ipiiek succession, and the briefest possible speeches are uttered by the personages. 
The scholars and court poets doubtless disdained to learn anytldng of these poets of 
the people, and the Davideis of Cowley, wdio lived three hundreil years after Chaiici'r, 
is as remarkable for the sluggish progress of the story and the teiliousness of tlie 
harangues as for any other characteristics. 

JJetween the time of Chaucer and that of Sidney and Spenser we liiid liltl" in the 
poetic literature of our language to detain our attention, i'hat age produced many 
obscure versifiers, and metrical romances continued to be written after the fashion of 
the French and Italian poets, wdiom Chaucer acknowledgeil as his masters. During 
this period appeared Skeltcni, the poet and jester, whose sjiecial talent was facility in 
ihyniing, who rhymed as if he could not help it, — as if he had only to put pen to 
papin-, iuiil the words leaped of their own accord into regular measure with an inev- 
itable jingle at the en<lings. Meantime our language was undergoing a pr(jce.s.s 



Q- 



■^ 



[fi a 

^-^ lU ISTliUDUCTlON. ^ 

which gradually separated the nobler parts from the dross, rejecting the French ad- 
ditions for which there was no occasion, or which could not easily be made to take 
upon themsch'es the familiar forn)s of our tonyue. The prosody of English became 
also fixed iu that period ; the linal <> whicli so perplexes the modern reader in Chau- 
cer's vei'se was no longer permitted to ligure as a distinct syllable. The poets, how- 
ever, still allowed themselves the liberty of sometimes making, after the French man- 
ner, two syllables of the terminations tioii and ion, so that nation became a word of 
three syllables ami opinion a wonl of four. Tlie Sonnets of Sidney, written on the 
Italian model, have all the grace and ingenuity of those of Petrarch. In the Faerie 
Qiieene of Spenser it seems to me that we find the English language, so far as the 
purposes of poetry require, iu a degree of }ierfection beyond which it has not been 
siuee carrietl, anil, 1 suppose, never will be. A vast assemblage of poetic endowments 
contributed to the composition of this poem, yet I think it would not be easy to name 
one of the same length, and the work of a geuius equally great, in any language, 
which more fatigues the reader in a steady perut.al fronw beginning to end. In it we 
ha\-o an invention ever awake, active, ami apparently inexhaustible ; an affluence of 
imagery grand, beautiful, or magnilicent, as the subject may require; wise observa- 
tions on human life steeped in a poetic coloring, and not without touches of pathos ; 
a wonderful luastery of versification, and the aptest forms of expression. We read 
at first with admiration, yet to this erelong succeeds a sense of satiety, and we lay 
down the book, not unwilling, however, after an interval, to take it up witli renewed 
admiration. I once heard an eminent poet say that he thought the second part of 
tlu' Faerie Queene inferior to the first ; yet 1 am inclined to ascribe the remark rather 
to a falling oif iu the attention of the reader than iu the merit of the work. A jioet, 
luiwever, would be more likely to persevere to the end than any other reader, since 
in e\ery staii/a he would meet with some lesson in his art. 

In that fortunate age of English literature arose a greater than Spi>uscr. Let me 
only say of Shakespeare, that in his dramas, amid certain faults imputable to the 
taste of the English public, there is to be found every conceivable kind of poetic 
excellenee. At tlie same time and immediately after him flourished a group of dra- 
matic iiocis who drew their inspiration from nature and wrote with manly vigor, 
t lue would naturally suppose that their example, along with the more illustrious 
ones of Spenser and Shakespeare, would influence and form the taste of the succeed- 
ing ago ; but almost before tliey had ceased to claim the attention of the public, and 
while the eminent divines, Barrow, Jeremy Taylor, and others, wrote nobly in jirose 
with a geiuiine eloi]uenee and a fervor scarcely less than poetic, appeared the school 
of writers iu verse whom Jolinson, by a phrase the propriety of which has been dis- 
puted, calls the metaphysical poets, — a class of wits whose whole aim was to extort 
admiration by ingenious conceits, thouglits of such unexpectedness and singularity 
that one womlered how they could ever conio into the mind of the author. For what 
they regarded as poetic clfect they depended, not upon the sense of beauty or grand- 
eur, not upon depth or earnestness of feeling, but simply upon surprise at (juaiut 
and strange resemblances, contrasts, ai^l combinations of ideas. These were dcli\- 
ered for the most part in rugged diction, and in numbers so harsh as to be almost 

1 gi 



h 



[f] — a 

INTRODUCTION. Hi 



unmanageable by the reader. Cowley, a man of real genius, and of a more musical 
versification than liis fellows, was the most distinguished example of this school. 
Milton, born a little before Cowley, and like him an eminent poet in his teens, is 
almost the only instance of escape from the infection of thi.s vicious style ; his genius 
w;is of too robust a mold for such petty employments, anil he would have made, if 
lie had condescended to them, as ill a figure as his own Samson on the stage of a 
mountebank. Dryden himself, in some of his earlier poems, appears as a pupil of 
this school ; but ho soon outgrew — in great part, at least — the false taste of the 
time, and set an example of a nobler treatment of poetic subjects. 

Yet though the genius of Dryden reacted against this perversion of tiie art of verse,. 
it had not the power to raise the poetry of our language to the height which it occu- 
pird in the Elizabethan age. Within a limited range lie was a true poet; his imagi- 
nation was far from fertile, nor had he much skill in awakening emotion, but he 
(•nil Id treat certain subjects magnificently in verse, and often where his imagination 
fails him he is sustained by tbe vigor of his understanding and the largeness of his 
kiiiiwledge. He gave an example of versification in the heroic couplet, which haa 
cniiimanded the admiration of succeeding poets down to our time, — a versification 
manly, majestic, and of varied modulation, of which Pope took only a certain part as 
the model of his own, and, contracting its range and reducing it to more regular 
]jause.s, mailo it at first appear more musical to the reader, but in the end fatigued 
him by its monotony. Dryden drew scarcely a single image from his own observa- 
tion of external nature ; and Pope, though less insensible than he to natural b(;auty, 
was still merely the poet of the drawing-room. Yet he is the author of more haj)py 
lines, which have passed into the connnon speech and are quoted as proverbial say- 
ings, tlian any author we have save Shakespeare ; and, whatever may be said in his 
dispraise, he is likely to be quoted as long as the English is a living language. The 
footjirints of Pojie are not those of a giant, but ho has left them scattered all over 
the field of our literature, although the fashion of writing like him lias wholly passed 
away. 

Certain farulties of the poetic mind seem to have slumbered from the time of 
]\Iilton to that of TJiomson, who showed the literarj' world of Great Britain, to its 
astonishment, what a profusion of materials for poetry Nature offers to him who 
directly consults her instead of taking his images at second-hand. Thomson's blank 
verse, however, is often swollen and bladdery to a jiainful degree. He seems to have 
imagined, like many other writers of his time, that blank verse oould not su[i])ort 
itself without the aid of a stilted phraseology ; for that fine poem of his, in the 
Spenserian stanza, the Castle of Indolence, shows that when he wrote in rhyme he- 
did not think it necessary to depart from a natural style. 

^VordswoI•th is generally spoken of as one who gave to our litr^rature that imiiulse 
which brought the poets back from the capricious forms of expression in vogue before 
his time to a certain fearless simplicity ; for it must be acknowledged that until he 
arose there was scarce any English poet who did not seem in some degree to labor under 
the apprehension of becoming too simple and natural, — to imagine that a certain pomp 
of words is necessary to elevate the stj'le and make tliat grand and noble which in 



^ 



[0 a 

12 IXTKODUCTTON. 

its iliroct expression woiiM be homely and trivial. Yet the poetry of Wordsworth 
was but the eonsunmintioii of a temloncy ivlreiuly existing and active. Cowpor had 
ah-eaily felt it in writiiii>- his Tad; and in his longer rhymed poems had not only at- 
tempted n freer veKilication than that of I'ope, Init had clothed his thoughts in the 
manly English of the better age of onr poeti-y. Percy's IMitjiies had accustouu'il 
Knglish roadei's to pneeive tlie extreme beauty of tlie old ballads in their absolute 
simiilicity, and shown liow much superior these were to such productions as Percy's 
own llerntit of Warkimrth anil troldsmith's Bdwiii and Aiiijelina, in their feeble ele 
gauce. Burns's inimitable Scottish poems — his English versos are tumid and woivlv 
— had taught the same lesson. We may infer that the genius of Woixlswortli was 
in a groat degree intluenced by these, just as he in his turn contributed to form tiie 
t^isto of those who wrote after him. It was long, however, before ho reached the 
eminence which he now holds in the estinuxtion of tho litemvy world. His Lyrlml 
Ba/lmls, published about the close of the last century, were at first little read, and 
of those who liked them theiv wero few who wero not afraid to express their admi- 
ration. Yet his fame has slowly climbed from st«g6 to stage until now his influence 
is perceived in all the English poetry of the day. If this were tho place to critici.se 
his poetry, 1 should say, of his more stately poems in blank verse, that they often 
lack compression, — that tho thought sutfei's by too great expansion. Wordsworth 
was unnecessarily afwid of being epigrammatic. He abhorred what is called a point 
as much as Dennis is said to have abhorred a pun. Yet I must own that even his 
most ditl'use amplifications have in them a certain grandeur that fills the mind. 

At a somewhat later period arose tho poet Keats, who wrote in a manner which 
carried the ivader back to the time when those charming passages of lyrical enthu- 
siasm were produced which we occasionally find in the (ilays of Shakespeare, in those 
of Beaumont and Fletcher, and in Milton's Comiis. Tho verses of Keats are occa- 
sionally disfigured, especially in his jEiKlijmion, by a flatness almost childish, but in 
the finer passages they clothe tho thonght in the richest inuvgory and in words each 
of which is a poem. Lowell has justly called Keats " ovei'-languaged," but there is 
scarce a word that wo should bo willing to part with in his Ode to the yi<>/itiii;/ale, 
ami that on a (?recia>i r'>-», and the same thing may lie said of the greater part of 
his J/v/'erioii. His poems were ridiculed in tho Edinburgh Keviow, but they sur- 
vived the ridicule, and now, fifty years after their first publication, the poetrj- of the 
present day, by certain resemblances of manner, testifies to the admiration with which 
ho is still read. 

The genius of Byron was of a more vigoi\nis mold than that of Keats ; but not- 
withstiinding his great popularity and the number of his imitators at one time, he 
made a less permanent impression on the character of English poetry. His misan- 
thropy and gloom, his scoffing vein, ami the fieiveness of his animosities, after tho 
fii-st glow of admiration was over, had a repellent otTeet upon readei's, and made them 
turn to more cheerful strains. Moore had in his time nuvny iniitatoi's, but all his 
g'ayety, his brilliant fancy, his soniewhat feminine graces, ami the elaborate music 
of his numbei-s, have not savetl him from tho fate of being imitated no more. Cole- 
ridge and Southey were of the siuue school with Woixlsworth, and only added to the 

^ ^ e^ 



f 



hSTUouucriuN. 



1.-^ 



k^ 



cflect of \im t'xaniiile upon our literatim;. Colcridgo Lb the autlior of tlic two iiioxt 
pr;rf(;(;t jjonticiil traimlutiojiB whicli our larigiiagi; in liis day couW boawt, tliow; of 
.Scliilicr'H I'icml'indni ami JJealli, nf IValleniitein, in wliicli thf; Eii^li«h v.nt; fali« in no 
rf'Sjioot wliort of iIkj original Ocnnan. Houtliey diviiloH with fSwjtt the h'Jiior of 
writinjj the fir»t lonj; narrative ]>oi;inH in our lanj/ua;.;'; whicli can he read without 
occasional weari ihmh. 

Of the later poet;<, educated in \tiat hy the yeueration of author/) which produced 
W'ordrtworth and JJyroii aiicl in j)ai-t by each other, yet pOHSCHwing their individual 
pecidiarilien, I HJiould perhaps Hpeak with more reserve. The number of thow; who 
are attempting; to win a name in thiw walk of liti.-rature is gn^t, and Heveml of them 
have already gained, and through many years held, the public favor. To some of 
tliiiij will be assigned an enduring station among the eminent of their chiHH. 

There are two tendencies by which the s<;eker« after jtoetic fame in our day an- 
a|>t to be misled, through both the exanjple of others and the applause of critics. 
One of these in the desire to cxtoit admiration by striking novelties of expression ; 
and tlie other, the ambition to distinguish thenisi.dves by subtilties of thought, 
renioU; from the common apprehension. 

With regard to thi; first of these I have only to say what has been often said bi;- 
I'on-, that, however favorable may Ije the idea which this luxuriance of poetic imagery 
and of epithet at first gives us of the author's talent, our admiration s/jon exhausts 
itself. We feel that the thouglit mov<;s heavily under its load of garments, some 
of whicli perhaps strike us as tawdry and olhera a.-s ill-fitting, and we lay down the 
book to take it up no more. 

The other mistake, if I may so call it, deserves more attention, since we find abh: 
critics speaking with high praise of passages in the poetry of the day to which the 
general reader is jiu/zled to attach a meaning. This is often the cas^j wlien tiie words 
themselves seem sim|ile enough, and keep within the range of the Saxon or house- 
jiold element of our language. The obscurity lies sometimes in the jihrase itself, and 
sometimes in the recondite or remote; allusion. I will not say that certain minds are 
not afl'ected by this, as others are by verses in ])iuiner Knglish. To the few it may 
lie genuine poetry, although it may be a riddle to the mass of ri^a'lers. I remember 
reading somewhere of a mathematician who was affected with a sense of sublimity by 
the ha|)py solution of an algebraical or geometrical jiroblem, and I have been assured 
by one who devoted liinjself to the science of mathematics that the phenomenon is no 
unconimon one. Let us beware, therefore, of assigning too narrow limits U} the causes 
whiidi produce the politic exaltation of mind. The genius of those who write in this 
manner may be freely acknowledged, I)ut they do not write for mankind at large. 

'I'o me it .seerus that one of the most important requisites for a great jxjet is a lu- 
luiiions style. The elements of poetry lie in natural objects, in the vicissitudes of 
hiinian life, in the emotions of the human heart, and the relations of man to man. lie 
who can present them in combinations and lights which at once affect the mind with 
a deep sense of their truth and beauty is the poet for liis own age ami the ages that 
succeed it. It is no disitaragement either to his skill or his power that he finds them 
n«ir at hand ; the nearer they lie to the common track of the human intelligence, 



-^ 



^ a 

14 INTRODUCTION. 

the more certain is lie of tlie sympathy of his own generation, and of those which 
sliall come after him. The metaphysician, the subtile thinker, the dealer in abstruse 
sjieculations, whatever his skill in versification, misapplies it when he abandons the 
more convenient form of prose and perplexes himself with the attempt to exjiress 
his iileas in poetic numbers. 

]>et me say for the poets of the present day, tliat in one important respect they 
have profited by the example of their immediate predecessors; they have learned to 
go directly to nature for their imagery, instead of taking it from what had once lieen 
regarded as the common stock of the guild of poets. I have often had occasion to 
verify this remark with no less delight than surprise on meeting in recent verse new 
images in their untarnished luster, like coins fresh from the mint, unworn and unsoilod 
by jiassing from pocket to pocket. It is curious, also, to observe how a certain s(!t 
of hackneyed phrases, which Leigh Hunt, I believe, was the first to ridicule, and 
which were once used for the convenience of rounding out a line or supplying a 
rhyme, have disapjieared from our poetry, and how our blank verse in the hands of 
the most popular writers has dropped its stiff Latinisms and all the awkward distor- 
tions resorted to by those who thought that by putting a sentence out of its proper 
shape they were writing like Milton. 

I have now brought this brief survey of the jirogress of our poetry ilown to the 
present time, and refer the reader, for samples of it in tlic dillerr iit stages of its exist- 
ence, to those which are set before him in this vohime. 

Such is the wide range of English verse, and such the abundance of tlie 
materials, tljat a compilation of this kind must be like a buucjuet gathered from 
the fields in June, when hundreils of flowers will be left in unvisited spots, as 
beautiful as those which have been taken. It may happen, therefore, that many 
who have learned to delight in some particular poem will turn these pages, as they 
might those of other collections, without finding their favorite. Nor should it be 
matter of surprise, considering the multitude of authors from whom the compilation 
is made, if it be found that some are overlooked, especially the more recent, of equal 
merit with many whose poems appear in these pages. It may happen, also, that 
the compiler, in consequence of some particular association, has been sensible of a 
beauty and a power of awakening emotions and recalling images in certain poems 
which other readers will fail to perceive. It should be considered, moreover, that in 
poetry, as in painting, different artists have different modes of presenting their con- 
ceptions, each of which may possess its peculiar merit, yet those whose taste is forincMJ 
by contemplating the productions of one class take little pleasure in any otlui'. 
Crabb Robinson relates that Wordsworth once admitted to him that he did m t 
much admire contemporary poetry, not because of its want of poetic merit, but 
liecause he had been accustomed to poetry of a different sort, and added that but 
for this ho might have read it with pleasure. I quote from memory. It is to 1 ic 
hoped that every reader of this collection, however he may have been trained, will 
find in the great variety of its contents something conformable to his taste. 

■WILLIAM CULLEX BRYAXT. 



I&^- 



--Qi 






'^^ 



-^ 



/ 








fr^lA. <VivM^ /'oo, ; ^ j^ ■ TM.wYVi^ WtaJUL 



0iKaMM< -•iM/icLvAtcL - — CrU't" oft, 'lOMh VL^^UAM-kiJi 








^ ^^ -51 



-^ 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



INFANCY. 



PHILIP, MY KING. 



Look at me with thy large brown eyes, 

Pliilip, my king ! 
For round thee the purple shadow lies 
Of babyhood's royal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny liand 

With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
I am thine Esther, to command 

Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, 
Philip, my king ! 

0, the day when thou goest a-wooing, 

Philip, my king ! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing. 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

Sittest love-gloriiied ! — Rule kindly, 
Tenderly over thy kingdom fair ; 

For we that love, ah ! we love so blindly, 
Philip, my king ! 

I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy Ijrow, 

Philip, my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now 
May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. 

My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer, 
Let me beliold thee in future years ! 
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my king ; — 

A wTeath, not of gold, but palm. One day, 

Pliilip, my king ! 
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way 
Thorny, and cmel, and cold, and gi-ay ; 
Rebels within thee and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, 
glorious, 
Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout. 

As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, 
" Philip, the king!" 



^- 



CRADLE SONG. 

Wh.1T is the little one thinking about ? 
Very wonderful things, no doubt ; 
Unwritten histoi-y ! 
Unfathomed mystery ! 
Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nodii, andwiuks, 
As if his liead were as full of kinks 
And curious riddles as any sphin.x ! 
Warped by colic, and wet by tears. 
Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears. 
Our little nephew will lose two years ; 
And he '11 never know 
Where the summers go ; 
He need not laugh, for he '11 find it so. 

Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 
Wlio can follow the gossamer links 

By which the manikin feels his way 
Out from the shore of the great unknown, 
Blind, and wailing, and alone, 

Into the light of day ? 
Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 
Tossing in pitiful agony ; 
Of the unknown sea that reels and roUs, 
Specked with the barks of little souls, — 
Barks that were launched on the other side. 
And slipped from heaven on an ebbing tide ! 

What does he think of his mother's eyes ? 
What does he think of his mother's hair? 

What of the cradle-roof, that flies 
Forward and backward through the air ? 

AVhat does he think of his mother's breast. 
Bare and beautiful, smooth and white. 
Seeking it ever with fresh delight. 

Cup of his life, and couch of his rest ? 
What does he think when her quick embrace 
Presses his hand and buries his face 
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell, 
With a tenderness she can never tell. 

Though she mui-mur the words 

Of all the birds, — 
Words she has learned to murmur well ? 

Now he thinks he '11 go to sleep ! 

I can see the shadow creep 



-^ 



e- 



18 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



-a 



Over his eyes in soft eclipse, 
Over liis brow and over his lips, 
Out tohislittlo tiu^'ci-tips! 
Softly sinking, down he goes! 
Down ho goes ! ilown ho goes ! 
See ! ho 's hushed in sweet repose. 

JOSIAU GlLliERT HOLLAND. 



THE HABY. 

Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child, 
Weeping thou sat'st when all around thee smiled : 
So live, that, sinking to thy last long sleep, 
Tluni then niayst smile wliile all annuul the* 
weep. 



byS 



.1 Jones. 



y- 



BABY MAY. 

Cmekks as soft as .Inly peaches ; 
l.ips whose ilewy scarlet teaches 
Topjiies paleness ; round lai-ge eyes 
Ever great with new surprise ; 
Minutes tilled with shadeless gladness ; 
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness ; 
Happy smili'S and wailing cries ; 
Crows, and laughs, and tearful eyes ; 
Lights and shadows, swifter born 
Thau on wind-swept autun\n corn ; 
Ever some new tiny notion. 
Making every limb all motion ; 
Catehings \ip of legs and arms ; 
Tluowings Imck and small alarms ; 
Clutehing lingei-s ; .straightening jerks ; 
Twining feet whoso each toe works ; 
Kickings up and stmining risings ; 
Jlother's ever new surprisings ; 
Hands all wants and looks all wonder 
At all things the heavens under ; 
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
That have moi-e of love than lorings ; 
Mischiefs done with such a winning 
Airhness that we ]>rize such sinning ; 
Breakings diiv of plates and glasses ; 
Craspings small at all that pas-ses ; 
PulUngs ofl" of all that "s able 
To be caught from tray or t«ble ; 
Silences, — small meditations 
Peep as thoughts of caivs for nations ; 
Breaking into wisest speeches 
In a tong\ie that nothing teaches ; 
All the thoughts of who.se pos.sessing 
Must lie wooed to light by guessing : 
Slumliers, — such .sweet angel-.seeniings 
That we 'd ever have such dreamings : 



Till from sleep we see thee breaking, 
Anil we 'd always have thee waking ; 
Wealth for which we know no measure ; 
ricasnre high above all pleasure ; 
(Uadness brimming over gladness ; 
•loy in care ; delight in sadness ; 
Loveliness beyond completeness ; 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness ; 
Beauty all that beauty may bo ; — 
That 's May Bennett ; that's my baby. 

William C. Bennett. 



CHOOSING A NAME. 

1 M.WK got a ncw-born si.ster ; 

1 was nigh the lirst that kissed her. 

When the nursing-woman brought lier 

To papa, his infant daiiglitcr. 

How papa's dear eyes did gfisten ! — 

She will shortly be to christen ; 

Ami pajia has made the otVer, 

1 shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her, — 

Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? 

Ann and Mary, they're too common; 

.loan 's too formal for a woman ; 

.lane 's a prettier name beside ; 

But we had a .Tane that died. 

They would say, if 't was Rebecca, 

That she was a little Quaker. 

Edith 's pretty, but that looks 

Better in old English books ; 

ICllen "s left otf long ago ; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 

Kone that 1 have named as yet 

Arc so good as ilargai-et. 

Emily is neat and line ; 

What do you think of Caroline ? 

How I 'm puzzled and perple.xed 

Wliat to choose or think of next ! 

1 am in a little fever 

Lest the i.auie that I should give her 

Should disgnice her or defame her ; — 

1 will leave i>aivv to name her. 



THK BABY. 

WnEUE did you come from, baby deai- 1 
Out of the evertncliere into he^re. 

Whei-e did you get your eyes so blue ? 
Out of the si-;/ as I came through. 

Wheiv did you get that little tear ? 
I found it waiting u-ken I got hen: 



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INFANCY. 



19 



a 



What makes your forehead so smooth anJ high i 
A soft hand stroked it as I went hij. 

What makes your cheek like a wann white rose i 
/ saiu something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
God spoke, and it came out to hear. 

Wliero did you get those arms and hands ! 
Love made itself into hooks and banils. 

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things i 
Fmin the sit/itc bnj: us the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all come to be you ? 
>!od thought about me, and so I grew. 

I'ut how did you come to us, you dear ? 
dud thought about you, and so I am liere. 

gi--ok(;e macdonald. 



LITTLE FEET. 

Two little feet, so small that both may nestle 

In one caressing hand, — 
Two tender feet upon the untried boriler 

Of life's mysterious land. 

Dhnpled, and soft, and pink as peach-tree blos- 
soms, 

In April's fragrant days. 
How can they walk among the briery tangles, 

Edging the world's rough ways ? 

These rose-white feet, along the doubtful future. 

Must bear a mother's load ; 
Alas ! since Woman has the heaviest burden. 

And walks the harder road. 

Love, for a while, will make the path before them 
All dainty, smooth, and fair, — 

Will cull away the brambles, letting only 
The roses blossom there. 

I'ut when the mother's watchful eyes are .shrouded 

Away from sight of men. 
And these dear feet are left without her guiding, 

Who shall direct them then ? 

How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded, 

Poor little untaught feet ! 
Into what dreary mazes will they wander, 

What dangers will they meet ? 



Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness 
Of Sorrow's tearful shades ? 

Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty, 
Whose sunlight never fades ? 

WiU they go toiling up Ambition's summit, 

The common world above ? 
Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, 

Walk side by side with Love ? 

Some feet there be which walk LU'e's tiack 
unwouuded, 

Whiidi find but pleasant ways : 
Some hearts there be to which this life is only 

A round of hapjiy days. 

But these are few. Far more there are who 
wander 

Without a hope or friend, — 
Who find their journey full of pains and losses, 

And long to reach the end. 

How shall it be with her, the tender stranger, 

Fair-faced and gentle-eyed, 
Before whose unstained feet the world's rude 
highway 

Sti-etches so fair and wide ? 

Ah ! who may read the future ? For our darling 
We crave all blessings .sweet. 

And pray that He who feeds the crj'ing ravens 
Will guide the baby's feet. 

A.>fQNYMOL"S. 



CRADLE SONG. 

Si.KEr, little baby of mine, 
Night and th« darkness are near. 
But .Icsus looks down 
Through the shadows that fromi, 
And baby has nothing to fear. 

Shut, little sleepy blue eyes ; 

Dear little head, be at rest ; 

Jesus, like you. 

Was a baby once, too, 

And slept on his own mother's breast. 

Sleep, little baby of mine. 

Soft on your pillow so white ; 

Jesus is here 

To watch over you, dear. 

And nothing can harm you to-night. 

0, little darling of mine, 

MTiat can you know of the bliss, 

The comfort I keeji, 

Awake and asleep. 

Because I am c?ertain of this ? 



^ 



£r. 



20 



POEMS OF INFAXOY ANO YOUTH. 



--a 



fe- 



Kkk lust ywu's union liinl loft tho sky 
A liiixllinjj soiif;lit nij Imliiui lU'st, 

Ami I'nUlod, oh ! so loviujjly, 
llor tiuY \viuj;s vipoii my bivast. 

Wmii nioni till o\oiiiiij;'s nui\>lo tingp, 
111 wiiisoino Uoli'UviSuoss slip lips ; 

Two ivso-ioiivos, with ii silkpu I'liiij^p, 
Shut solUy o'or hor stiuiy ovt's. 

Thoiv 's Mot in liui a lovplioi- hiixl ; 

Utviul oiu'th owns not iv hainiipv uost ; 
O lloii ! thou hiisl 11 I'ountiiiii stiiml, 

Wlioso wati'i-s lU'Vi'iiiioiv sliiiU ivst. 

Tliis Kautilul. mystt'iious thiuj;, 
This sn'uiius; visitant t'lvm luvivpn, 

This liii\l with llu' iiiiiiiovtal winj;. 
To u>i\ to mo riiy hiiml has j;ivoii. 

Tho (lulso tii-st oaujcht its tiny stivko, 
Tho blooil its ovimsou hno, I'lvni uiiu« : 

This lit'o whioh I hino daiva invoko. 
llonoolovtli is imnillol with Thino ! 

A silout awo is in my i\Him, 
1 tivmlilo with ilolioious t'oar ; 

Tho futvnv with its light ami gloom, 
Timo ami otovuity aiv hoiv. 

fonhts, hojH's, in oagi'r tnnmlt riso ; 

llrtu-, t^ my t^ml! ouo wivuost piiiyov; 
Uvwm fov my Innl in ranuliso, 

Aivil givo hov angv>l-\<lumago thoro ' 

I'XUIY C H'IVSON. 



NTTR&K'S WAIVH. 

v\ tlir " Bov's Uoni i>f W\««K-iv" <i l^rm«i\ Bo<Jt of Ni 
Khvm<-v) 

TiiK moon it shinos. 

My ilarliug whinos ; 
Tho ohvk stiikos twolvo : - 1»h1 oho<»r 
Tho sick, Ivth tar au>l uoar. 

Ovxl knowoth all ; 

Mousy nihhhvs in tho wall : 
Tho i-Ux-k stiikos ouo: — liko day, 
Dreams o'ov thy pillow jJay, 

Tho matin-K'U 

AVakt^s tho nun in ivnvont wU ; 
Tho oliH-k strikos two ; — thoy go 
To choir in a row. 



Tlio wiiul il Mows, 

Tho oofk ho oi'ows ; 
Tho olook stiikos tliioo ; - tho wagoner 
In liis stiiiw boil bogius to stir. 

■I'll,' stood ho vaws tho lloor, 

t'lvaks tho slalilo iloor ; 
Tho oloik strikos lour ; - 'I is plain, 
Tho ooHohniaii sifts his grain. 

Tho swallow's laugh llio still air shakos, 

Tho sun awakos -, 
'I'lio olook stiik<>s livo: — tho travollor must bi 

gono, 
llo i>uts his stookiiigs on. 

Tho lion is ctaokiiig, 

Tho iluoks aiv >|uaoking ; 
'l"ho olook strikos six ; — awako, arise, 
'I'hou buy ling ; oomo, opo thy oyos. 

tjuiok to tho Imkor's run ; 

Tho rolls are ilouo ; 
Tho oliH-k stiikos sovou ; — 
'T is timo tho milk woiv in tho ovoii. 

l\it in somo buttor, do. 

And somo tiuo sugar too; 
Tho olook strikos eight ; — 
Now bring my liaby's jHirridgo straight. 

TK.WSIAVION OV OH.\RLKS T, BKOOK& 



OLD OAEUC LULUABY. 

Hrsll ! tho waves ai\> ivUiiig in, 
^Yllito with loam, whito with foam ; 

Vathor toils amid tho din, 
Hut V«by sliH'i>s at homo. 

Hush! tho winds i\»u- hoai-se luid doop. 

Itn thoy oonu', on tlioy oomo ! 
Bivthor seeks tho waudoring slieojs 

I5ut l«hy sleeps at home. 

Hnsh ! tho rain swet>i>s o'ov tho kuowos 
Vhew thoy nvam. whoiv they rwun ; 

Sister goes to s>vk tho cows, 
Vhit l>aby sloejis at homo. 



THK HOFSEH(.^U> SOVEREIGN. 

FROM TUB ■• IWNCINC OF Tin: CK,*XK." 

TllR picture fades : as at a villag»> fair 
A sliowman's views dissolve into tho air. 
To reivpi«-ar trsusligunHl on tlu' scrwn. 
So in mv tanov this ; and Jiow once more 



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■si.' 



- a ^ 
I 



S 5^ 
2 a -S 






[&-- 



INFANCY. 



21 



.^ 



U-- 



In part transfigured througli the open door 
Appears the selfsame scene. 

Seated I see the two again, 

But not alone ; they entertain 

A little angel unaware, 

With face as round as is the moon ; 

A royal guest with flaxen hair, 

W'lio, throned upon his lofty chair. 

Drums on the table with his spoon, 

'I'hcu drops it careless on the floor, 

'r(j grasp at things unseen before. 

Are these celestial manners? these 

The ways that win, the arts that please ? 

All, yes; consider well the guest. 

And whatsoe'er he does seems best ; 

He ruleth by the right divine 

I X helplessness, so lately born 

In purple chambers of the mom. 

As sovereign over thee and thine. 

He speaketh not, and yet there lies 

A conversation in his eyes ; 

The golden silence of the Greek, 

'I'lie gravest wisdom of the wise, 

Xot spoken in language, but in looks 

More legible than printed books. 

As if he could but would not speak. 

And now, monarch absolute, 
'I'hy power is put to proof ; for lo ! 
Resistless, fathomless, and slow. 
The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 
And pushes back thy chair and thee. 
And so good night to King ('anutc. 



As one who walking in the forest sees 

A lovely landscape through the parted trees. 

Then sees it not for boughs that inten'ene, 
Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed 
Through drifting clouds, and then again con- 
cealed. 

So I beheld the scene. 

There are two guests at table now ; 
The king, dejKjsed, and older grown. 
No longer occupies the throne, — 
The crown is on hLs sister's brow ; 
A princess from the Fairy Tales ; 
The very pattern girl of girls, 
All covered and embowered in curls, 
Kose tinted from the Isle of Flowers, 
And sailing with .soft silken sails 
From far-off Dreamland into ours. 
Above their bowls with rims of blue 
Four azure eyes of deeper hue 
Are looking, dreamy with delight ; 
Limpid as planets that emerge 
Above the ocean's rounded verge. 



Soft sliining through the summer night. 
Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see 
Beyond the horizon of their bowls ; 
Nor care they for the world that rolls 
With all its freight of troubled souls 
Into the days that are to \ie. 

Hi-NKY wausworth Longfellow. 



BABY LOUISE. 

I 'm in love with you. Baby Louise ! 
With your silken hair, and your soft blue eyes. 
And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies. 
And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the 
skies, — 

God's sunshine. Baby Louise. 

WTien you fold your hands. Baby Louise, 
Your liand.s, like a fairy's, so tiny and fair, 
With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air, 
Are you trying to think of some angel-taught 
jirayer 

You learned above. Baby Louise ? 

I 'm in love with you. Baby Louise ! 
Why ! you never raise your beautiful head ! 
.Some d;iy, little one, your cheek will grow red 
With a flush of delight, to hear the words said, 

"I love you," Baby Louise. 

Do you hear mc. Baby Louise ? 
I have sung your praises for nearly an hour. 
And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower, 
And — you 've gone to sleep, like a weary flower. 

Ungrateful Baby Louise 1 

Margarbt EVnSGE. 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 



A BABY was sleeping ; 

Its mother was weeping, 
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ; 

And the t«mpest was swelling 

Round the fisherman's dwelling; 
And she cried, " Dermot, darling, come back 
to me ! " 

Her beads while she numbered. 

The baby still slumbered. 
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee : 

"0, blest l)e that warning. 

My child, thy .sleej) adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering with 



thee. 



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e- 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



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" And while they are keeping 
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 

0, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! 
And say thou wouldst rather 
They 'd watch o'er thy father ! 

For I know that the angels are whispering to 
thee." 



An^ 



The dawn of the morning 
Saw Dermot returning, 
the wife wept with joy her babe's father to 



And closely caressing 
Her child with a blessing. 
Said, " I knew that the angels were whispeiing 
with thee." 

Samuel lover. 



t&^ 



SMILING m HIS SLEEP. 

The baby sleeps and smiles. 
What faiiy thought beguiles 

His little brain ? 
He sleeps and snules again, 
Flings his white arms about, 
Half opes his sweet blue eye 
As if he thought to spy, 
By coyly peeping out. 
The funny elf that brought 
That tiny faiiy thought 
Unto his infant mind. 
Would I some way could find 
To know just how they seem, 
Those dreams that infants dream. 
I wonder what they are, — 
Those thoughts that seem to wear 

So sweet a guise ? 
What picture, tiny, fair, 
What vision, lovely, rare. 

Delights his eyes ? 
See ! now he smiles once more ; 
Perhaps there is before 
His mental sight portrayed 

Some vision blest 
Of that dear land of rest, 

That far-off heaven, 
From whence his new-created sou! 

Has lately strayed ; 
Or to his ear, perchance, are given 
Those echoes sweet that roll 
From angel harps we may not hear, 
We, who have added year to year. 

And sin to sin. 
As yet his soul is spotless. Wliy 
Should not angelic harmony 
Reach his unsullied ear ? 

Whv not within 



His infant fancy transient gleams 
Of heaven find their way in dreams ? 

And still the baby sleeps, 
And as he sleeps he smiles. Ah, now 
He starts, he wakes, he weejis ; 
Earth-shadows cloud his baby-brow. 
His smiles how fleeting ; how 

Profuse his tears ! 
Dreams he of coming years. 
Checkered by shadow and by light, 
Unlike that vision holy, bright, — 

That fairy gleam, 

That infant dream 
That made him sweetly smile ? 
Do coming sin and son'ow. 
Phantoms of dark to-morrow. 
Their shadows cast before. 

Clouding all o'er 
His baby-dreams, erewhOe 

So beautiful ? 

Harriet w. stillhan. 



SILENT BABY. 

The baby sits in her cradle. 

Watching the world go round, 
EnwTapt in a mystical silence 

Amid all the tumult of sound. 
She must be akin to the flowers, 
For no one has heard 
A whispered word 
From this silent baby of ours. 

Wondering, she looks at the children, 

As they merrUy laughing pass, 
And smiles o'er her face go rippling. 

Like sunshine over the grass 
And into the heart of the flowers ; 
But never a word 
Has yet been heard 
From this silent darling of ours. 

Has she a wonderful wisdom. 

Of unspoken knowledge a store, 
Hid away from all curious eyes. 

Like the mysterious lore 

Of the bees and the birds and the flowers ! 

Is this why no word 

Has ever been heard 

From this silent baby of ours ? 

Ah, baby, from out your blue eyes 

The angel of silence is smiling, — 
Though silvern hereafter your speech. 
Your sOence is golden, — beguiling 
All hearts to this darling of ours, 
Who speaks not a word 
Of all she has heard, 
Like the birds, the bees, and the flowers. 



Ellen Bartlett cur 



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IN'FA^X•Y. 



23 



^ 



What sliall be the baby's name ! 
Shall we catch from sounding fame 
Some far-echoed word of praise 
Out of other climes or days ? 
Put upon her brow new-born 
Crowns that other brows have worn ? 

Shall we take some dearer word, 
Once within our circle lieard, 
Cherished yet, though spoken less, — 
Shall we lay its tenderness 
On the baby's little head. 
So to call again our dead ? 

Shall we choose a name of grace 
That befits the baby's face, — 
Something full of childish glee. 
To be sjioken joyously ? 
Something sweeter, softer yet. 
That shall say, " Behold our jiet ! " 

Nay ; the history of the great 
Must not weigh our baby's fate ; 
Nay ; tlie dear ones disenthralled 
Must not be by us recalled ; 
We shall meet them soon again, — 
Let us keep their names till then ! 

Nay ; we do not seek a word 
For a kitten or a bird ; 
Not to suit the baby ways. 
But to wear in after days, — 
Fit for uses grave and good. 
Wrapped in future womanhood, — 

For the mother's loving tongue 
While our daughter still is young; 
For the manly lips that may 
Call tlie maiden heart away ; 
For the time, yet tenderer. 
When her children think of her. 

Let us choose a Bible name. 
One that always bides the same. 
Sacred, sweet, in every land 
All men's reverence to command ; 
For our earthly uses given. 
And yet musical in heaven. 

One I know, these names amid, — 
" Beauty " is its meaning hid ; 
She who wore it made it good 
With her gracious womanhood: 
Name for virtue, love, and truth. 
Let us call the baby liuth. 

K05SITER w. Raymond. 



NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 

No baby in the house, I know, 

'T is far too nice and clean. 
No toys, by careless fingers strewn. 

Upon the floors are seen. 
No finger-marks are on the panes, 

No scratches on the chaii-s ; 
No wooden men set up in rows. 

Or marshaled off in pairs ; 
No little stockings to be darned, 

.All ragged at the toes ; 
No pile of mending to be done. 

Made up of baby-clothes ; 
No little troubles to be soothed ; 

No little hands to fold ; 
No grimy fingers to be washed ; 

No stories to be told ; 
No tender kisses to be given ; 

No nicknames, "Dove" and "Mi 
No merry frolics after tea, — 

No baby in the lious 



. G, DOLLIVER 



BABY'S SHOES. 

0, THOSE little, those little blue shoes ! 

Those shoes that no little feet use I 
0, the price were high 
That those shoes would buy, 

Tliose little blue unused shoes : 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother's eyes meet. 

That, by God's good-will, 

Yeare since, grew still. 
And ceased from their totter so sweet. 

And 0, since that baby .slept. 

So hushed, how the mother has kept. 

With a tearful pleasure. 

That little dear treasure. 
And over them thought and wept ! 

For they mind her forevermore 
Of a patter along the floor ; 

.\nd blue eyes she sees 

Look up from her knees 
With the look that in life they wore. 

As they lie before her there, 
There babbles from chair to chair 

A little sweet face 

That 's a gleam in the place. 
With its little gold curls of hair. 



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e-^: 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



■a 



'riion 0, wonder luit that lii>i' licart 
Frcun nil clso wouUl nitlu'r part 

'riiiiii lliiisi' tiny liliio shoes 

TliMl no litdc IVol use, 
Anil wlinso sifjlit niukos siu'h fond tonrs start I 

WILLIAM C. IJIiNNIiTT. 



A CUADI.K SONG. 

Ill Nil, niy lU'iir ! Ho still niul sliiiiibi'r I 

Holy iiiiKi'ls KUiinl tliy Iwl ; 
ll.';i\i'iily lili'ssiii^s witlioul mimlior 

(J.nitly riilliii^'oii tliy lii'iid. 

Slrrp, n\y Imlio ! thy I'oiid iiiul niunoiit, 
House mill honu', thy friends (irovide; 

All willunit lliy care or paynieiU, 
Ml Ihy wiiuts .lie \\A\ supiilied. 

llnw iiiueh hotter thou'rt attended 

I'liau the Son of God eould be, 
Wlioii from hoavon ho doseended. 

And hooanioa ehihl like thoo. 

Soil and easy is thy eradle : 

Coaiso and hard thy Savionv ky : 

Wluii his l.iilhi.laoo'wasa stnhlo", 
And his sofl.st hod was hay. 

Si'o the kindly sho|iherds round him, 

'rollinij wonders from the sky ! 
Where they soiij;lit him, there they fonnd him, 

With hii ViiKin-Motherhy. 

Sie the lovely haho a-drossiiif; ; 

Lovely infant, how lie smiled ! 
When ho wept, the mother's hlossing 

Soothed and luislied the lioly eliihi. 

1.0, he sliimhei-s in his maiijjer. 
Where the horm^d oxen fed ; 
I'eaee, my darliuj; '■ hero's no danger I 
Here's no ox aiiear thy hed ! 

May'st lliou live to know and fear him, 
'I'rnst and love him all Ihy days : 
Tlu'ii j:^i dwell foi-ever near him ; 
Si'e his faee, aiivl sing his praise. 



I eonld give thee thousand kisses, 
1 1 oping what 1 most desii-e : 

Not a mother's fondest wishes 
(an to givater joys aspir*. 



THK MOTHER'S STRATAGEM. 

AN I.M'ANT PLAYING NliAR A PKGCIPICU. 

Wlili.Kon the elilVwith calm delight she kneels, 
And the blue vales a thousand joys reeall, 

See, to the last, last verge her infant steals ! 
0, fly — yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. — 

Far better taught, she lays her bosom hare, 

And the fond boy springs bnek to nestle there. 



WII.I.IF, VVINKIE. 

AVl-.l', Willie M'iiikie riiis through the town, 
I'p stairs and doon stairs, in his niehf-gown, 
'rirlin' at the window, eryin' at the look, 
"Are the weans in their bed ? — for it 's now tvii 
o'clock." 

Tiey, Willie Winkio ! are ye eomin' ben ? 

The eat 'a singin' gay thrums to the slcepin' hen, 

The doug 's spidcUn-ed on the lloor, and disna gie 

a cheep ; 
But here 's a waukrife hiddie, that wiiina fa' 

asleep. 

Oiiy thing but sleep, ye rogue : — glow'rin' like 

the moon, 
Ihittlin' in an airn jug wi' an aim spoon, 
Kumblin', tumbliu' roun' about, crawiii' like a 

cock, 
>^kirlin' like a keuna-what — waukniu' sleepin' 

folk ! 

lli-y, Willie Wiukie 1 the wean 's in a ereei ! 
Waumblin' alf a bodie's knee like a vera eel, 
Uuggin' at the cat's lug, ajul ravellin' a' her 

thrums : 
Hey, Willie Wiukie ! — See, there he eonn-s I 

Wearie is the mitlier that has a storie wean, 
A wee stumpie .stoussie, that eanna riii his lane, 
That lias a battle aye wi' sleep, hefon' he '11 close 

an eo ; 
But a kiss frae alf his rosy lips gies strength aiien 

to nii>. 



LITTLE PUSS. 

Si.KEK coat, eyes of fiif , 
Four paws that never tii'e, 
That 's puss. 

Ways pliiyful, tail on high. 
Twisting often towanl the sky 
That 's ]mss. 



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f 



INFANCY. 



25 



-a 



In the larder, stealing meat, 
Patter, patter, little feet, 
That 's puss. 

After ball, reel, or string. 
Wild as any living thing, 
That 's puss. 

Round and round, after tail. 
Fast as any [lostal mail, 
That 's puss. 

Culled up, like a ball. 
On the door-mat in the hall. 
That 's puss. 

Purring loud on missis' lap, 
Having toa.st, then a nap, 
That 's jjuss. 

Blai-k as night, with talons long, 

Scratehing, whieli is very wrong, 

That 's j)us3. 

From a saucer lapping milk. 
Soft, as soft as washing silk, 
That 's puss. 

KoUing on the dewy grass, 
Getting wet, all in a mass. 
That 's puss. 

('limbing tree, and catching bird. 

Little twitter iievennore heard, 

Tliat 's puss. 

Killing Hy, rat, or mouse, 
As it runs about the house, 
That 's puss. 

Pet of missis, " Itte mite," 
Never must be out of sight, 
That 's puss. 



fr*- 



THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. 

That way look, my Infant, lo ! 
What a pretty baby-show ! 
See the Kitten on the wall. 
Sporting with the leaves that fall. 
Withered leaves — one — two — and three - 
From the lofty elder-tree ! 
Through the calm and frosty air 
<^tf this morning hright ami fair. 



Eddying round and round they sink 

Softly, slowly : one might think, 

From the motions that are made, 

Everj- little leaf conveyed 

Sylph or faery hither tending, — 

To this lower world descending. 

Each invisible and mute. 

In his wavering parachute. 

— But the Kitten, how .she starts. 

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts ! 

First at one, and then its fellow 

Just as light and jusl as yellow ; 

There are many now — now one — 

Now they stop, and there are none : 

What intenseness of ilcsire 

In her upward eye of fire ! 

With a tiger-leap half-way 

Now she meets the coming prey, 

Lets it go as fast, and then 

Has it in her power again : 

Now she work.s with three or four, 

Like an Indian conjurer ; 

Quick as he in feats of art. 

Far beyond in joy of heart. 

Were her antics played in th' eye 

Of a thousand stamlers-by, 

flapping hands with shout and stare, 

What would little Tabby care 

For the plaudits of the crowd ? 

Over happy to be proud. 

Over wealthy in the treasure 

Of her own exceeding pleasure ! 

"Tis a pretty baby-treat ; 
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet ; 
Here, for neither Babe nor me. 
Other playmate can I see. 
Of the countless living things. 
That with stir of feet and wings 
(In the sun or under .shade. 
Upon bough or grassy blade) 
Ami with busy revelings, 
• hirp and song, and niurmuiings. 
Made this orchard's narrow space 
And this vale so blithe a place, — 
Multitudes are swept away 
Nevermore to breathe the day : 
Some are sleeping ; some in hands 
Traveled into distant lands ; 
Others slunk to moor and wood. 
Far from human neighborhood ; 
And, among the kinds that keep 
With us closer fellowship. 
With us openly abide. 
All have laid their mirth aside. 

Where is he, that giddy sprite. 
Blue-cap, with his colors bright. 
Who was blest as bird could Ije, 
Feeding in the apple-tree ; 



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26 



I'UKMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



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Made such wanton spoil and rout, 

Turning blossoms inside out ; 

Hung — head ]iointing towards the ground - 

Fluttered, perched, into a round 

Bound himself, and then unliound ; 

Lithest, gaudiest Harleipiin ; 

Prettiest Tumbler ever seen ; 

Light of heart and light of limb ; 

What is now become of him ? 

Lambs, that through the mountains went 

Frisking, bleating merriment, 

When the year was in its prime. 

They are sobered by this time. 

If you look to vale or hill. 

If you listen, all is still. 

Save a little neighboring rill. 

That from out the rocky ground 

Strikes a solitary sound. 

Vainly glitter hill and plain. 

And the air is calm in vain ; 

Vainly Morning spreads the lure 

Of a sky serene and pure ; 

Creature none can she decoy 

Into open sign of joy : 

Is it that they have a fear 

Of the dreary season near ? 

Or that other pleasures be 

Sweeter e'en than gayety ? 

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell 
In the impenetrable cell 
Of the silent heart which Nature 
Furnishes to every creature ; 
Whatsoe'er we feel and know 
Too sedate for outward show, — 
Such a light of gladness breaks, 
Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, — 
Spreads with such a living grace 
O'er my little Dora's face ; 
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms. 
That almost I could repine 
That your transports are not mine, 
That I do not wholly fare 
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! 
And I will have my careless season. 
Spite of melancholy reason ; 
Will walk through life in such a way 
That, when time brings on decay, 
Now and then I may possess 
Hours of perfect gladsomeness. 
— Pleased by any random toy ; 
By a kitten's busy joy. 
Or an infant's laughing eye 
Sharing in the ecstasy ; 
I would fare like that or this. 
Find my wisdom in my bliss ; 
Keep the sprightly soul awake ; 
And liavp fnrulties to take. 



Even from things by sorrow WTOUght, 
Matter for a jocund thought ; 
Spite of care, and spite of grief. 
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. 



"COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON." 

Little Four Years, little Two Years, 

Merry Christmas ! Happy New- Year's ! 

That is what I wish for you ; 

Shall I tell you what to do 

That will make my wish come true ? 

Cheerful looks and words are very 
Sure to make the Christmas merry : 
Tongues that speak the truth sincere, 
Hearts that hold each other dear. 
These will make a liappy year. 

Four Years is of Two the doulile, — 
Should be twice as brave iu trouble, 
Twice as gentle, twice as kind, 
Always twice as much inclined 
Mother's words to keep in mind ; 

So that Two Years, when she 's older. 
May remember what is told her, 
Jnst as Four Years did before, — 
Only think ! in two years more 
Little Two Years will be Four ! 

ROSSITER W. RAVMON 



y— 



NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. 

Golden head so lowly bending. 

Little feet so white and bare. 
Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened. 

Lisping out her evening praj'er. 

"Now I lay," — repeat it, darling — 

" \my me," lisped the tiny lips 
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 

O'er the folded finger-tips. 

"Down to sleep,"— " To sleep." she murmured, 

And the curly head bent low ; 
" 1 pray the Lord," I gently added, 

" You can say it all, I know." 

" Pray the Lord," — the sound came faintly, 
Fainter still, — "my soul to keep" ; 

Then the tired head fairly nodded. 
And the child was fast asleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened 
When 1 clasped her to my breast. 



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a- 



INFANCY. 



^ 



And tlie dear voice softly whispered, 
"Mamma, God knows all the rest." 

0, the trusting, sweet confiding 
Of the child-heart ! Would that I 

Thus might trust my Heavenly Father, 
He who hears my feeblest cry. 

0, the rapture, sweet, unbroken. 
Of the soul who WTote that prayer ! 

Children's mjTiaJ voices, floating 
Up to Heaven, record it there. 

If, of all that has been written, 

I could choose what might be mine, 

It should be that child's petition, 
Kising to the throne di\'ine. 

MRS. R. S. HO\\1.AND. 



ty- 



LITTLE PUSS. 

A LITTLE golden head close to my knee, 
Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blue 
Fixed upon mine, a little coa.xing voice, — 
Only we two. 

"Tell it .igain !" Insatiate demand ! 
And like a toiling spider where I sat, 
I wove and spun the many-colored webs 
Of this and that. 

Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her haU ; 
Of Greedy Bear ; of Santa Claus the good ; 
And how the little children met the Months 
Within the wood. 

" Tell it again ! " and though the sand-man came. 
Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye, 
"Tell it again ! 0, just once more ! " was still 
The sleepy cry. 

My spring-time violet ! early snatched away 
To fairer gardens all unknown to me, — 
Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gates 
I have no key, — • 

I weave my fancies now for other ears, — 
Thy sister-blossom's, who beside me sits, 
Rosy, imperative, and quick to mark 
My lagging wits. 

But still the stories bear thy name, are thine. 
Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day. 
Though in her little warm and living hands 
This book I lay. 

SUSAN COOLrDGE. 



LITTLE GOLDENHAIR. 

GoLDENHAlK climbed up on grandpapa's knee ; 
Dear little Goldenhair, tii'ed Wiis she. 
All the day busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as 't was light, 
Out with the birds and butterflies bright, 
Skipping about till the coming of night. 

Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head. 
" What has my darling been doing," he .said, 
"Since she rose with the sun from her bed ;" 

" Pitty much," answered the sweet little one. 
" 1 cannot tell so much things 1 have done, 
Played with my dolly and feeded my bun. 

" .\nd then 1 jumped witli my little junip-roi)e. 
And 1 made out of some water and sou)) 
Biiotiful worlds, mamma's castles of hope. 

"Tluin I have readed in my picture-book. 
And BeUa and I, we went to look 
For the smooth little stones by the side of the 
brook. 

" And then I comed home and eated my tea. 
And I climbed up on grandpapa's knee. 
And I jes as tired as tired can be." 

Lower and lower the little head pressed, 
Until it had dropped upon grandpajia's breast ; 
Dear little Goldenhair, sweet be thy rest I 

We are but children ; things that we do 
Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view 
That marks all our weakness, and pities it too. 

God grant that when night ovei-shadows our way, 
And we shall be called to account for our day, 
He shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair's lay ! 

And 0, when aweary, may we be so blest. 
And sink like the innocent child to our rest. 
And feel oui'selves clasped to the Infinite bre<a3t ! 

ANONYMOUS. 



BENNY. 

I HAD told him, Christmas morning, 

As he sat upon my knee, 
Holding fast his little stockings. 

Stuffed as full as full could he. 
And attentive, listening to me. 

With a face dennire and mild. 
That old Santa Claus, who filled them, 

Did not love a naughty child. 



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28 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YUUTH. 



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" But we '11 be good, won't we, moder ?" 

And from oft' my lap lie slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 

In his crimson stockings hid, 
While I turned me to my table, 

Where a tempting goblet stood, 
With a dainty drink biimmed over. 

Sent me by a neighbor good. 

But the kitten, there before me, 

With his white paw, nothing loth. 
Sat, by way of entertainment, 

Slapping oft' the shining froth ; 
And in not the gentlest humor 

At the loss of such a treat, 
I confess, I rather rudely. 

Thrust him out into the street. 

Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled ! 

Gathering up the precious store 
He had busily been pouring 

In his tiny pinafore, 
W^ith a generous look that shamed me, 

Sprang he from the carpet liright. 
Showing, by his mien indignant. 

All a baby's sense of right. 

"Come back, Haniey," called he loudly. 

As he held his apron white, 
"You shall hare my candy wabbit " ; 

But the door was fastened tight. 
So he stood, abashed and silent. 

In the center of the floor. 
With defeated look alternate 

Bent on me and on the door. 

Then, as by some sudden impulse. 

Quickly ran he to the fire, 
Anil while eagerly his bright eyes 

AVatched the flames go high and higher. 
In a brave, clear key, h.e shouted, 

Like some lordly little elf, 
' ' Santa Cans, come doWTi de ehiimey, 

Make my moder 'have herself." 

" I will be a good girl, Benny," 

Said I, feeling the reproof ; 
And straightway recalled poor Harney, 

Mewing on the gaUeiy roof. 
Soon the anger was forgotten, 

Laughter chased away the frown. 
And they gamboled 'neath the live-oaks 

Till the dusky night came down. 

In my dim, fire-lighted chamber 
Harney purred beneath my chair. 

And my play-worn boy beside me 
Knelt to say his evening prayer : 



' ' God bess fader, God bess moder, 
God bess sister," — then a pause, 

And the sweet young lips devoutly 
Murmured, " God bess Santa Kaus.' 

He is sleeping ; brown and silken 

Lie the lashes, long and meek. 
Like caressing, clinging shadows 

On his plump and peachy cheek ; 
And I bend above him, weeping 

Thankful tears, Undefiled ! 
For a woman's crown of gloiy, 

For the blessing of a child. 

ANNIE C. KETCf 



TO MY rNTANT SON. 

Thou happy, happy elf ! 
(But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,) 

Thou tiny image of myself ! 
(My love, he 's poking peas into his ear !) 
Thou meriy, laughing sprite, 
AVith spirits feather light. 
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin ; 
(My dear, the child is swallowing a pin ! ) 

Thou little tricksy Puck ! 

With antic toys so funnily bestuck, 

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, — 

(The door ! the door ! he '11 tumble down the 

stair ! ) 
Thou darling of thy sire ! 
(Why, Jane, he '11 set his pinafore afire ! ) 

Thou imi> of mirth and joy ! 
In love's dear chain so blight a link, 

Thou idol of thy parents ; — (Drat the boy ! 
There goes my ink. ) 

Thou cherub, but of earth ; 
Fit playl'ellow for fays, by moonlight pale, 

In hai-mless sport and mirth, 
(That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail ! ) 

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey 
From every blossom in the world that blows. 

Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny, — 
(Another tumble ! That 's his precious nose !) 
Thy father's pride and hope ! 
(He '11 break the mirror with that skipping- 
rope !) 
With pure lieart newly st.imped from nature's 

mint, 
(Where did he learn that squint ?) 

Thou young domestic dove ! 

(He '11 have that ring oS' with another shove,) 

Dear nureling of the hymeneal nest ! 

(Are these torn clothes his liest ?) 



^ 



ttr 



INFANCY. 



Little epitome of man ! 

(He '11 climb upon the table, that 's his plan !) 

Touched vdih the beauteous tints of dawning 

life, 
(He 's got a knife !) 
Thou enviable being ! 
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing. 

Play on, play on. 

My elfin John ! 
Toss the light ball, bestride the stick, — 
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) 

With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down. 
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, 
With many a lamb-like frisk ! 

(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown ! ) 
Thou pretty opening rose ! 
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your 

nose ! ) 
Balmy and breathing music like the south, 
(He really brings my heart into my mouth !) 
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove ; 
(I '11 tell you what, my love, 
I cannot write unk-ss he 's sent aliove. ■! 

Thomas Hood. 



h 



THE LOST HEIR. 



One day, as I wa.s going by 

That part of Holl>orn christened High, 

I heard a loud and sudden cry 

That chilled my very blood ; 
And lo ! fiom out a dirty alley, 
Where pigs and Irish wont to rally, 
I saw a crazy woman sally, 

Bedaubed with gi-ease and muil. 
She turned her East, she turned her West, 
Staring like Pythoness possest. 
With streaming hair and heaving breast. 

As one stark mad with grief. 

"0 Lord ! Odear, my heart will break, I shall 

go stick stark staring wild ! 
Has ever a one seen anything about the streets 

like a crying lost-looking child ? 
Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to 

run, if I only knew which way — 
A Child as is lost about London streets, and es- 
pecially Seven Dials, is a needle in a bottle 

of hay. 
1 am all in a quiver — get out of my sight, do, 

you WTetch, you little Kitty M'Nab ! 
You promised to have lialf an eye to him, you 

know vou did, vou dirtv deceitful youn" 

drab ! 
The last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was 

with my own blessed Motherly eyes, 



Sitting as good as gold in the gutter, a playing 

at making little dirt-pies. 
I wonder he left the court, where he was better 

off than all the other young boys. 
With two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster-shells, 

and a dead kitten, by way of toys. 
When his Father comes home, and he always 

comes home as sure as ever the clock strikes 

one, 
He'll be rampant, he will, at his child being 

lost ; and tlie beef and the inguns not done ! 
La bless you, good folks, mind your own con- 

sarns, and don't be making a mob in the 

street ; 
Sergeant M'Farlane ! you have not come acro.ss 

my poor little boy, have you, in your beat ? 
Do, good people, move on ! don't stand st<aring 

at me like a parcel of stupid stuck pigs ; 
Saints forbid ! but he 's Jj'r'aps been inviggled 

away up a court for the sake of his clothes 

by the prigs ; 
He 'd a very good jacket, for certain, for I bought 

it myself for a shilling one day in Rag Fair ; 
And his trousers considering not very much 

patched, and red plush, they was once his 

Father's best pair. 
His shirt, it 's very lucky I 'd got washing in the 

tub, or that might have gone \rith the rest ; 
But he 'd got on a very good pinafore with only 

two slits and a burn on the breast. 
He 'd a goodish sort of hat, if the crown was 

sewed in, and not quite so much jagged at 

the brim ; 
With one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot, 

and not a fit, and you '11 know by that if 

it 's him. 
And then he has got such dear winning ways — 

but 0, I never, never shall see him no more I 

dear ! to think of losing him just after nussing 

him back from death's door ! 
Only the very last month when the windfalls, 

hang 'em, was at twenty a penny : 
And the threepence he 'd got by grottoing wms 

.spent in plums, and sixty for a chihl is 

too many. 
And the Cholera man came and whitewashed us 

all, and, drat him ! made a seize of our hog. — 
It 's no use to send the Crier to cry him about, 

he 's such a blunderin' drunken old dog ; 
The last time he was fetched to find a lost child 

he was guzzling with his bell at the Crown, 
And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for a 

distracted Mother and Father about Town. 
Billy — where are you, Billy, I say? come, Billy, 

come home, to your best of Mothers ! 

1 'm scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they 

drive so, they 'd run over tlieir own Sister.; 
and Brothers. 



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30 



ruEMii UF LXFAM-y ASV YUUTH. 



fi 



Or maylio \w 's stole hy some chiinbly-sweeiiiiig 

wretcli, to stick fast iu naii'ow Hues and 

what not, 
Anil be pokeil \\\i behind with a picked pointed 

jiolc, when the soot has ketched, and the 

chinibly 's red-hot. 
(1, 1 M give the wliolo wide world, if the world 

was mine, to clap my two longin' eyes on 

his I'aeo ; 
For he 's my darlin' of darlin's, and if ho don't 

soon conio back, you 'U see me drop stone 

dead on the place. 
1 only wish I 'd got him safe in these two Moth- 
erly arms, and would n't I hug him and 

kiss him ! 
Law k ! I never knew what a precious he w'as — 

liut a child don't not feel like a child till 

you miss him. 
Why, there ho is ! Punch and Judy hunting, the 

young wretch, it 's that Billy as sartin as 

sin ! 
But lei nu- get him home, with a good grip of his 

hair, and I 'm blest if he shall have a whole 

bone in his skin ! 

THOMAS Hood. 



THE THREE SONS. 

I iiAvr. a son, a little son, a boy just five yeai-s 

old. 
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of 

giMitlc mould. 
They tell ine that unusual grace in all his ways 

appears. 
That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond 

his childish years. 
1 cannot say how this may be ; I know his face 

is fair,'— 
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweot and 

serious air ; 
1 know his heart is kind and fond ; I know he 

loveth nu^ ; 
Hut lovrlli yet his mother more with grateful 

l'cr\eucy. 
r.nl that w-hieh others most admire, is the thought 

which tills his mind. 
The food for grave inquiring speech he every- 

wlieiv doth find. 
Strange (lue.stions doth he ask of me, when we 



His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes per- 

plext 
With thoughts about this world of ours, and 

thoughts about the next. 
He kneels at his dear mother's knee ; she teachctli 

him to pray ; 
M\A strange, and sweet, and solemn then are t he 

words which he will sny. 
0, should my gentle child be spared to man- 
hood's years like me, 
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he w ill 

be; 
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his 

thoughtful brow, 
I dare not think what I should feel, were 1 to 

lose him now. 

1 have a son, a second son, a .sinijile child of 

three ; 
I '11 not declare how bright and fair his little 

features be, 
How silver sweet those tones of his when he 

prattles on my knee ; 
I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his 

brother's, keen. 
Nor his brow so full of chililish thought as his 

hath ever been ; 
But his little heart 's a fountain pure of kiiul and 

tender feeling ; 
And his every look 's a gleam of light, rich 

depths of love revealing. 
When he walks with me, the country folk, who 

pass us in the street. 
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks 

so mild and sweet. 
A playfellow is he to all ; and yet, with cheerful 

tone. 
Will sing his little song of love, when left to 

sport alone. 
His presence is like sunshine sent to gladden 

home and hearth. 
To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all 

our mirth. 
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his 

heart may prove 
As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now for 

earthly love ; 
And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching 

eyes must dim, 
God comfort ns for all the love which we shall 

lose in him. 



together walk ; 
Ho scarcelv thinks as children think, or talks as I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age I cannot 



children talk. 
Nor cares he much for childish sixirts, dotes not 

on bat or ball. 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and 

aptlv mimics all. 

tQ-^ — ^ 



tell. 
For they reckon not by years and months where 

he has gone to ilwell. 
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infiiit 

smiles were given ; 



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fh- 



INFANCY. 



-^ 



And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to 

live in heaven. 
I i:annot tell what form is his, what looks he 

weareth now, 
Xor guess how briglit a glory crowns his shining 

seraph brow. 
'Die thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss 

whir;h he doth fc^el. 
Are imrnljered with the secret tilings which God 

wil! not reveal. 
Ijiit I know (for (jod hath told me this) that he 

is now at rest. 
Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's 

loving breast. 
I know Ills sjiiiit feels no more tliis weary load 

ol' flesh. 
But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams of 

joy forever fresh. 
I know the angels fold him close Ix'neath their 

glittering wings. 
And soothe him with a .song that breathes of 

Heaven's divinest things. 
I know that we shall meet our babe (his mother 

dear and I) 
Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears 

from every eye. 
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can 

never cease ; 
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is 

certain peace. 
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls 

from bliss may sever ; 
But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be 

ours forever. 
When we thiiiK of what our darling is, and what 

we still must be, — 
Wlien we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and 

tliis world's miseiy, — 
When we groan beneath this loail of sin, and 

feel this grief and pain, — 
Oh ! we 'd rather lose our other two, than have 

liini lierc again. 

John Moultrie. 



'-ti^- 



GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING. 

A KAiu little girl sat under a tree 
Sewing as long as her eyes could see ; 
'Hien smoothed her work and folded it right, 
iViid said, " Dear work, good night, good night ! 

Such a number of rooks came over her head. 
Crying " Caw, caw ! " on their way to bed. 
She said, as she watched their curious flight, 
' Little black things, good night, good night ! 



The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, 

The sheep's "Bleat! bleat!" came over the 

road ; 
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, 
"Good little girl, good night, good night ! " 

She did not say to the sun, "Good night !" 
Though she saw him there like a ball of light ; 
For she knew he had God's time to keep 
All over the world and never could sleep. 

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head ; 
The violets eoiirt,esied, and went to bed ; 
And good little Lucy tied up her hair. 
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. 

And, while on her pillow she softly lay. 

She knew nothing more till agjiin it wa.s day ; 

And all things said to the Ijcautiful sun, 

" Good morning, good morning I our work is 

begun." KlLMAItlJ MOXCKTON MlLNIS 



THE GAMBOL.S OF CHILDREN. 

Down the dimpled greensward dancing 
Bursts a flaxen-headed be\'y, — 

Bud-lipt lx)ys and girls atlvancing, 
Love's iiTcgular little levy. 

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, 

How they glimmer, how tliey quiver ! 

Sparkling one another after. 
Like bright ripples on a river. 

Tipsy band of rubious faces, 

Fluslied with .Joy's ethereal .spirit, 

Make your mocks and sly grimaces 
At J.K)ve's .self, and dn not fear it. 

f'.EORGP. DARLEV. 



UNDER MY WINDOW. 

Under my window, under my window, 

All in the Midsummer weather. 
Three little girls witli fluttering curls 

Flit to and fro together : — 
There 's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen. 
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green, 

And Kate with her scarlet feather. 

Under my window, under my window. 

Leaning stealthily over, 
Merry and clear, the voice 1 hear, 

Of each glad-hearted rover. 
Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ; 
And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, 

As meiTy as bees in clover. 



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e-*- 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YoUTH. 



•*i3^ 



Under my window, under my window, 
In the blue midsummer weather. 

Stealing slow, on a huslied tiptoe, 
I eateh tbeni all together : — 

liell with her bonnet of siitin slieen, 

And Maud witli her mantle of silver-green, 
And Kale: with tlie searlet feather. 

Under my window, under my window. 
And off through the orehard closes ; 

■Whiic Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts, 
They scamper and drop their posies ; 

Hut ilear little Kate takes naught amiss. 

And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss. 
And 1 give her all my roses. 



THE MOTHER'S HEART. 

■\\'ilEN' first thou earnest, gentle, .shy, ami fond, 
Jly eldest born, first hope, and dearest treasure. 

My heart received thee with a joy beyond 
All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; 

Nor thought that any love again might be 

So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 

Kaithful and true, with sense beyond thy years, 
And natural piety that leaned to heaven ; 

Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to teal's, 
Yet patient to rebuke when justly given ; 

(Ibedient, easy to be reconciled. 

And meekly cheerful ; such wert thou, my child ! 

Not willing to be left — still by my side. 

Haunting mv walks, while summer-day was 
dying ; ■ 
Nor leaving in thy turn, but jileased to glide 
Throuijh the dark room where I was sadly 
lying ; 
Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek, 
Watch the dim eye, and kiss the fevered cheek. 

boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made 
Earth's fragile idols ; like a tender flower, 

No strength in all thy freshness, prone to fade. 
And bending weakly to the thunder-shower ; 

Still, round the loved, thv heart found force to 
hind. 

And clung, like woodbine shaken in the wind ! 

Then THOU, my nuTry love, — bold in thy glee, 
Uiuler the bough, or hy the firelight dancing. 

With tliy sweet temper, and thy spirit free, — 
nidst come, as restless as a bird's wing glan- 
cing. 

Full of a wild and iiTppressible mirth, 

Like a voung sunbeam to the gladdened earth ! 



Thine was the shout, the song, the liurst of joy, 
Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re- 
soundeth ; 
Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy. 
And the glad heart from which all grief re- 
boundeth ; 
And many a mirthful jest and mock reply 
L\irked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. 

And thine was many an art to win and bless. 
The cold and stern to joy and fondness warm- 
ing ; 
The coaxing smile, the freiiuent soft caress. 
The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarm- 
ing ! 
Again my heart a new aftection found. 
But thought that love with thee had reached its 
bound. 

At length thou earnest, — thou, the last and 
iea.st. 
Nicknamed "the Emperor" by thy laughing 
brothers. 
Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast. 
And thou didst seek to rule and sway the 
others. 
Mingling with every playful infant wile 
A mimic majesty that made us smile. 

And O, most like a regal child wert thou ! 

An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! 
Fair shoulders, curling lips, and dauntless brow. 

Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's dream- 
ing ; 
.\nd proud the lifting of thy stately head, 
.Vnd the firm bearing of thy conscious tread. 

IHtt'erent from both ! yet each succeeding claim 
1, that all other love had been forswearing. 

Forthwith admitted, equal and the same ; 
Nor injured either by this love's comparing. 

Nor stole a fraction for the newer call, — 

But in the mother's heart found room for all ! 
Caroline E. Norton. 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE 

Is there, when the winds are singing 
In the happy summer time, — 

When the raptured air is ringing 

With Earth's music heavenward springing. 
Forest chirp, and village chime, — 

Is there, of the sounds that tloat 

Sighingly, a single note 

Half so sweet, and clear, and wild. 

As the laughter of a child '. 



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INFANCY. 



33^ 



Listen ! and be now deligliteil : 

Morn hath touched her golden strings ; 

Earth and Sky their vows liave plighted ; 

Life and Light are reunited 
Amid countless carolings ; 

Yet, delicious as they are. 

There 's a sound that 's sweeter far, — 

One that makes the heart rejoice 

Jlore than all, — the human voice ! 

Organ finer, deeper, clearer, 

Though it be a stranger's tone, — 

Than the winds or waters dearer, 

More enchanting to the hearer, 
For it answereth to his own. 

But, of all its witching words. 

All its m}Tiad magic chords. 

Those are sweetest, hubhling wild 

Through the laughter of a child. 

Harmonies from time-touched towers, 

Haunted strains from rivulets. 
Hum of bees among the flowers. 
Rustling leaves, and silver showers, — 

These, ere long, the ear forgets ; 
But in mine there is a sound 
Ringing on the whole year round, — 
Heart-deep laughter that I heard 
Ere my child could speak a word. 

Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer, 

Fondlier formed to catch the strain, — 

Ear of one whose love is surer, — 

Hei's, the mother, the endurer 
Of the deepest share of pain ; 

Hers the deepest bliss to treasure 

Memories of that cry of pleasure ; 

Hers to hoard, a lifetime after. 

Echoes of that infant laughter. 

'T is a mother's large affection 
Hears with a mysterious sense, — 

Breathings that evade detection. 

Whisper faint, and fine inflection. 
Thrill in her with power intense. 

Childliood's honeyed words untaught 

Hiveth she in loving thought. 

Tones that never thence depart ; 

For she listens — with her heart. 

LAMAN blanchar 



t 



SEVEN TIMES ONE. 

There 's no dew left on the daisies and clover. 

There 's no rain left in heaven. 
I 've said my "seven times " over and over, — 

Seven times one are seven. 



I am old, — so old I can write a letter ; 

My birthday lessons are done. 
The lambs play always, — they know no better ; 

They are oidy one times one. 

Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 

And shining so round and low. 
You were bright — ah, bright — but your light 
is failing ; 
You are nothing now but a bow. 

You Moon ! have you done something wrong in 
lieaven. 
That God has hidden your face ? 

1 hope, if you have, you will soon bo forgiven. 

And shine again in your place. 

velvet Bee ! you 're a dusty fellow, — 
You 've powdered your legs with gold. 

brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow, 
Give me your money to hold ! 

Columbine ! open your folded wra|)]ier. 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! 

Cuckoopint ! toll me the purple clapper 

That hangs in your clear green bell ! 

And show me your nest, with the young ones in 
it — 
I will not steal them away : 

1 am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet ! 

I am seven times one to-day. 

Jean ingelow. 



SEVEN TIMES FOTTR. 

Heirh-ho ! daisies and buttercups. 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and t;ill ! 
A\nien the wind wakes how they rock in tlu> 
grasses. 
And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and 
small ! 
Here 's two bonny boys, and here 's mother's own 
lasses. 
Eager to gather them all. 

Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! 

Jlother shall thread them a dai.sy chain : 
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow. 
That loved her brown little ones, loved them 
full fain ; 
Suig, "Heart, thou art wide though the house 
be but narrow," — 
Sing once, and sing it again. 



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34 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



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Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups, 

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they 
bow ; 
A ship sails afar over warm oeean waters, 

And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. 
bonny brown sons, and sweet little daugh- 
ters. 
Maybe he thinks on you now ! 

Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups, 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall — 
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure. 
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and 
thrall ! 
Send down on their pleas-ure smiles passing its 
measure, 
God that is over us all ! 

Jean ingelow. 



WE ARE SEVEN. 

A .SIMPLE child. 
That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
AMiat should it know of death ? 

I met a little cottage girl : 

She was eight years old, she said ; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodlaml air. 

And she was wildly clad ; 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — 

Her beauty made me glad. 

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, 

How many may you be ? " 
" How many ? Seven in all," she said. 

And wondering looked at me. 

•' And where are they ? I pray you tell.' 
She answered, ' ' Seven are we ; 

And two of us at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea ; 

" Two of us in the churchyard lie. 

My sister and my brother ; 
And, in the churchyard cottage, I 

Dwell near them with my mother." 

" You say that two at Conway dwell. 

And two are gone to sea, 
Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell. 

Sweet maid, how this may be." 



Then did the little maid reply, 

" Seven boys and girls are we ; 
Two of us in the churchyard lie 

Beneath the churchyard tree." 

' ' You run about, my little maid ; 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid. 

Then )'e are only five." 

"Their graves are green, they may be seen. " 

The little maid replied : 
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door. 

And they are side by side. 

"My stockings there I often knit ; 

My kerchief there I hem ; 
And there upon the gi'ound I sit, 

And sing a song to them. 

" And often after sunset, sir, 

AVhen it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer. 

And eat my supper there. 

" The first that died was Sister Jane ; 

In bed she moaning lay, 
Till God released her of her pain ; 

And then she went away. 

"So in the churchyard she was laid ; 

And, when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 

" And when the ground w^as white with snow 

And I could run and slide. 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side." 

" How many are you, then," said I, 

"If they two are in heaven ? " 
Quick w-as the little maid's reply ; 

" Master ! we are seven." 

" But they are dead ; those two are dead ! 

Their spirits are in heaven ! " — 
'T was throwing words away ; for still 
The little maid would have her wiU, 

And said, " Nay, we are seven ! " 



TO A CHILD, DimiNG SICKNESS. 

Sleep breathes at last from out thee, 

My little patient boy ; 
And balmy rest about thee 

Smooths off the day's annoy. 



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IXFAXCY. 



TTn 



I sit me down, and think 
Of all thy winning ways ; 
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, ' 
That I had less to praise. 

Thy sidelong pillowed meekness ; 

Thy thanks to all that aiil ; 
Thy heart, in pain and weakness, 
Of fancied faults afraid ; 

The little trembling hand 
That wipes thy quiet tears, — 
These, these are things that may demand 
Dread memories for years. 

Sorrows I 've had, severe ones, 

I will not think of now ; 
And calmly, midst my dear ones, 
Have wasted with dry brow ; 
But when thy fingers press 
And pat my stooping head, 
I cannot bear the gentleness, — 
The tears are in their bed. 

Ah, first-born of thy mother. 

When life and hope were new ; 
Kind plajTnate of thy brother, 
Thy sister, father too ; 

My light, where'er I go ; 
My bird, when prison-bound ; 
My hand-in-hand companion — No, 
My prayers shall hold thee round. 

To say, "He has departed " — 

" His voice " — " his face " — "is gone 
To feel impatient-hearted. 
Yet feel we must bear on, — 

Ah, I could not endure 
To whisper of such woe. 
Unless 1 felt this sleep insure 
That it will not be so. 

Yes, still he 's fi.xed, and sleeping ! 

This silence too the while, — 
Its very hush and creeping 
Seem whispering us a smile ; 
Something divine and dim 
Seems going by one's ear. 
Like parting wings of cherubim, 

AVho say, " We 've finished here." 



THE PET NAME. 
Which from fkeir hps Reemed a c 



S Dramatic Scftii 



^- 



I H.iVE a name, a little name, 

Uncadenced for the ear, 
Unhonored by ancestral claim, 
Unsanctified by prayer and psalm 
The solemn font anear. 



It never did, to pages wove 

For gay romance, belong. 
It never dedicate did move 
As " Sacharissa, " unto love, — 

"Orinda," unto song. 

Though I write books, it will be read 

Upon the leaves of none. 
And afterward, when I am dead. 
Will ne'er be gi'aved for sight or tread, 

Across my funeral-stone. 

This name, whoever chance to call. 

Perhaps your smile may win. 
Nay, do not smile ! mine eyelids fall 
Over mine eyes, and feel withal 
The sudden tears within. 

Is there a leaf that gi'eenly gi'ows 

Where summer meadows bloom. 
But gathereth the winter snows, 
And changeth to the hue of those, 
If lasting till they come ? 

Is there a word, or jest, or game, 

But time encrusteth round 
With sad associate thoughts the same ? 
And so to me my very name 

Assumes a mournful sounii. 

My brother gave that name to me 
WTien we were children twain, — 

MTien names accjuired baptismally 

Were hard to utter, as to see 
That life had any pain. 

No shade was on us then, save one 

Of chestnuts from the hill, — 
And through the word our laugh did run 
As part thereof. The mirth being done. 
He calls me by it still. 

Nay, do not smUe ! 1 hear in it 

^Vhat none of you can hear, — 
The talk upon the willow seat, 
The bird and wind that did repeat 
Around, our human cheer. 

I hear the birthday's noisy bliss, 

My sisters' woodland glee, — 
My father's praise I did not miss, 
When, stooping down, he cared to kiss 
The poet at his knee, — 

And voices which, to name me, aye 

Their tenderest tones were keeping, — 
To some I nevermore can say 
An answer, till God wipes away 
In heaven these drojis of weeping. 



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36 



I'dems of ixfaxcy and yuuth. 



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My uame to me a sailuess wears ; 

No murmurs cross my mind. 
Now God be thanked for these thick tears, 
Which show, of those dejiarted year's. 

Sweet memories left behind. 

Now God be thanked for years enwrought 

With love which softens yet. 
Now God be thanked for every thought 
^\^uch is so tender it has caught 

Earth's guerdon of regret. 

Earth saddens, never shall remove. 

Affections j'urely given ; 
And e'en that mortal grief shall prove 
The immortality of love. 

And heighten it with Heaven. 

BARRETT BROWNI.NC 



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OLD-SCHOOL PUNISHMENT. 

Old Master Brown brought his ferule down, 

And his face looked angry and red. 
' ' Go, seat you there, now, Anthony Blair, 

Along with the girls, " he said. 
Then Anthony Blair, with a mortified air, 

AVith his head down on his breast, 
Took his penitent seat by the maiden sweet 

That he loved, of all, the best. 
And Anthony Blair seemed whimpering there. 

But the rogue only made believe ; 
For he peeped at the girls with the beautiful curls. 

And oggled tlu'ui over his sleeve. 

Anonymous. 



THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. 

A niSTRlcT school, not far away. 

Mid Berkshire hills, one mnter's day. 

Was humming mtli its wonted noise 

Of threescore mingled girls and boys ; 

Some few upon their tasks intent, 

But more on furtive mischief bent. 

The while the master's downward look 

Was fastened on a copy-book ; 

A\nien suddenly, behind his back, 

Dose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! 

As 't were a battery of bliss 

Let off in one tremendous kiss ! 

"AVhat 's that ?" the startled master cries ; 

" That, thir," a little imp replies, 

" Wath William Willith, if you pleathe, — 

I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe ! " 

With frown to make a statue thrill. 

The master thundered, "Hither, Will!" 

Mke \vi-etch o'ertaken in his track, 



With stolen chattels on his back, 

Will hung his head in fear and shame, 

And to the awful presence came, — 

A great, green, bashful simpleton, 

The butt of all good-natured fun. 

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised. 

The threatener faltered, — "I 'ni amazed 

That you, my biggest pupil, should 

Be guilty of an act so rude ! 

Before the whole set school to boot, — 

What e\-il genius put you to 't ? " 

" 'T was she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, 

' ' I did not mean to be so bad ; 

But when Susaimah shook her curls, 

And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls, 

And dursn't kiss a baby's doll, 

I could n't stand it, sir, at all. 

But up and kissed her on the spot ! 

I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not. 

But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo — 

I thought she kind o' wished me to ! " 

WlLLlA.M I'n I PAL.MER. 



THE BAREFOOT BOY. 

Blessings on thee, little man. 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawbenies on the hill ; 
With the sun.shine on thy face. 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; 
From ray heart I give thee joy, — 
I was once a barefoot boy ! 
Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy 
In the reach of ear and eye, — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy ; 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

for boyhood's painless play. 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools. 
Of the «-ild bee's morning chase. 
Of the wild-flower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell. 
How the woodchuck digs his cell. 
And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung ; 



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Where the whitest lilius blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow, 
Where the groundnut trails its vine, 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 
Of the black wasp's cunning way. 
Mason of his w'alls of clay, 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans ! — 
For, eschewing books and tasks. 
Nature answers all he asks ; 
Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks. 
Part and parcel of her joy, — 
Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 

O fur boyhood's time of June, 
t'rowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw. 
Me, their master, waited for. 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Hii'mming-birds and honey-bees ; 
For my sport the sc[uirrel played. 
Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Puii>led over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night. 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talkiil with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond. 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides ! 
Still, as my horizon grew. 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy. 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

O for festal dainties spreail. 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, — 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
O'er me, like a regal tent. 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold. 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 
I was monarch : pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerly, then, my little man. 
Live .and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 



Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat ; 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
JIade to tread the mills of toil. 
Up and dow-n in ceaseless moil : 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick an<l treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy. 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

John Gkelnleaf wnrrriER. 



BOYHOOD. 

Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded days ! 
The minutes parting one by one like rays 

That fade upon a summer's eve. 
But 0, what charm or magic numbers 
Can give me back the gentle slumbers 

Those weary, happy days did leave ? 
When by my bed I .saw my mother kneel, 

And with her blessing took her nightly kiss ; 

Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this ; — 
E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. 

WASHtNGTON ALLSTON. 



OUR WEE WHITE ROSE. 

All in our marriage garden 

Grew, smiling up to God, 
A bonnier flower than ever 

Suckt the green wanntli of the sod ; 
beautiful unfathomably 

Its little life unfurled ; 
And crown of all things was our wee 

White Rose of aU the world. 

From out a balmy bosom 

Our bud of beauty grew ; 
It fed on smiles for simshine. 

On tears for daintier dew : 
Aye nestling warm and tenderly, 

Our leaves of love were curled 
So close and close alxjut our wee 

White Rose of aU the world. 

W^ith mystical faint fragi-ance 
Our house of life she filled ; 

Picvealed each hour some fairy tower 
Where winged Iiopes might build ! 



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38 



rOKMS UF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



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Wo saw — thoujjli lumo liki' iis might so« — 

Stiili iii-i'i'io\i3 in'oiniso in'ui'leil 
V poll till' (lotiils of our \vi<o 

WliitK Host' ol'nll llu> worlil. 

Hill ,.v,.niu.iv llu' lulo 

Or:iiij;.'l-li,','lil innviisoil, 
l.iUi' llu' iiivsti'iy ol' niooiiUgUt 

Tliiil I'oUls soiiio t'liiry lonst. 
Suow-wliito, siunv-sol'l, siiow-silontly 

Owr iliuliiij; Inul up-i'iii'lod. 
Ami .Iroiil i' tin' ,i;nivi' — (ioil's lap — our woo 

Wliil,' \i..s,' ofall Ihr worUl. 

Our IJoso was but in lilossoiu. 

Our life was Imt in spriuj;, 
AVliou down llio soloiuu luiiluischt 

Wo lio.ml tlio si.iiils sing, 
••Auollior lui.l of infauoy " 

With holy dows iiiipoarloil ! " 
Ami ill Ihoir hands thoy boro our woo 

Whito lioso ofall tlio world. 

You soaivo oouUl think so small a thing 

Could loavo a loss so lai'gi' : 
llor lilllo light suoh shadow lliiig 

From dawn to sunsot's uiargi'. 
In otlior springs our lifo may bo 

111 Iwnnoivd bloom uufnrlod, 
l^iit iiovor, iiovor matoh our woo 

Whilo lioso ofall tlio world. 



ru'TinsKs OF mkmoky. 

Amoni! tho Ivantifiil inoturos 

That hang on Moniory's wall 
Is ono of a dim old foivst. 

That soomoth best of all ; 
Kot for its gnarlod oaks oldon, 

Park with tho mistlotoo ; 
Not for tho violots gi^ldon 

That sprinklo tho valo Mow ; 
Not for tho milk-whito lilios 

That loan fivm tho fiiiguiut lodg>\ 
Ooiimtting all day with tho sunlnwrns. 

And stoaling thoir goldoii odgi' ; 
Not for tho vinos on tho ujiland, 

Whoft* the bright it'd horrios ivst. 
Nor tho pinks, nor tho ^wlo swoot oowslip. 

It soomoth to ino tho In'st, 

I oiioo had a littlo bivthor. 

With oyos that woiv dark and doop : 
In tho lap of that old dim foi-ost 

Tlo lioth in poaoo asloop : 
Light as tho down of tho thistlo, 

FVoo as the winds that Wow, 



Wo itivod thoro the bonutiful suminei-s, 

Tho sunimors of long ago : 
Ihit his fool oil tlio hills grow woary, 

Ami, ono of tlio autumn eves, 
1 inado for my littlo brother 

A bod of tlio yellow leaves. 
Sw.-etly his pule arms folded 

My iiei'k in a nioek embraoo. 
As tiio light of immortal beauty 

Silently eovoroil his faee ; 
And when tho arrows of sunset 

lAiilged in tho tree-tops bright, 
Ho foil, in his saint-liko beauty, 

Asleep by the gates of light. 
Therefore, of all the ph'turos 

That hang on Memory's wall, 
The ono of the dim old forest 

Seenioth the best of all. 



HARRY ASHL.VND, ONE OF MY LOVERS. 

I Il.-VVK a lover, a little lover, he rolls on the 

grass and plays in tlio elover ; 
Ilo builds bloek-honsos and digs olay wells, aiul 

makes siind-pios in his hut. 
t1u Sundays ho swings in the littlo poivh, or has 

a oloan oollar and goes to olnm'h. 
And a.sks ine to marry him, when ho gi-ows up. 

and live in a house " like that." 
Ho wears a givat apron like a .saek, - it 's hard 

thoy don't put him in trousei-s and jackets ; 
Ihit his soul is far above buttons, ami his hopes 

for the futui-o o'orshoot them. 
For Harry, like lai'gor lovei-s, will oonrt. without 

any visihlo means of support. 
And ask you to give him your heart ami hand, 

when ho does n't know wheiv to put thom. 

All day ho 's tumbling, and leaping, and .inniji- 

iiig, — running and oalling, hammering and 

thumping, 
Playing "bo-peep" with tho hluo-eyod babe, oi 

ohasing tho eows in the lane : 
But at twilight around my ohair ho lingi-i-s, 

clasping my hand in his dimpled fingi'i^. 
And 1 wonder if love so puiv and fiv.sh 1 shall 

ever inspiif agsiin ! 
Tho men that kneel and declaim thoir [vission, — 

tho won that " annex " you in stately fash- 
ion, — 
Thoro is not so much of trnth and warmth in all 

tho heartsi of a scoiv, — 
And 1 look in tho honest eyes of this Ivihy, and 

wonder what would have hap|H'ned, mayln-, 
If Heaven had not made me K' twenty now, 

while Harrv is only fonr. 



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INFANCY. 



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1 liiivc! a littln rival nainucl Aila, »lie clingH to a 

IiroiiiiHo tliat Harry made lior, 
" To l)iiild lii:r a Ijou.sc all lull ol' (luoro," and live 

with Jicr there Home day ; 
liut Ada Ih growing lank and thin, — they Hay 

she will have a peaked chin, 
And I think had nearly outgrown her "lirst 

love " hcfore I came in the way. 
She wears short Bkirts, and a iiink-trimmed 

Shaker, the niccHt aprons liei' mother can 

make her. 
And a Snnday hat with feathers ; but it docs n't 

matter liow she is drcHsed, 
For Harry — sweetest of earthly lispers — has 

said in my ear, in loudest whisjiers, 
Witli his dear short arms around my neck, that 

he "likes the yroum-up bonnets best." 

He Hays he shall leani to be a lawyer, but his 
private preference is a sawyer. 

And counselors, not less than cariientci-s, live 
Vjy "sawdust" and by b/jrca. 

It's easier to saw a plank in two than to bore a 
judicial blockhead through. 

And if panels of jurors fail to yield, he can 
always panel doors. 

It 's a question of enterprise verxus wood, and if 
his hammer and will be good. 

If his energetic little brown hand be as stcaily 
and busy then. 

Though chisel or [jcn be the weapon he 'fl need- 
ing, whether his business is planing or plead- 
ing, 

Harry will cut his way through the ranks, and 
stand at the head of you men ! 

I say to him sometimes, "My dearest Harry, we 

have n't money enough to mairy " ; 
He has si-Kty cents in his little tin " bank," and 

a keepsake in his diaw(;r ; 
But he always promises, " 1 '11 get plenty — I '11 

lind where they make it, when I 'm twenty ; 
I '11 go down town where the other men do, and 

bring it out of the store." 
And then he describes such wonderful dresses, 

and gives me such gallant hugs and caresses, 
With items of courtshiji from .M other Goose, silk 

cushions ami rings of gold. 
And I think what a fond tnie breast to dream on, 

what a dear, brave heart for a woman to 

lean on, 
Wli.at a king and kingdom are .saving up for 

some baby a twelvemonth old ! 

Twenty years hence, when 1 am forty, and Harry 
a young man, gay and nauglity. 

Flirting and dancing, and shooting guns, driv- 
ing fast horses and cracking whips. 



The hand.Homest fellow ! — Heaven bless him ! — 

setting the girls all wild to possess him, — 
With his dark mustaf;he and hazel eyes, and 

cigJirs in those pretty lips ! 
O, do you think he will i/uite forget me, — ilo y(ju 

believe he will ever regret mef 
Will he wish the twenty years back again, or 

deem this an idle myth, 
While I shall sometimes push up my glasses, 

and sigh iis rny baby-lover passes. 
And wonder if Heaven sets this world right, as 

I look at .\Ir. Snjith ! 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE MITHERLE8S BAIRN. 

CThom (fivtn lli<: following narr.illvd ai lo tli.: orli{ln o( " Tlic 
MilhcrlcM Bairn " : " When I was Jivin' in Aberdeen. I was linipinif 
roun' the hoUM: to my garret, when I hcArd the ((rectin' '/ a wean. 
A tlMie was thumpin' a bairn, when out cam a bljf (lame, bcllowin , 
■ Yc huHie, will ye lick a mllherlcftv balm : ' 1 hobbled up the fttair 
and wrote the *an(f afore siccpin'."] 

When a' ither baimics are liushe<l tfi their liamo 
15y aunty, or cousin, or frecky gran<l-daine, 
Wha stands hist and lanely, an' nfudmdy caiin'? 
'T is the puir doited loonie, — the milherless 
bairn ! 

The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed ; 
Nano covers his cauld W;k, or haps his Iiarc 

head; 
His wee hackit heelies arc hard as the aim, 
An' lithclcss the lair o' the mitherless bairn, 

Ancath his cauld brow siecan dreams hover 

tliere, 
0' hands that wont kindly tf) kame his dark hair ; 
But inoiTiin' brings dut'dies, a' reckless an' stem. 
That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless tjaim ! 

Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly rocked bed 
Now rests in the mools where her mammie is 

laid ; 
The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn. 
An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn. 

Her spirit, that passed in yon hour o' his birth. 
Still watches his wearisome wanrlerings on ctrth ; 
Recording in heaven the blessings they earn 
Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless baini ! 

0, speak hiif) na harshly, —he trembles the 

while. 
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile ; 
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall 

learn 
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn ! 



William thom. 



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■il) 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



n 



THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. 

I LOVE it, 1 love it ! and wiio shall dare 

To chide me for loving tliat old arm-ehair ? 

1 've treasured it long as a sainted prize, 

I 've bedewed it with tears, I 've embalmed it 

with sighs. 
'T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart ; 
Not a tie will break, not a link will start ; 
Would you know the spell ( — a mother sat there ! 
Ami a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. 

1 n eliildhood's hour I lingered near 

The liallowed seat with listening ear; 

And gentle words that mother would give 

To tit me to die, and teach nie to live. 

.She told me that shame would never betide, 

With IVuth for my creed, and God for my guide ; 

Slie taught me to lisp my earliest prayer. 

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. 

I sat, and watched her numy a day, 
When her eye grew dim, and lier locks were gray ; 
And I almost worshiped her when she smiled, 
Aud turned from her Bible to bless her child. 
Years rolled on, but the last one sped, — 
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled ! 
Aud I learned how much the heart can bear, 
^VlleIl 1 saw her die in her old arm-chair. 

'T is past, 't is past ! but I gaze on it now, 
With ([uivering breath and throbbing brow : 
'T was there she nursed me, 't was there she died. 
And memory flows with lava tide. 
iSay it is folly, and deem nie weak, 
Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek ; 
Hut I love it, I love it, and cannot tear 
Jly soul from a mother's old arm-chair. 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 

How dear to this heart are the scenes of mv 
childhood, 
AVhen fond recollection presents them to new ! 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild- 
wood, 
Andevery loved spotwhichmyinfancyknew ; — 
The \vide-spreading pond, and the mill which 
stood by it. 
The bridge, and therockwhere the cataractfell ; 
The cot of my father, the dair)--house nigh it. 
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the 
well. 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket wliich hung in the well. 



That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; 
For often, at noon, when returned from the 
field, 
1 found it the source of an exc|uisite jjleasure. 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were 
glowing ! 
And nuick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 
Aud dripping with coolness, it rose from the 
well ; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to re- 
ceive it. 
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! 
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt nic tn 
leave it. 
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved situation. 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell. 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 
And sighs for the bucket which hangs iji the 
well ; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. 

SAMUEL WqoDWORTH. 



I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER. 

I r.EiiEMnKU, 1 remember 

The house where. 1 was born. 
The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn. 
He never came a wink too soon, 

Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away ! 

I remembei-, I remember 

The roses, red and white. 
The violets, and the lily-cups, — 

Those flowei-s made of light ! 
The lilacs where the robin built. 

Anil where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birthday, — 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where 1 was used to swing. 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing ; 
My spii-it flew in feathers then. 

That is so heavy now. 
And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on mv brow ! 



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T n !•: 



>LIl ARM-CHAIR. 



• Ik childhood's hour I lingered near 
The hallo'.i.'ed seat ivith list'ning ear: 
I sat and watched her many a day^ 
When her eye grem dim, and her locks -aiere gray: 
And I almost worshipped iter when site smiled. 
And turned from her Bible to bless her child." 



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INFANCY. 



41 



■a 



I reifieinbcr, I iciiiciiiticr 

Ttic fir-trtcB dark and liigli ; 
I ufw.-d to think tlicir Blender Ujps 

Were clow: again»t the oky. 
It waH a ehildiHli ignorance, 

Hut now 't in little joy 
'I'o know I 'in farther oil' from heaven 

Than when I was a Ujy. 

TllOMAH llOOLf. 



WOODMAN, HPAKE TKAT TEEE. 

Woodman, spare that tree ! 

Touch not a uinglc Ixiugli ! 
In youth it sheltered ine, 

Ami 1 '11 prot'.'ct it now. 
'T waj) my forefatlier'H hand 

Tliat phw-ed it near his cot ; 
There, wooilman, let it stand, 

Thy ax ithall lutrm it not ! 



'lliat old familiar tree, 
WhoKc irlory and renown 



Are H[)rca<l o'er land ami B<;a, 
And wouldnt thou hew it down? 

Woodman, fort^ear thy Htroke ! 
Cut not its eaith-Ujund ties; 

0, Hj/are that agwl oak, 
>iow t/jwering ti> the skiei*! 

When hut an idle hoy 

I sought its gTaU;ful nhaile; 
In all their gu«hing joy 

Here t<jo my hi<*t<;r« played. 
My mother kiswid me here ; 

.\ly father presw^l my hand — 
Forgive thin foolish Viar, 

|{ut let tliat old oak stand ! 

My heart-strings round thc; cling, 

Close as thy Ijark, old fiiend ! 
Here sliall the wild-bird sing. 

And still thy branches tiend. 
Old tree ! the stomi still braveS 

An<l, woodman, li«ive the spot; 
While I ve a Itand to Siive, 

Thy ax shiiU hann it not. 

Cti/jROR p. Mofckia 



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42 



PUEMS OF IXFANCY AND YOUTH. 



-R; 



YOUTH, 



Ct^ 



THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST. 

Little EUie sits alone 
Mid the beeches of a meadow, 

By a stream-side, on tlie gi-ass, 

And the trees are showering down 
DoaMes of their leaves in shadow 

On her shining hair and face. 

Slie has thrown her bonnet by. 
And her feet she has been dipping 

In tlie shallow water's flow. 

Now she holds them nakedly 
In her hands all sleek and dripping, 

While she rocketh to and fro. 

Little Ellie sits alone. 
And the smile she softly uses 

Fills the silence like a speech, 

Wliile she thinks what shall be done, — 
And the sweetest pleasure chooses 

For her future within reach. 

Little Ellie in her smile 
Chooses . ..." I will have a lover, 

Riding on a steed of steeds ! 

He shall love me without guile. 
And to him I will discover 

The swan's nest among the reeds. 

"And the steed shall be red-roan. 
And the lover shall be noble. 

With an eye that takes the breath. 

And the lute he plays upon 
Shall strike ladies into trouble. 

As his sword strikes men to death. 

"And the steed it shall be shod 
All iu silver, housed in azure, 

And the mane shall swim the wind ; 

And the hoofs along the sod 
Shall flash onward and keep measure, 

Till the shepherds look behind. 

" But my lover will not prize 
All the glory that he rides in. 

When he gazes in my face. 

He will say, '0 Love, thine eyes 
Build the shrine my soul abides iu. 

And 1 kneel here for thy grace.' 

" Tlien, ay, then — he shall kneel low, 
AVith the red-roan steed anear him. 



Which shall seem to understand — 
Till I answer, ' Rise and go ! 
For the worlil must love and fear him 
Whom I gift with heart and hand.' 

" Then he will arise so pale, 
I shall feel my own lips tremble 

AVith a yes 1 must not say ; 

Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,' 
I will utter, and dissemble ; — 

' Light to-morrow with to-day. ' 

" Then he '11 ride among the hills 
To the wide world past the river, 

Tliere to put away all wrong ; 

To make straight distorted wills, 
And to empty the broad quiver 

Which the wicked bear along. 

' ' Three times shall a young foot-page 
Swim the stream and climb the mountain 

And kneel down beside my feet; — 

' Lo, my master sends this gage. 
Lady, for thy pity's counting ! 

AVhat wilt thou exchange for it?' 

"And the first time, I will send 
A white rosebud for a guerdon, — 

And the second time, a glove ; 

But the third time, I may bend 
From my pride, and answer, ' Pardon, 

I f he comes to take my love. ' 

"Then the young foot-page will run, — 
Then my lover will ride faster. 

Till he kneeleth at my knee : 

' I am a Duke's eldest son ! 
Thousand serfs do call me master, — 

But, Love, I love but thee! ' 

" He will kiss me on the mouth 
Then, and lead me as a lover 

Through the crowds that praise his deeds ; 

And, when soul-tied by one troth. 
Unto Jiim I will discover 

That swan's nest among the reeds." 

Little Ellie, with her smile 
Not yet ended, rose up gayly. 

Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe. 

And went homeward, round a mUe, 
Just to see, as she did daily. 

What more eggs were with the two. 



--G^ 



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YOUTH. 



43 



n 



Pushing through the ehn-tree copse, 
Wmiling up the stream, light-hearted, 

Where the osier pathway leads, — 

Past the boughs she stoops — and stops. 
Lo, the wild swan had deserted, 

And a rat had gnawed the reeds. 

Ellie went home sad and slow. 
If she found the lover ever. 

With his red-roan steed of steeds. 

Sooth 1 know not ! but I know 
She could never show him — never. 

That swan's nest among the reeds ! 

BARRETT BROW.NI,\G. 



LITTLE BELL. 

Piped the blackbird on the becchwood spray, 
" Pretty maid, slow wandering this way. 

What 's your name ! " (juoth he, — 
"What's yourname ? 0, stop and straightunfold, 
Pretty maid with showery curls of gold." — 

"Little Bell," said she. 

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks. 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks, — 

" Bonny bird," (-|UOth she, 
" Sing me your best song before I go." 
" Here 's the very finest song I know. 

Little Bell," said he. 

And the blackbird piped ; you never heard 
Half so gay a song from any bird, — 

Full of ({uips and wiles. 
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, 
All for love of that sweet face below, 

Dimpled o'er with smiles. 

And the while the bonny bird did pour 
His full heart freely o'er and o'er 

'Neath the moniing skies, 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And shine forth in happy overflow 

From the blue, bright eyes. 

Down the dell she tripped and through the glade, 
Peeped the scpiirrel from the hazel shade. 

And from out the tree 
Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear ; 
Whilebold blackbird piped that all might hear, — 

" Little Bell," piped he. 

Little Bell sat down amid the fern, — 
" S'luirrel, squirrel, to your task return ; 
Bring me nuts," quoth she. 



Up away the frisky squiiTel hies, — 
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes, — 

And adown the tree 
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. 
In the little lap dropped one by one. 
Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun ! 

" Happy Bell," pipes he. 

Little Bell looked up and down the glade, — 
"Sciuinel, siiuii-rel, if you 're not afraid, 

Come and share with me !" 
Down came squirrel eager for his fare, 
Down came bonny blackliird, 1 declare ; 
Little Bell gave each his honest share, — 

Ah the merry three ! 
And the while these frolic playmates twain 
Piped and frisked from bough to bovigh again, 

'Neath the morning skies. 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seems to grow and grow. 
And shine out in happy overflow 

From her blue, bright eyes. 

By her snow-white cot at close of day. 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray ; 

Very calm and clear 
Rose the praj-ing voice to where, unseen. 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 

Paused awhile to hear. 
" What good child is this," the angel said, 
"That with happy heart beside her bed 

Prays so lovingly?" 
Low and soft, 0, very low and soft. 
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 

" Bell, dear Bell !" crooned he. 

"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair 
Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care ; 

Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded safe from harm. Love, dee]i and kind. 
Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind, 

Little Bell, for thee!" 



A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 

'T w.\s the night before Chiistmas, when all 

through the house 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with 

care. 
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there : 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds. 
While visions of sugar-])lums danced in their 

heads ; 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's 

nap, — 



4rf- 



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44: 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



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\V hen out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 
I .sprang from my bcil to see what was the mutter. 
Away to the window 1 Hew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 
The moon on the breast of the uew-lallon snow 
<.lave a lustre of midday to objects below ; 
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 
lUit a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. 
With a little old driver, so lively and quick 
1 knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 
More rapiil than eagles his coursers they eamo, 
And ho whistled and sliouted, and called tliem 

by name : 
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, I'rancorund 

Vixen! 
On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Donder and Blitzen ! 
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! 
Now dasli away, dash away, dash away all !" 
As dry leaves that before the wild fturricane lly, 
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the 

sky. 
So up to the house-top the coursers they hew. 
With the sleigh full of toys, — and St. Nicholas 

too. 
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Nieholascame with abound. 
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with a.shesand 

soot; 
A bundle of toys ho had lluug on his bactk, 
And ho looked like a pedler just opening his pack. 
His eyes how they twinkled ! his dimples how 

merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a clierry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 
And the board on bis chin was as white as tho 

snow. 
Tho stump of a pi|)c lie Iiohi tight in his teeth. 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 
He had a broad face an<l a little round belly 
Thatsliook, when ho laughed, like a bowl full of 

jelly- 
He was chubby and plump, — a right jollyoldelf; 
And I laughed, when 1 saw him, inspitoof my.self. 
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head 
Soon gave mo to know I had nothing to dread. 
He spoke notaword, butwent straight to his work. 
And fdled all tho stockings ; then turned with a 

jerk, 
Anil laying his finger aside of his nose. 
And giving a nod, up tho chimney ho rose. 
He spi-ang to his .sleigh, to his team gaveawhistle. 
And away they all How like the down of a thistle : 
But 1 heard him exclaim, ore ho drove out of sight, 
" Ha])py C^hrist mas toall, and toall agood-night ! " 



& 



THE FROST. 

The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night. 
And ho said, " Now 1 shall be out of sight ; 
So through the valley and over the height 

In silence I '11 take my way. 
I will not go like that blustering train, 
The wind and tho snow, the hail and the rain. 
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, 

But 1 '11 be as busy as tlicy ! " 

Then he went to tho mountain, and powdered its 

crest. 
Ho climbed up tho trees, and their boughs he 

dressed 
With diamonds and pearls, and over the lireast 

Of the (juivering lake ho spread 
A coat of mail, that it need not fear 
Tho downward point of many a spear 
That ho hung on its margin, far and near, 

Where a rock could rear its head. 

He went to tho windows of those who sh'pt. 
And over each pane like a fairy crept : 
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stopped, 

By tho light of the moon was soon 
Most beautiful things. There were flowers ajid 

trees, 
Tliere were bevies of birds and swarms of Ikhjs, 
There wore cities, thrones, temples, and towers, 
and these 

All pictured in silver sheen ! 

But ho did one thing that was hardly fair, — 
He poepoil in the cupboard, and, finding there 
That all had forgotten for liim to prepare, — 

" Now, just to set them a thinking, 
I '11 bite this basket of fruit," said ho ; 
" This costly pitcher I '11 burst in three, 
And the glass of water they 've left for mo 

Shall 'tckkk!' to tell them 1 'm drinking." 



A PORTRAIT. 

■' due n.ninc is Elizabeth."— BEN JONSON. 

1 ■wir,!, paint her as I see her. 
Ten times have the lilies blown 
Since she looked upon the sun. 

And her face is lily-clear, 

Lily-shaped, and droiijied in duty 
To the law of its own beauty. 

Oval cheeks encolorod faintly, 
Which a trail of golden hair 
Keeps from fading olT to air ; 



rt-+- 



YUUTH. 



:r^ 



And a forehead fair and saintly, 
Wliicli two blue eyes undershine, 
Iiik(^ meek prayers before a shrine. 

Fare and ligure of a child, - 
Though too ealin, you think, and tender, 
l''<pr the childhood you would lend lier. 

Yet c'hild-simple, undefiled, 

Frank, obedient, — waiting still 
On the turnings of your will. 

Moviiif^ light, as all yo\ir things, 
,\s young l)irds, or early wheat, 
When the wind blows over it. 

Oidy, free f]-om (lutterings 

Of loud nnrth that scorneth measure, — 
Taking love for her chief pleasure. 

Choosing ])leasui'es, Ibr the rest, 
Wliirh runiu softly, — just as she, 
Wlii^n she nestles at your knee. 

Quiet talk she liketh best. 
In a bower of gentle looks, — 
Watering flowers, or leailijig books. 

And lier voice, it nninnurs lowly. 
As a silver stream may run, 
Wliich yet feels, you feel, the sun. 

And her smile it .seems half holy, 
As if drawn from thouglits more far 
Than our common jestings are. 

And if any poet knew her, 

]ie would sing of her with falls 
Used in lovely mailrigal.s. 

And if any painter drew her, 
He would paint her unaware 
With a halo round the hair. 

And if reader read the poem. 

He would whisper, " You have done a 
Consecrated little Una." 

And a dreamer (did you show him 
That same picture) would exclaim, 
" 'T is my angel, with a name I " 

And a stranger, when he sees her 
In the street even, smileth stilly, 
Just as you would at a lily. 

And all voices that address her 
Soften, sleeken evoiy word. 
As if speaking to a biid. 



And all fancies yearn to cover 
The hard earth whereon she passes, 
With the thymy-scentcd grasses. 

And all hearts do pray, "(!od love her I 
Ay, and certes, in good sooth, 
We may all be sure he doth. 

nLlZAIJHTH BAKRE^^ BKuWM 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 

Bei'wekn the dark and the daylight, 
When night is beginning to low(.'r. 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the children's hour. 

I hear in the chandler aliove me 

The patter of little feel, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my .study 1 see in the laniidight. 
Descending the broad hall .stair. 

Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper and then a silence ; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stainvay, 
A sudden raid from the hall, — 

By three doors left unguarded. 
They enter my eastle wall. 

Tliey clind) up into my turret. 

O'er the anns and back of my cliair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me : 
They seem to be everywhc^rc. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their anns at)out me entwine. 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 

Do you think, blue-eyed banditti, 
. Because you have scaled the wall. 
Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress. 

And will not let you ilepart. 
But put you into the dungeon 

In the round-tower of my heart. 



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4G 



POEMS OF INFANCY AND YOUTH. 



^ 



U 



Ami tlioro will I ki'ep you forever, 

Yos, t'orovor uiul a day, 
Till llio walls shall .rmubli' to niiii, 

Ami iiumkU'r in dust away. 

11, W. I.ONUl'I.LLOW. 



TUKKAU AND SONQ. 

SwKK'l'lii; and sweuter. 

Soil and low, 
Neat little iiyuiiili, 

Tliy imuilu'is How, 
Urging tliy tliiniMc, 
Thril't's tidy symbol, 
Iiusy and uimlile, 

'l"o and fro ; 
Trettily plying 

Tlireail and song, 
Keeping tlieni Hying 

l,ate and long. 
Though the stiteh linger, 
Kissing thy linger 

Quiek, — as it skips along. 

Many an eelio. 

Soft and low. 
Follows thy Hying 

Faiiey so, — • 
Melodies thrilling. 
Tenderly tilling 
Thee with their trilling, 

t'ome and go ; 
Memory's tingi'r, 

Quiek as tliino, 
l.oviug to linger 

On the line, 
Writes of another. 
Dearer than hivther : 

Would that the name \ve«' mine ! 
John Williamson rAi.MFK, 



SEVEN TIIVIES TWO. 

VoiT bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your 
ehanges. 

How many soever they be. 
And let the bix^wu meadow-lark's note as he ranges 

Come over, eonie over to me. 

Yet binls' elenrost eaitil by fall or by swelling 

No magieal sense eonveys. 
And Iwlls have forgotten their old ait of telling 

The fortune of future days, 

" Turn again, turn agj»in,"onee they rang eheorily 
While a bov listened alone ; 



Made his heart Yearn again, musing so wearily 
All by hiiiiselVi.n a sloue. 

Poor bells ! 1 forgive you ; your good days are 
over. 
And mine, they are yet to be ; 
No listening, no longing, sliall aught, anght 
diseover : 
You leave the story to me. 

The I'o.xglove shoots out of tlie given malted 
heather, 

Tlvpariiig lier hoods of snow ; 
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weatlier ; 

O, ehildren take long to gniw. 

1 wish, ami 1 wi^h that tlie spring would go 
faster. 

Nor long summer bide so late ; 
And 1 eonld grow on like the foxglove and aster, 

For some things are ill to wait, 

1 w ait for the day when dear hearts shall diseover. 
While dear hands are laiil on my head ; 

'■ Tlie ehild is u woman, the book may elose over, 
For all the lessons are said." 

I wait for my story — the binis cannot sing it. 

Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 
The bells cannot ring it, but long years, bring 
it ! 

Such ns 1 wish it to be. 



RAIN ON THE ROOF, 

AViii:n the showery vapors gather over all the 
sttirry spheres. 

And the melancholy darkness gently weeps in 
rainy tears, 

'T is a joy to press the pillow of a cottage cham- 
ber bed. 

And listen to the patter of the soft iiiin overhead. 

Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the 

heart. 
And a thousand divary fancies into busy being 

start ; 
And a thousivnd recolleetions weave their bright 

hues into woof. 
As 1 listen to the patter of the soft rain on the 

roof. 

There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to 

years agoue, 
To survey the infant sleejiei's ere she left them 

till the dawn. 



f 



YOUTH. 



47 



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1 cau sc-e her btiuliiig o'er iiie, us I listen to tlie 

strain 
Wliieli is played upon the sliingles hy the patter 

of the rain. 

Then my little serajjh sister, with her wings and 

waving hair, 
And her bright-eyed cherub brother, — a serene, 

angelic pair, — 
Glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise 

or mild reproof. 
As I listen to the murnuir of the soft rain on the 

roof. 

.\iid another comes to thrill lae witli lier eyes' 

delicious blue. 
I forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all 

untrue ; 
I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may hjvc 

again, 
And my heart's quick jiulses vibi-ate to the patter 

of the rain. 

There is naught in art's liravnras that cau work 
with such a spell, 

In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the 
holy passions swell. 

As that melody of nature, — that sulxlued, sub- 
duing strain. 

Which is played upon the shingles liy the jiatter 
of the rain. 



THE EDUCATION OF NATUUE. 

Three years she grew in sun and shower ; 
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown : 
This child 1 to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my own. 

"Myself will to my darling be 
Both law and imjmlse ; and with mc 

The girl, in rock and plain, 
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower. 
Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 

"She shall be sportive as the fawn 
Tliat wild with glee across the lawn 

Or up the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm. 
And hers the silence and the calm. 

Of mute insensate things. 



■h^. 



" The floating clouds their state shall lend 
To her ; for her the willow bend ; 
Xor shall she fail to see 



E'en in the motions of the storm 
Grace that shall mould the maidec's foir.. 
By silent .sympathy. 

"The stars of nddnight shall be dear 
To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round. 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

" And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her fonn to stately height, 

Her virgin bosom swell ; 
Such thoughts to Lucy 1 will give 
While she and I together live 

Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake. The work was done, — 
How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 
This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
The memory of what has been, 

And nevermore will be. 

WILLIAM Wordsworth. 



MAIDENHOOD. 

il.viiiKN ! with the meek brown eyes. 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, — 
• Jolden tresses wreathed in one. 
As the braided .streamlets ran ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
'V\^here the brook and river meet. 
Womanhood and childliood fleet ! 

Hazing, with a timid glance. 
On the brooklet's swift advance. 
On the river's broad expanse! 

Deep and still, that gliding .stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
Wlien bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian '! 

Seest thou .shadows sailing by. 
As the dove, with startled eye. 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the .shore. 
That our ears perceive no more. 
Deafened by the cataraat's roar ? 



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p^4S 



I'UEMS OF INFAXCY AXD YUUTH. 



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h 



thou child of uuiiiy prayers ! 

Life bath quicksands, Life hath snares ! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows. 
When the young heart overflows. 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through soitow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

0, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal. 
Even as sleep oui' eyes doth seal ; 

Aud that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart. 
For a smile of God tliou art. 

ri. W. LONGFELLOW. 



Like the violet, whii-h alone 
Prospers in some happy shade, 

My Castara lives unknown. 
To no ruder eye betrayed ; 

For she 's to herself untrue 

Who delights i' the public view. 

Such is her beauty as no arts 

Have enriched with borrowed gi'ace. 

Her high birth no pride imparts. 
For she blushes in her place. 

Folly boasts a gloilous blood, — 

She is noblest being good. 

Cautious, she knew never yet 

What a wanton courtship meant ; 

Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, 
In her silence eloquent. 

Of herself survey she takes. 

But 't^veen men no difference makes. 

She obeys with speedy will 

Her gi-ave parents' wise commands ; 



Ami so innocent, that ill 

She nor acts nor understands. 
Women's feet run stUl astray 
If to ill they know the way. 

She sails by that rock, the court, 
Where oft virtue splits her mast ; 

And retiredness thinks the port. 
Where her fame may anchor cast. 

Virtue safely cannot sit 

Where vice is enthroned for wit. 

She holds that day's pleasure best 
Where sin waits not on delight ; 

Witliout mask, or ball, or feast. 
Sweetly spends a winter's night. 

O'er that darkness whence is thiiist 

Prayer aud sleep, oft govenis lust. 

She her throne makes reason climb, 
While wild passions captive lie ; 

And each article of time. 

Her pure thoughts to heaven fly ; 

All her vows religious be. 

And she vows her love to me. 

WILLIAM HABI.N'CTON. 



THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN. 

The shades of eve had crossed the glen 
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, 

When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men, 
AVe stopped before a cottage door. 

" God save all here," my comrade cries, 
And rattles on the raised latch-pin ; 

"God save you kindly," quick replies 
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in. 

We enter ; from the wheel she starts, 

A rosy girl W'ith soft black eyes ; 
Her fluttering court'sy takes our hearts. 

Her blushing grace and pleased suiimse. 

Poor Mary, she was quite alone. 

For, all the way to Glenmalure, 
Her mother Iiad that morning gone. 

And left the house in charge with her. 

But neither household cares, nor yet 
The shame that staitled virgins feel, 

Could make the generous gu-1 foi-get 
Her wonted hospitable zeal. 

She brought us in a beechen bowl 

Sweet mDk that smacked of mountain thyme. 
Oat cake, and such a yellow roll 

Of butter, — it gilds all my rhyme ! 



J 



YOUTH. 



49 



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And, while we ate the grateful food 
(With weary limbs on bench reclined), 

Considerateand discreet, she stood 
Apart, and listened to the wind. 

Kind wishes both our souls engajjed, 
From breast to breast sjjontancMUs ran 

The mutual thought, — we stood aiul iih.-dged 
TlIR MOriEST ROSE AUOVK LOCII 1)AX. 

" The milk we drink is not more pure, 
Sweet Mary, — bless those budding chaiTOS ! - 

Than your own generous heart, 1 'm sure. 
Nor whiter than the bi'east it warms ! " 

She turned and gazed, unused to hear 
Such language in that homely glen ; 

But, Mary, you have naught to fear. 
Though smilerl on liy two stranger-men. 

Not for a crown would I alarm 
Your virgin pride by word or sign, 

Nor need a painful bhish <Usann 

My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. 

Her simi)lp heart could not but feel 

The words we spoke weie free from guile ; 

She stooped, she blushed, she fi.ved her wheel,- 
'T is all in vain, — she can't but smile ! 

.lust like sweet Ajiril's dawn appears 
Her modest face, ■ • I see it yet, — 

And though T lived a hundred years 
Methinks I never could forget 

The pleasure that, despite her heart, 
I'"ills all lier downcast eyc^s with light. 

The lips reluctantly ajiart, 

Tlie wliite teeth struggling into sight, 

The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, — 
The rosy cheek th.at won't be still ; — 

0, who could lilanie what flatterers s])cak. 
Did smiles like this reward their skill < 

For such another smile, I vow. 

Though loudly beats the midnight rain, 

I 'd take the mountain-side e'en now. 
And walk to Luggolaw again ! 

samuft. Fe 



She stood breast high amid the com, 
f'lasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun. 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 



On her cheek an autumn flush 
Deeply ripimed ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born. 
Like red poppies grown with com. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell, — 
Which were blackest none could tell ; 
Hut long laslies veiled a light 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim, 
Made her tres.sy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stocks, 
Praising God with sweetest looks. 

Sure, I said. Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou should.st but glean ; 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come. 
Share my harvest and my home. 



LUCY. 

Shk dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove ; 
A maid whom there wen; none to praise. 

And very few to love. 

A violet by a mos.sy stone 

Half hidden from the eye ! 
— Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy cca.sed to be ; 
But she is in her gi'ave, and 0, 

The dilfercnce to me ! 

William Wordsworth 



TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNAID. 

SwEEr Highland Girl, a very sliower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 

Twice .seven consenting years have sheil 

Their utmost bounty on thy head : 

And these gray rocks, this household law^l, 

These trees, — a veil just half withdrawn, — 

This fall of water that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake. 

This little bay, a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode ; 

In truth together ye do seem 

Like something fashioned in a dream ; 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 



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50 



POKMS OF lAFANVY AND YOUTH. 



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IVit fair ('iTiiture ! in the light 
Of common dny so hriivi'iily hi'ight, 
1 blfss thfi', Vision us thon «i't, 
I bU'ss thoo with a luimnn lii'iirt : 
Coil sliifkl tliee to tJiy hiti-st y.'iu-s ! 
1 noitln'i' know theo nor tliy |iiicrs ; 
And yet my eyes aiv tilled witli teal's. 

With oarnest feeling 1 shall pray 
For thee when 1 am lai' away ; 
For never saw 1 mien or face 
In which moiv [ilainly 1 eould trace 
Benignity and home-lm'd sense 
Kipening in perleet innoeenee. 
Here scattered like a random seed, 
lu'Uioti' I'nnn men, thou dost not need 
The embarrassed look of shy distress, 
And maidenly shaniefaeedness : 
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The frt«edom of a mountaineer ; 
A faee witll gladness overspread. 
Soft smiles, by liunian kindness bred ; 
And seemliness complete, that sways 
Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
With no restraint, lint such as springs 
Fivni (piick and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few woixls of Knglish speech, — 
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife 
That gives thy gi'stun's grace and life ! 
So have I, not unmoved in mind. 
Seen binls of tempest-loving kind. 
Thus beating up against the w ind. 

What hand Imt would a giirland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful ■ 

happy ploasuiv ! heiv to dwell 
Beside theo in some heathy dell ; 
Adopt your homely ways and drt-ss, 
A shepheixl, thou a shepheixless ! 
But 1 could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality : 

Tliou art to me but as a wave 
Of the wild sea ; and 1 would have 
Some claim u)ion thee, if 1 could. 
Though but of con\mon neighborhood. 
What joy to hear thee, ami to see ! 
Thy elder brother I would Ik-. 
Thy father, - anything to thee. 

Now thanks to Heaven I that of its grac' 
Hath led me to this lonely place ; 
Joy have 1 had ; and going hence 

1 bear away my rt>eompense. 

In spots like these it is we prize 
Onr Memory, feel that she hath eyes : 
Then why should I be loath to stir » 
1 feel this place was made for her ; 



To give new pleasure like the past, 

(."ontinued long as life shall last. 

Nor am 1 loath, though pleased al heart. 

Sweet Highland Girl ! from tlice to piirt 

For I, methinks, till I grow old 

As fair before me shall behold 

As I do now, the cabin small, 

The lake, the liay, the waterfall ; 

And thee, the spirit of them all ! 



JENNY KISSED ME. 

Jenny kissed me when we met, 
.lumping from the chair she sat in. 

Time, you thief I who love to get 
Sweets into your list, juit that in. 

Say 1 'm weary, say 1 'm sad ; 

Say that health and wealth have missed me 

Say 1 'm growing old, but add — 

Jennv kissed me ! 



"Yot'NO, gay, and fortunate!" Each yields a 

theme. 
And, first, thy youth ; what says it to gray hairs > 
Nareissa. I in hecome thy pupil now ; 
F.arly, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew. 
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven. 



SWEET STREAM, THAT WINDS. 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade. 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid, — 

Silent and chaste, she steals along. 

Far from the world's gay, busy throng ; 

With gentle yet i>revailing force. 

Intent upon her destined course ; 

Graceful and useful all slie does. 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; 

Pure-bosomed as that watery glass. 

And Heaven ivllected in her face. 

WILLIAM COWPEK. 



AFTER THE BALL. 

Thky sat and oomlied their beautiful hair. 
Their long, bright tresses, one by one. 

As they laughed and talked in the chamWr there, 
After the revel was done. 



Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille, 
1 Idlv thev laughed, like other girls. 



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51 



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Who over the fire, when all is still, 
Comb out their braids aiiJ curls. 

Kobe of satin and Brussels lace. 
Knots of Howers and ribbons, too, 

Scattered about ill every place. 
For the revel is through. 

And Maud and Mad;;e in robes of white, 
The [irettiest nightgowns under the sun, 

Stockinglcss, slipperle-ss, .sit in the night, 
For the revel is done, — 

Sit and comb their beautiful hair, 

Those wonderful waves of brown and gold. 

Till the fire is out in the chamber there, 
And the little bare feet are cold. 

Then out of the gathering winter chill, 
All out of the bitter St. Agnes weather. 

While the lire is out and the house is still, 
Maud and Madge together, — 

Maud and Madge in robes of white, 
The prettiest nightgowns under the sun. 

Curtained away from the chilly night. 
After the revel is done, — 

Float along in a splendid dream, 
To a golden gittern's tinkling tune, 

While a thousand lusters shimmering stream 
In a palace's grand .saloon. 

Flashing of jewels and flutter of laces, 
Tropii:al odors sweeter than musk, 

Men and women with l>cautiful faces, 
And eyes of tropical dusk, — 

And one face shining out like a star. 
One face haunting the dreams of each, 

And one voice, sweeter than others are. 
Breaking into silvery speech, — 

Telling, through lips of bearded bloom. 

An old, old story over again, 
As down the royal bannered room. 

To the golden gittern's strain. 

Two and two, they dreamily walk. 
While an unseen spirit walks beside, 

And all unheard in the lovers' talk. 
He claimeth one for a bride. 

Maud and Madge, drsam on together, 
Witli never a pang of jealous fear ! 

For, en- the bitter St. Agnes weather 
Shall whiten another year. 

Robed for the bridal, and robed for the tomb, 
Braided brown hair and golden tress, 



There '11 be only one of you left for the bloom 
Of the bearded lips to press, — 

Only one for the bridal pearls. 

The robe of satin and Brussels lace, — 

Only one to blush through her curls 
At the sight of a lover's face. 

beautiful Madge, in your bridal white. 
For you the revel has ju.st begun ; 

But for her who sleeps in your arms to-niglit 
The revel of Life is done ! 

But, robed and crowned with your saintly bliss. 
Queen of heaven and bride of the sun, 

beautiful Maud, you 'II never miss 
The kisses another hath won ! 

Nora I'ekkv 



NEIGHBOR NELLY. 

I 'm in love with neighbor Nelly, 

Though I know slie 's only ten, 
While, alas ! I 'm eight-and-forty 

And the inarriedest of men ! 
1 've a wife who weighs me double, 

I 've three daughters all with beavx : 
1 've a son with noble whiskers. 

Who at me turns up his nose. 

Though a sfpiare-toes, and a fogey, 

Still I 've sunshine in my heart ; 
Still I 'm fond of cakes and marbles, 

Can ap|)rociate a tart. 
I can love my neighbor Nelly 

Just as though I were a boy : 
I could han<l her nuts and apples 

From my depths of corduroy. 

She is tall, and growing taller. 

She is vigorous of limb ; 
(You should see her play at cricket, 

With her little brother .lim.) 
She has eyes as blue as damsons, 

She has pounds of auburn curls. 
She regrets the game of leap-frog 

Is prohibited to girls. 

I adore my neighbor Nelly, 

I invite her in to tea ; 
And I let her nurse the baby, — 

All her pretty ways to see. 
Such a darling bud of woman, 

Yet remote from any teens, — 
I have leajnt from neighbor Nelly 

What the girl's doll-instinct means. 



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■ini 



POEMS Olf' im'ANGY AND YOUTH. 



^ 



0, to see li(>r willi tlio Imhy ! 

Ill- iuloii's lioi' inoiv tliim I, — 
How sill' clnMHso.s his I'lwviuj;, — 

llmv shi' liiislu'.i ovovv orv ! 
llviw slu' lov.<s to i>it liis .liiuplos 

Willi lii-r lixhl IVm'liiijsiM- ilwp ! 
Iltiw !ihi> liiHiKt.') to lilt' in ti'iiiiii|>h 

\Vl\t>ii slu> "s jjot liiiii I'lV to slvop I 

\Vi< iimat ixii'l, my ni'if{lil>iii' Ni'tly, 
Kor till' smiinu'ix i|»ii'kly lloo ; 

Ami yoni' miilitlo-«j;t>>l mliuiiw 
Must sui>pliiiit<-il nuii'kly lio. 

Yot lis joaloiis IIS II iiiotlii'i'. 

A ilislomiwii'il. I'liiiki'ixil oliurl, 

1 liHik viiiiily for tlio sottiiijf 

To 111' WOl'lllY Slll'll II IH'llI'l. 



SAl't'KD.W ArVKKNUON. 

1 l.nVK lo look on 11 si'oin' like lliis. 

0( will! mill ,'nivli'ss (iluy. 
Ami pi'i-siiiuU' iiiysolf llitit 1 «m not old 

Ami iiiY looks mv not y<>t jii'ay ! 
Kor it stirs tlio Mooil in iiii oUl mini's Iwirt. 

Ami it iiiiikos liis piilsos lly. 
To I'lilili tlio tlirill ot II liii|'l>,v voioo. 

Ami till' lljtlit of II (lUviisniil cyo. 

I liiivo walkoil tlio world lor foui'soorp Vfars ; 

Ami tlu-y siiy tlmt I iiiii old. 
And my litiirt is riiH> lor tlio ivnuov lloatli. 

And my ywirs mv woUiii>;li told : 
It is very trilo ; it is vory tnio ; 

1 mil old, iiml I liidi' mv time; 
lUit my lioirt will l«i|i at a .-ooiio liko this. 

And I half n'liow my iiriiiio. 



Miiy on, piny mi ; 1 am with you tlipro, 

111 tlio miilst of your niorry ring ; 
1 01111 fool llio tliriU of ttio during jiinii', 

And llio rush of Uio l.roalliloss swiiii;. 
I Irnlo Willi von in llio friigraiit liny, 

And 1 wlii'op Uiosniotliorod oiill; 
And my foot slip U|i on tlio soody Moor, 

Ami I OHIO not for tlio lull, 

1 mil wiUinj; to dio wlion my tiino slmll ooiin', 

And 1 shall ho glad to gvi ; 
Kor tho world at host is ii woiiry plaoo 

And my |mlso is gi'lting low ; 
Hut tho gravo is dark, and tlio hoarl will fail 

III tivading its gloomy way : 
Ihit it wilos my lioart I'^nn its dn'ariiioss, 

To soo tlio young so guy. 

NAniASIIII, I'AKKIIK Willis. 



IT NKVKK rOMKS .\(1.\1N. 

TiiKui'. aiv gains for all our lossos, 

Tlioiv aiv K'llins for all our piiiii ; 
Hut wlion youlh, tho vlivain, doimvts, 
U tnko.s soiiiothiiig I'lvm onr hoarts, 
And it iio\i>r ooinos tigiiiu. 

Wo aix' st i\iiigt>i', and aiv K'ttov, 

I'ndor niaiiliood's stornor ivign ; 
Still wo fool that somothiiig swoot 
FoUowod youth, with Hying foot, 
And will novor oomo agiiiii. 

Soniot.hing lHviutil\il is \tiiiisluHl, 

,\nd wo sigh for it in vaiii : 
Wo iM'hold it owrywhoiv. 
On tho oiirtli, and in tho air, 

liut il novor oomos agnin. 

KlCIIAKL> IlKNKV SU>IH\ARU 



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--a 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



en 



BENEDICITE. 

God's love and fiea'-t Iji- witli tliee, where 
Soe'cr this soft autunmul air 
Lifts the dark tresses of thy liair ! 

Whether through city casements comes 
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, 
Or, out among the woodland blooms, 

It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face. 
Imparting, in its glad embrace. 
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! 

Fair Nature's book together read, 

The old wood-paths that knew our tread, 

The maple shadows overhead, — 

The hills we climbed, the river seen 
By gleams along its deep ravine, — 
All keep thy niemor}' fresli and green. 

Where'er I look, where'er I stray. 
Thy thought goes with me on my way. 
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day : 

O'er lapse of time and change of scene. 
The weary waste which lies Ijetween 
Thyself and me, my heart I lean. 

Thou lack'st not Friendshijj's spellword, nor 
The half-unconscious power to draw 
All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law. 

With these good gifts of God is cast 
Thy lot, and inaiiy a charm thou lia.st 
To hold the blessed angels fast 

If, then, a fervent wish for tlici- 

The gracious heavens will heed from me. 

What should , dear heart, its burden be ? 

The sighing of a shaken reed, — 
Wliat can I more than meekly plead 
The greatness of our common need ? 



God's love, — unchanging, pure, and true. 
The Paraclete while-shining through 
His peace, — the fall of Hermons dew I 

With such a prayer, on this sweet day, 
As thou mayst hear and I may say, 
I greet thee, dearest, far away ! 

JOH.M GREENLEAF WHITTII 



AN INVITATION. 

Nine years have slipt like hour-glass sand 

From life's still-emptying globe aw^ay 
Since last, dear friend, I clasped your hand, 
And stood upon the impoverished land, 
Watching the steamer down the bay. 

I held the token which you gave. 

While slowly the smoke-pennon curled 
O'er tlie vague rim 'tween sky and wave, 
And shut the distance like a grave, 
Leaving me in the colder world. 

The old worn world of hurry and heat. 

The young, fresh world of thought and scope, 
While you, where beckoning billows tieet 
f.'limb far .sky-beaches still and sweet, 

Sank wavering down the ocean .slope. 

You sought the new world in the old, 

I found the old world in the new. 
All that our human hearts can hold. 
The inward world of deatliless mold. 
The same that Father Adam knew. 

He needs no ship to cross the tide. 
Who, in the lives about him, sees 

Fair wimlow-prospects opening wide 

O'er history's fields on every side. 

To Ind and Egj'pt, Rome and Greece. 

Whatever molds of various brain 

E'er shaped the world to weal or woe. 
Whatever empires wax and wane, 



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^57 



POEMS OV J<'HlJiNDSHlf\ 



— a 



l\i him tlmt Imtli not eyes in vain, 
Our villajis-uiiorocosui eun show. 

Coiuo Iwok oHi' anoiont walks to ti-ead, 

Pear liaimts ol' lust or seattored friends, 
Old Uarvaril's seholai'-liiotories i-ed, 
Wlieiti song and smoke and laughter si>ed 
'I'he nights to pivetor-haunted ends. 

Constant are all our former loves. 

Unehangvd the ieehouse-gii\Ued pond, 
Its heniloik glooms, its shadowy eoves, 
Wliei-e floats the root suid \iever moves, 

Its slope of loug-tauuxl given U'vond. 

Our old familiai's are not Uiid, 

Though snapt our waiuls and sunk our books ; 
They Kxkon, not to l>e gainsiiid, 
Wheif, ivund broad meads that mowers wsule, 

Tlu! Charles his ste»l-Wue sickle eivoks. 

Wheiv, as the cloudKngs eastwaixl blow, 
Fivm glow to gUnnn the hillsides shift 
Their I'lumtw of oivhaiil ti-ees arow, 
Their lakes of rye that wave and (low. 
Their snowy whiteweed's stunmer drift. 

Thei-e have we watehed the West unfurl 

A eloiul Byzantium newly born. 
With lliekering spires and domes of l>earl, 
.\nd vapoi-y surfs that crowd and curl 

Into the sunset's C.olden Horn. 

There, as the flaming Occident 

Burned .slowly down to aslies gray. 

Night pitched o'erhead her .silent tent. 

And glimmering gold fivm Hesi*r sprent 
Upon the darkened river lay. 

Where a twin sky but jnst before 

tVe(iene<l, and ilouble swallows skimmed, 

.\nd, fivm a visionary shore. 

H\iug visioiied t«H>s, that, more and more. 
Grew dusk as tluvse alx>ve were dimmed. 

Then casitwanl saw we slowly grew 

Cl««r-etlge<l the lines of roof and spire. 
While great elm-masses blacken slow. 
And linden-ricks their round hetids show 
Against a flush of widening tire. 

IXnibtfnl at first and far .way. 

The moou-flo<Kl cree^ts moiv wide and wide ; 
I'p a i-iilged beach of clondy gray. 
Cnrve^l round the east as round a Wy, 

It slijw and spreads its gradual tide. 

Then suddenly, in lurid mood. 
The uioou looms large o'er town and fieW, 



1 .\s upon .\dam, red like blood, 
'Tween hin> and Kden's happy wood, 
Glareil the commissioned angel's shield. 

Or let us seek the seaside, there 

To wander idly as we list. 
Whether, on rocky headlands hare. 
Sharp ceilai'-horns, like breakei-s, tear 

The trailing fringes of gray mist. 

Or whether, under skies full flown. 
The brightening surfs, with foamy din. 

Their breeze-caught forelocks Iwckwanl blown. 

Against the beach's yellow zone, 
Curl slow, and plunge forever in. 

And as we watch those canvas tower's 
I That lean along the horizon's rim, 
"Sail on," I '11 siiy ; " may sunniest hours 
Coiwoy you from this land of out's. 

Since from my side you bear not him ! " 

For yeai-s thrice three, wise Horace said, 

A jioem rare let silence bind ; 
And love may ripen in the sliade, 
Like ours, for nine long seasons laid 

hi deepest arehes of the mind. 

' Come back ! Not ours the Old World's good, 
i The Old AVorld's ill, thank God, uot ouis ; 

But here, far l>etter undei'stood. 

The davs enforee our native mooil, 
.\nd challenge all our maidier jxiwei-s. 

Kindlier to me the place of birth 
That fu-st my tottering footstei>s ti'od ; 

There< may be fairer sjvts of earth, 

' But all their glories are not worth 

The virtue of the native sod. 

' Thence climbs an influence more benign 

Through pulse iuul nerve, through heart and 

1 brain : 

: Sacreil to me those fibers fine 

] That first clasjied earth. O. ne'er Ih> mine 
The alien sun and alien rain ! 

These nourish not like homelier glows 

Or waterings of familiar skies. 
And nature fairer blooms bestows 
On the heajied hush of wintry snows. 

In iwstures dear to ohildhooiVs eyes, 

' Than where Italian earth receives 
The partial sunshine's ampler boons. 

Where vines can-e friezes 'neath the eaves, 

.\nd, in dark firmaments of leaves. 
The orange lifts its golden moons. 



-^ 



fl-- 



PUEMS OF FRIENDSHIV. 



TT-a 



3-- 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

O lio.sAMiiNU, thou lair ami jjoml 
And perfect flower of womanhood ! 

Tliou royal rose of June ! 
Why ilidst thou droop before thy time ? 
W'liy wither in the first sweet prime ? 

Why didst thou die so soon ? 

For, lookinj; luickward tliruuf^li my tears 
(}\\ thee, and on niy wasted years, 

I cannot choose but say. 
If thou hadst lived to be my guide. 
Or thou hadst lived and I Iiad died, 

'T were better far to-day. 

child of light, golden head ! — 
Bright sunbeam for one moment shed 

Upon life's lonely way, — 
Wliy didst thou vanish from our sight ? 
Could they not spare my little light 

From heaven's unclouded day ? 

friend so true, friend so good ! — 
Thou one dream of my maidenhood, 

That gave youth all its charms, — 
What had I done, or what hadst thou. 
That, through this lonesome world till now. 

We walk with empty arms ' 

And yet this poor soul Iiad l)cen fed 
With all it loved .-ind coveted ; 

Had life Ijcen always fair. 
Would tlicse dear dreams that ne'er depart. 
That thrill with bliss my inmost heart, 

Forever tremble there ? 

If still they kept their earthly place, 
The friends 1 held in my embrace, 

And gave to death, alas ! 
f'ould 1 have learned that clear, calm faith 
That looks beyond the bonds of death. 

And almost longs to pass ? 

Sometimes, I think, the things we see 
Are shadows of the things to he : 

That what we plan we build ; 
Tliat every hope that hath been crossed, 
And every dream we thought was lost, 

In heaven shall be fullilled ; 

That even the children of the brain 
Have not Ijeen born and died in vain, 

Though here unclothed and dumb ; 
But on some brighter, better shore 
They live, embodied evi'iiimre. 

And wait for us to cnnn-. 



And when on that last day we rise. 
Caught up between the earth and skies, 

Then shall we hear our Lord 
Say, Thou hast done with doubt and death, 
Henceforth, according to thy faith, 

Shall be thy faith's reward. 



THE OLD SOHOOL-HOUSE. 

I SAT an hour to-day, John, 

Beside the old brook-stream, — 
Where we were school-boys in old time, 

When manhood was a dream ; 
The brook is choked with fallen leaves. 

The pond is dried away, 
I scarce believe that you would know 

The dear old place to-day. 

The school-house is no more, John, — 

Beneath our locust-trees, 
Tlie wild rose by the window's side 

No more waves in the breeze ; 
The scattered stones look desolat • ; 

The sod they rested on 
Has been plowed up by stranger hands. 

Since you and I were gone. 

The chestnut-tree is dead, John, — 

And what is sadder now. 
The grapevine of that same old swing 

Hangs on the withered bough. 
I read our names upon the bark, 

And found the pebbles rare 
Laid up beneath the hollow side, 

As we had piled thi;ni there. 

Beneath the grass-grown bank, John, — 

I looked for our old sjiring. 
That bubliled down the aldcr-jiath 

Three paces from tlie swing ; 
The rushes grow upon the brink, 

The pool is black and bare. 
And not a foot for many a day. 

It seems, has trodden there. 

I took the old blind road, John, 

That, wandered up the hill, — 
'T is darker than it used to be, 

And seems so lone and still ; 
The birds yet sing upon the boughs 

Where once the sweet grapes hung. 
But not a voice of human kind 

Where all our voices rung. 

I sat me on the fenee, .bilin, 
That lies as in ohl time, 



^ 



[Q-- 



UO 



PUEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



-R, 



Tho same lialf-paiiel in tho path 

Wo used so ol't to cliinl), — 
Ami tlioiiglit how, o'lT the luirs of life, 

t)Hr phiyinatt's had passed on, 
And left nie counting on the spot 

The faces that wore gone. 

ANONYMOUS 



BILL AND JOE. 

(^iME, dear old conmide, you and I 
Will steal an hour fioni days gone by, — 
'I'lic shining days when life was new, 
And all was blight as nioining dew, — 
'I'll!' lusty days of long ago. 
When yon were IJill and 1 \v;is .loo. 

N'our name may Haunt a titled trail, 
I'roud !is a cockerel's rainbow tail ; 
And mine as brief appendix wear 
As Tani O'Shanter's hickless mare ; 
To-day, old friend, remember still 
That I am Joe and yon are Bill. 

You ■\'i' won the great woihl's envied prize, 
,\ud grand you look in people's eyes, 
Aiih II (1 N. and L L. I). 
1 11 big brave letters, fair to see, — 
^■our list, old fellow ! o(V they go ! 
How are yon. Hill ! How are yon, Joe ? 



V.ni 



Yon 



ve worn the judge's crmiued robe : 
ve taught your name to half the globe 
ve sung mankind a deathless strain ; 



N'oii 've made the dead )>ast live again : 



Tlie 
lint 



world iiiav call von what it will, 
iiul f are .loe and Hill. 



l: 



Tlie chairing young folks stare and say, 
".'^ei' those old Imtfers, bent and gi'ay ; 
They talk like fellows in their teens ! 
Maii. iioor old boys ! That 's what it means 
.\iid shake their "heads ; they little know 
Tlic throbbing hearts of Hill and .Toe ! 

Ibnv Hill forgets his hour of pride. 
While Joe sits smiling at his -side ; _ 
How Joe. ill spite of time's disguise, 
Fiiuls the old schoolmate in his eyes, — 
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and till 
.\s Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 

.\h. pensive scholar, what is fame ? 
.\ titfnl tongue of leaping flame ; 
.\ giddy whirlwind's tickle gust. 
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust : 



A few swift years, and who cjin show 
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe ! 

The weary idol takes his stand. 

Holds out his bruised and aching hand, 

While gaping thousands come and go, — 

How vain it seems, this empty show ! 

Till all at onee his pulses thrill, 

'T is poor old Joe's " God bless you. Bill ! ' 

And sliall we breathe in happier spheres 
The names that pleased our mortal ears, — 
In some sweet lull of harp and song, 
For earth-born spirits none too long, — 
Ju.st whispering of the world below. 
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe ? 

No matter ; while our homo is here 
No sounding name is half so dear ; 
When fades at length our lingering day, 
AVlio cares what pompous tombstones say ? 
Read on the hearts that love us still, 
Micjaat }oe. Hie jaect Bill. 



THE DEAD FRIEND. 



Till', path by which we twain did go. 

Which led by tracts that pleased us well. 
Through four sweet years arose and fell. 

From tlower to flower, from snow to snow. 

But where the path we walked began 
To slant the fifth autumnal slope. 
As we descended following Hope, 

There sat the Shadow feared of man ; 

Who broke our fair eonipauioiiship. 
And spread his mantle dark and cold. 
And wrapped thee formless in the fold. 

And dulled the murmur on thy liji. 

When each by turns was guide to each. 
And Fancy light from Fancy caught, 
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought 

Ere Thought could wed itself with Siiecch : 

And all we met was fair and good. 

And all was good that Time could bring. 
And all the secret of the Spring 

lloved in the chambers of the blood ; 

I know that this was Life, — the track 
Whereon with equal feet we fared : 
.\nd then, as now, the day prepared 

The dailv hui-den for the back. 



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e- 



POEMS OF FRlENDSHir. 



57 



r^ 



liut tliis it was that mailo irii; move 

As lij;lit as carricr-binls in air ; 

I loved the weight I liail to bear 
Because it rieedcil helj) of Love : 

Nor <:oul(l I weary, heart or limb, 

When mij;hly Love "'ould cleave in twain 
Tlie ladin;^ of a single pain, 

And part it, giviii;,' liall' to him. 

Hilt I reniaiiied, who.se hopes were dim, 
Whoso life, whose thoughts were little worth. 
To wander on a daikencd earth. 

Where all things round me breathed of him. 

fiiendshii?, eipial-poised control, 
O heart, with kindliest motion warm, 

saereil essenee, other form, 

solemn ghost, O crown!;d soul ! 

V'et none could Ijctter know than I, 
How much of act at human hands 
The sense of human will ilemands 

Uy which we dare to live or die. 

Whatever way my days decline, 

1 felt and feel, though left alone. 
His being working in mine own. 

The footsteps of his life in mine. 

My pulses therefore beat again 

For other friends that once I met : 
Nor can it suit me to forget 

The mighty ho[ie3 that make us men. 

1 woo your love : 1 count it crime 
To mourn for any ov(!nniich ; 

1, the divided half of such 
A friendship as had mastered Time ; 

Which masters Time, indeed, and is 
Eternal, separate from fears : 
The all-assuming months and years 

Can take no part away from this. 

days and hours, your work is this, 
To hold me from my ])ro])er place, 
A little while from his embrace, 

I''or fuller gain of after bliss : 

Tljat out of distance might en.sue 

Desire of neaniess doubly sweet ; 

And unto meeting wdien we meet. 
Delight a hundred-fold accrue. 

The hills arc shadows, ami they (low 

From form to form, and nothing stands ; 
They melt like mist, the solid lands, 

Like clouds they shape themselves aiul go. 



But in my spirit will I dwell, 

And dream my dream, and hold it trae ; 

For though my lips may breathe adieu, 
I cannot think the thing farewell. 



THE MEETINO OF TItE SHIPS. 

" Wc take c-icli otiicr Uy the hand, and wc exchange a few wor<U 
and looki, of kindness, and wc rejoice together for a few shun iiirc 
inentti ; and tlion day4, months, years Intervene, and .. i: nee and 
know nothing of each other." — Wasimnoton Ikvino, 

Two barks met on the ileep mid-sea, 
When calms had stilled the tide ; 

A few bright ilays of sumnti^r glee 
There found them side by side. 

And voices of the fair and brave 
Hose mingling thence in mirth ; 

And sweetly floated o'er the wave 
The melodies of earth. 

Moonlight on that lone Imlian main 

Cloudless and lovely slept ; 
While dancing step and festive stiain 

Each deck in triumph swept. 

And hands were linked, and answering eye.* 
With kindly meaning shone ; 

0, brief anil passing symi>athies. 
Like leaves together blown ! 

A little while such joy was cast 

Over the deep's reimse. 
Till the loud singing winds at last 

Like trumpet mu.sic rose. 

And proudly, freely on their way 

The jiiirtiug vessels bore ; 
In calm or st/ii-m, by rock or bay, 

To meet () nevi-rmore ! 

Never to blenil in vii^toiy's cheer. 

To aid in hours of woe ; 
And thus bright spirits ininirle here, 

Such tics are Ibrmeil below. 

I-Rl.ICIA Mkmans. 



.lAFi'An, the Barmecide, the good vizier. 
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer, — 
■laffar was dead, slain by a dor.m un.jost ; 
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistni.rt 
Of wdiat the good, and e'en the bad, might say, 
Ordaimtl that no man living, from that; day, 
.Should dare to sjicak his name on pain of death. 
All Arahy and I'ersia held their breath 



■^ff 



f^. 



rOEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



-fD 



h 



All but the bravo Mondeer ; he, jiroiul to show 
How fur for love a grateful soul could go, 
And facing death for very scorn and grief 
(For his great heart wanted a great reliefs, 
Stooil forth in Bagdad, daily, in the square 
Where once had stood a happy house, and there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scimitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jalfar. 

" Bring mc tliis man," the caliph cried ; the man 
AVas brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began 
To bind his arms. " Welcome, brave cords," 

cried he, 
" From bonds far worse Jatlar delivered me ; 
From wants, from shames, from loveless house- 
hold feai-s ; 
Hade a nnui's eyes friends witli delicious tears ; 
Restored me, loved me, put me on a par 
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar ? " 

Haroun, who felt tliat ou a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, 
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate 
Might smile upon another half as great. 
He said, " Let worth grow frenzied if it will ; 
'I'he caliph's judgment shall bo master .still; 
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem. 
The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 
•And hold the giver as thou dcemest fit ! " 
"(lifts ! " cried the friend ; he took and hold- 
ing it. 
High toward the heavens, as though to meet his 

star, 
E.xclaimed, " Thi.s too, 1 owe to thee, .Tslfar !" 



VTR HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

Vi't. have been friends together 

In sunshine and in shade, 
Since first beneath the chestnut-tree 

In infancy we played. 
But coldness dwells within thy heart, 

A cloud is on thy brow ; 
We have been friends together. 

Shall a light won! jiart us now ? 

We have been gay together ; 

We have laughed at little jests ; 
For the fount of hope was gushing 

AVarm and joyous in our breasts. 
But laughter now hath ficd thy lip. 

And sullen glooms thy brow ; 
We have been gay together. 

Shall a light word part us now ? 

We have been sad together ; 
We have wept with bitter tears 



O'er the gras.-.gni\Mi j,'i,ivcs where slumbered 

The hopes nl ,:,il\ vars. 
The voices uhi. 1, nmiv Mlenl then 

Would bid thee clear thy brow ; 
We have been sad together. 

Shall a light word part us now ? 

Caroline e. Norton. 



KINDRED HEARTS. 

0, ASK not, hope thou not, too much 

Of sympathy below ; 
Beware the hearts whence one same touch 

Bids the sweet fountains How : 
Few — and by still conflicting powers 

Forbidden here to meet — 
Such ties would make this life of ours 

Too fair for aught so licet. 

It may he that thy brother's eye 

Sees not as thine, which turns 
In such deep reverence to the sky 

Where the rich sunset burns ; 
It may be that the breath of spring, 

Born amidst violets lone, 
A rapture o'er thy soul can bring, — 

A dream, to his unknown. 

The tune that speaks of other times, — 

A sorrowful delight ! — 
The melody of distant chimes, 

The sound of waves by night ; 
The wind that, with .so many a tone. 

Some chonl within can thrill, — 
These nuvy have language all thine own, 

To him a mystery still. 

Yet scorn thou not for this the true 

And steadfast love of years : 
The kindly, that from childhood grew. 

The faithful to thy tears ! 
If there be one that o'er the dead 

Hath in thy grief borne part. 
And watched through sickness by thy bed. 

Call hi.t a kindred heart ! 

But f.ir those bonds all perfect made. 

Wherein bright spirits blend. 
Like sister flowers of one sweet shade 

With the same breeze that bend. 
For that full bliss of thought allied. 

Never to mortals given, 
0, lay thy lovely dreams siside. 

Or lift them unto heaven ! 

FF.I-1C1.< HEMANS. 



POEMS OF FRIEXD.SHIP. 



n". Qj 



59 



THE VALK OF AVOCA. 

i 
There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters 

meet ; 
0, the last ray of feeling and life must depart 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my 

heart ! 

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ; 
'T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, — 
0, no ! it was something more exquisite still. 

T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, 
were near. 

Who made everj' dear scene of enchantment 
more dear, 

And who felt how the best charms of nature im- 
prove. 

When we see them reflected from looks that we 
love. 

Sweet Vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love 

best ; 
Where the stoiTiis that we feel in this cold world 

should cea.se. 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in 

peace. 

Thomas Moore. 



THE ROYAL GUEST. 

They tell me I am shrewd with other men ; 

With thee I 'm slow, and dillicult of speech. 
With others 1 may guide the car of talk ; 

Thou wing'st it oft to realms beyond my reach. 

If other guests should come, I 'd deck my hair. 
And choose my newest garment from the shelf; 

When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart 
With holiest purpose, as for God himself. 

For them I while the hours with tale or song, j 
Or web of fancy, fringed with careless rhyme ; 

But how to find a fitting lay for thee. 
Who hast the harmonies of every time ? 

friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb, — 
.Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine ; 

My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart 

.Springs forth to measure its faint pulse with 
thine. 



Where simple rustics spread their festal fare 
And, blushing, own it is not good enough. 

Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st to me. 

From high emprise and noble toil to rest, 
Jly thoughts are weak and trivial, matched with 
thine ; 
But the poor mansion offers thee its best. 

JULIA Ward Howe. 



THE QUARREL OF FRIENDS. 

FROM "CUR 



Alas 1 they had been friends in youth : 
But whispering tongues can poi.son truth ; 
And constancy lives in realms above ; 

And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; 
And to Ije wroth with one we love 

Doth work like ma<lness in the brain. 
And thus it chanced, as I divine, 
With Iioland and Sir Leoline I 
Each spoke words of high disdain 

And insult to his heart's best brother ; 
They parted, — ne'er to meet again ! 

But never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining. 
They stood aloof, the .scars remaining. 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; 

A dreary sea now flows between. 
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder 

Shall wholly do away, I ween. 

The marks of that which once hath Ijeen. 
s. T. Coleridge. 



43-^ 



Thou art to me most like a royal guest. 

Whose travels bring him to some lowly roof. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

A EtTDD\' drop of manly blood 

The surging sea outweighs ; 

The world uncertain comes and goes, 

The lover rooted stays. 

I fancied he was fled, — 

And, after many a year, 

Glowed unexhausted kindliness. 

Like daily sunri-se there. 

My careful heart was free again ; 

friend, my bosom said. 

Through thee alone the sky is arched. 

Through thee the rose is red ; 

All things through thee take nobler form. 

And look beyond the earth ; 

The mill-round of our fate appears 

A sun-path in thy worth. 

Me too thy nobleness has taught 

To master my despair : 

The fountains of niy hidden life 

Are through thy friendship fair. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



^ 



.•fh, 



CO 



I'OEiVS OF FlUENDSHIP. 



■^ 



KUIKNl>SlUr 



11am. llonilio, llion lilt o't'ii iisjust i> num 
As I'lT my ooiivoitwlioii ('opml witluil. 

lloK, O, m_v Uoiii' liml 

Mam. Niiv, .lo not tliiiiK 1 lliiitcr ; 

Koi' what lulviuuTiiii'iil miiy 1 lioiu' IVoui tliri' 
Tlml no ivvonui' liiisl lull lliv >^»"l spiriis, 
To Iwil unci olollio tluv ? Wliv sluniia llu- i^or 

111' IlllltOlVll f 

No, lot tin- I'liiulit'il loujjui' liok ivlwunl pomii, 
Aiul oiMok lliii |iii'j»iiiuit liinj»t's of tlu' kinH>, 
WliiMvtlii'irt iiiiiy I'oUow I'liwiiiiij;. Post Ihouhoni'f 
Siiu'o my ilrur soul wus misttvss of lu>i' I'lioico, 
Aiiil ooulil of moil ilistiiijjnisli, liov olootioii 
Hulli souloil tlioo for lioi-solf ; for tlion liast boon 
As Olio, ill sult'oiiuj' all, llint ttiilVoi's nothing, — 
A mini tliat Foitiino's bnll'ots and ivwiinls 
lliist ta'oii with o<iual thanks ; ami Mossed are 

thoso 
\VliosolihnHl«iid judgniont luv sowoll oo-niinnlod, 
Tlnil thoy aiv not a \i\v> for I'oituno's Wwgor 
To sound what stop silio jdoaso ; Oivo ino that 

man 
That is not ^vassion's slavo, and 1 will woar him 
hi my hoiirt's ooi-o. ay, in my hoart ofhoart. 
As 1 do thoo. 



I Oroamt of oncountoi-s "twixt tlivsolf and mo, 
Wo Imvo boon down togothor in my sloon, 
I'nbuoklinj; holms, listinj; oaoli othor's tlirout. 
And wiikod half doiid with nolliiii;,'. Worthy 

.Miiivins, 
Had wo no othor nunrivl olso to Konio, but Ihut 
Tlion art (homo Imnishod, wo would innstor nil 
Kivm twolvo to sovouty ; and, (louring war 
into tho binvols of niigriitol'iil Homo, 
liiko II \xi\d Hood o'orbour. 0, oomo ! go in. 
And tako our IViondly sonatoi-s by tho hands. 
Who now ai-o hoiv, taking thoir loavos of mo. 
Who am propirod iignin.st your torritorios. 
Though not for Homo itsolf. 

.\ Ihousund woloomcs ! 
.\iul moiv II friond thiiii o'or an onomy ; 
Yot, Maivins, thut was miioh. 



h 



aiAKTl^iVL FRIENDSHIP. 

VROM " OORIOI.ANVS." 
tAitf\,ti«s the WJsclaii tv> Cftius Marv'ivis Cofiol.in«s.l 

Ai'K, tt Maivius, Maivius ! 

Kaoli wm\l Ihoii hast sjioko hath woodod tivm mv 

hoiirl 
•V iwl of aiioioiit ouvy. If .Iniiitor 
Should l'i\>m yond' oUnid spwik divino tilings, 

and say, 
""T isfruo," 1 M not Kdiovo thom nioiv than thoo, 
.\ll-noblo Maivius, Lot mo twino 
Mino arms aKnit that Kvly, whoiv-against 
I^ly gi-sumM ash an lumdii-d timos hath broke, 
\iid soaixil tlio nuwn with s|>lintors ! Uoro 1 clip 
Tho anvil of my swonl ; and do ivntest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy lovo. 
As over in ambitious stivngMi 1 divl 
l\ii»tond agjiinst thy \iiloi\ Know tlion lirst, 
1 lovod tlio maid 1 marriod : nowr man 
Sigluvl truor biiwth : but that I soo thiH< here, 
Tlion noblo tiling I morv dam-tw my rai>t hoiirt 
Than when I tii'st my W(Hldt>»l iiiistivss saw 
Ivstrido my tluwhoid. Why. thou Mai's ! I toll 

th.v. 
Wo have a jwwor on tWt ; and 1 had imrjx>s<< 
Onoo mor<> to how thy targ<>t fi-om tJiy brawn. 
Or hvso mino arm for 't. Thou hast Iwit mo out 
T^vol\•^' sovoral timos, and 1 h«vo nightly sinoo 



THE MKMOKY OF TtlK HKAUT. 

U" stoivs of dry and lollrn^d loro wo giiiu, 
Wo koop thom in tho moiiiory of tho biiiin ; 
Kainos, things, and faots, — wliato'orwo knowl- 

inlgKi oall, — 
Thoiv is tho oommon lodgi'r for thom «U ; 
.\iid imagi's on this oold snrfaoo traood 
Mako slight impivssioii, and aiv soon ollaood, 
l>nt wo 'vo a (mgo, moiv glowing and moiv bright, 
tin wliioli our frioiidshiii and our lovo to write ; 
That those may never fivni tho soul doinirt. 
Wo trust thom to the memory of the heart. 
Thoiv is no dininiing. no ort'iu'einont tlioix' ; 
Kaoh new (inlsation keo|>s the ivooixl clear ; 
Warm. g<>ldon lottoi-s all tho tablet till. 
Nor lose their luster till tJio heart stands still, 

IIANIBL WKBSTRR. 



WTIEN TO THE SESSIONS OV SWKET SILENT 
THOUQUT, 



WilEX to the sessions of swoot silent thought 
I summon up nnneuibninoe of things i>ast, 
I sigh the laok of many a thing 1 sought, 
.Vnd with old woes now wail my dear time's waste. 
Thou oan 1 divwu an oyo. unused to How, 
For |ir»'oions friends hid in death's dateless night. 
And wi-ep afivsh love's long sinoe eiuieoUed woe. 
And moiui th' exiH<uso of miuiy a \-anisheil sight. 
Then oan 1 grieve at grio\'!>m'es foregone. 
And heavily from woe to woo tell o'er 
The s!>d aeoonnt of fore-lvnuwnJ'd nuwn, 
Whioh 1 new jwy, as if not jviid Wforx' : 
Hut if tlio while 1 think on thee, dear friend, 
.\ll livssos ar\' rvstonvl, juid sorrows end, 

SHAKKSPKARK. 



i 



FOEMS OF FlllESDHUlP. 



Gl 



-a 



EAKLY FKIKNtlHIUI-. 

The half-seen memories of chil'lisli 'lays, 
When {rains and jjhiasures lightly came and went ; 
'I'Ik; »ym)athies of boyhood rashly sijcnt 
i II fearful wanderings through forbidden ways ; 
The vague, but manly wisli U) tr"««l the maze 
Of life to noble ends, — whereon intent. 
Asking to know for what man here is sent. 
The bravest heart must often jKiuitc, and gaze,— 
The linn rcstjlve to s<;ek the chosen end 
Of rnanliorxl's judgment, cautiomt and mature, — 
Kaeh of these viewless Ixinds binijii friend to friend 
With strength no selfish purjKisc can secure : 
My happy lot is this, that all attend 
That friendship which first came, and which shall 
last endure. 

AUEKEV DE VEKE. 



A TEMPLE TO FEIENDHHIP. 

"A TKMi'LB to Friendship," cri<;d Laura, en- 

clianted, 
" I '11 build in thin garden ; the thought id 

divine," 
So the temple was built, and she now only want/jd 
An image of Friendship, to place on the shrine. 

.So she flewt^j the sculptor, who satdown Ixjfore her 
An im;ige, the fairest his art could invent ; 
but so cold, and so dull, that the youthful a/lorer 
Saw phiinly this was not the Friemlshipshe meant. 

"0, never," said she, "could 1 think of enshrin- 
ing 

An image whose lw)k» are so joyless and dim ; 

liut yon little goil u\xm roses reclining. 

We '11 make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of 
him." 

So the Ixirgain was struck ; with the little god 

la<len. 
She joyfully flew Ui her home in the grove. 
" Farewell," said the sculptor, " you 're not the 

first maiden 
Who came but for Friendship, and took away 

Love ! " 

Thomas mooke. 



1 HAD sworn to be a bachelor, she ha/l sworn to 
>* a maid. 

For we (juif! agreod in douMing whether matri- 
mony paid ; 



Besides, we lia/1 our higher loves, - fair w:'ikw.i. 

ruled my heart. 
And she said her young affections were all wound 

up in art. 

So we laughe'l at those wise men who say that 

friendship cannot live 
"I'wixl nuiii and woman, unless ea/.h has soiiie- 

thiiig more ti> give : 
We would Ije Iriemis, and frienilj) a» true a» e'er 

were man and man ; 
I 'd be a scond Uavi<i, and she ^li»s Jonathan. 

We ivMTiieil all wmtimental trash, — vows, kisses, 

tears, and sighs ; 
lligli fricmlship, such as ours, might well such 

childiith arts despise ; 
We likud each other, that was all, (juite all there 

W!i» to say. 
So we just shook hand« upon it, in a business 

sort of way. 

We shared our screts and our joys, t/^getlicr 

hoiH;<l and f'earcl. 
With common jiurjios*: sought the goal ttiat young 

Ambition ti^tcA ; 
We dreamed together of the days, the driyini- 

bright days to come. 
We were strictly confidential, and we called 'ach 

other " chum." 

And many a day we wandered together o'er the 

hills, 
I seeking buj;s and butterflies, and she, the rained 

mills 
And rastic bridges, and the like, tliat picturc- 

niakei^ prize 
To ran in with their waterfalls, and groves, an I 

summer skies. 

And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent i-jw.. 
We iictiiWl down the river, or stroUwl >x;neath 

the trees. 
And talked, in long gradation from the yietH Ui 

the weather. 
While the western skies and my cigar burned 

slowly out together. 

Yet through it all no whispercl word, no U:]\- 

tale glance or sigh. 
Told aught of wanner sentiment than friendly 

symjiathy. 
We talked of love as oolly as we talked of 

nebuUe, 
And thought no more of being cme than we did 

of being Ihret. 



-& 



ifr 



u:i 



POUMS OF FRIENVSHIP. 



-^ 



" Well, gvicKl by, chuiu ! " 1 took hor luuul, for Tho wonU cmuo lightly, tpivly, Imt ii givut soK 

the time hiul oouu> to J^>. just Miiiul, 

My J^>iug lupttut our ^wrtinj;, when to uu>et, w» Woiloil ujiwiiul with tt »toiy of ijuiio a dill'oi'eut 

vtivl uot know. kiuvl. 

1 had liu^oitnl long, »iul saiil fawwoU with a 



very heavy heart ; 
Far althouitli we were but />■«(;«<>•, "t is hajxl for 
houest iVieuds to ^wrt. 

" Gowl by, old fellow ! diui't foi'gxa your tVieuds 

Kiyoiul the sea, 
Aud some ilay, wheu you ve lots ol liuie, di\>j> a 

liue vU' two to me." 



Aud tlieu siie l'ais«^l her eyes to luiue, — great 

liijuid eyes of blue, 
Jelled to the briux, aud ruuuiug o'er, like violet 

cuiw of dow ; 
Oue louj!, long glaui-e. aud theu I diki. what 1 

never vlid MXu-e — 
Perhai>s the tam uu«nt tVieudship, but I 'm 

sure the Aiisif meaut uuuv. 

WU.l.l.*M U TBKKllir. 



•L 



-tP 



a-'- 



-a 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION. 



WHEN IN THE CHRONICLE OF WASTED TIME. 

SONNET. 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 

I see description.^ of the fairest wights, 

And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty'.s best 

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 

I see their antique pen would have expressed 

Even such a beauty as you master now. 

So all their praises are but prophecies 

Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 

And, for they looked but with divining eyes. 

They had not skill enough your worth to sing ; 

For we, which now behold these present days. 

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



O MISTRESS SnNE. 

MisTRKSs mine, where are you roaming? 
0, stay and hear ! your true-love 's coming 

That can sing both high and low ; 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting I 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, — 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 't is not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What 's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty, — 
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 

SHAKESPEARI 



OLIVIA. 

FROM " TWELFTH NIGHT." 

VhiLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red an 

white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
Lady, you are the cruel' st she alive, 
If you will lead these graces to the grave. 
And leave the world no copy. 



PORTIA'S PICTURE. 



FROM -THE 



OP VENICE." 



SHAKESPEARE. 



Fair Portia's counterfeit ? M'lxat deini;; 1 1 
Hath come .so near creation? .Move liie^ir eyes ' 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. 
Seem they in motion? Here are severed lips. 
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her 

hairs 
The painter plays the spider ; and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
Methinks it should have power to steal both his. 
And leave itself unfurnished. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



THE NIGHT PIECE. 

TO JULIA. 

Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee. 
The shooting-starres attend thee ; 
And the elves also. 
Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

"So Will-o'-th'-wispe mislight thee. 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 

But on thy way. 

Not making .stay. 
Since ghost there 's none t' affright thee ! 

Let not the darke thee cumber; 

What though the moon does slumber? 
The .stars of the night 
Will lend thee their light, 

I/ike tapers cleare, without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
Thus, thus to come unto nie ; 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet. 
My soule I '11 pour into thee ! 



U-- 



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r^ 



04 



I'OEMS OF LOVE. 



■^ 



THE KOKWAKD VIOLET THUS DIP 1 CHIDE. 



The fonviuvl violet thus liid 1 oliide: — 

Swwt thiof, whouco dklsl thou steal thy sweet 

that swells. 
If uot fivm my love's luvath ' the purple piide 
Whkh ou thy soft iliwk for couiplexiou dwells, 
111 my loves veins thou hast too gi-ossly dyeil. 
The lily 1 eoiidemutii for thy liaud, 
A»d buds of uuujoi-am had stoUu thy hair : 
The ivses fearfully ou thorns ilid siaud, 
One bhishiug shame, another white dos|iair; 
A thiitl, uor i\il nor white, had stoleu of Ivth, 
And to this ivbK-ry liad annexed thy bi-eath: 
15ut, for his theft, in pride of all his givwth 
A veugefid canker eat him up lo death. 
More tlowers 1 notetl, yet 1 none could see, 
But sweet or color it had stoU'u fix>m thee. 

SHAKtSPBAKE. 



GOOD AXD FAIR. 

How near to gootl is what is fair ! 

Which we uo soouer see. 

But with the lines and outwai\i air 

Our senses taken be. 

We wish to se* it still, and pivve 

Wh.it waj-s we may deserve ; 
We court, we praise, we moif than love, 

We ai-e uot grieveil to serve. 

be.\ jonson. 



Like to Piana iu her summer weed. 
Girt with a crimson rolv of brightest dj-v. 

Goes fair Saniela ; 
Whiter th.sn be the flocks that straggling feed, 
W"hen washe*.! by .Xwthusa faint they lie. 

Is fair fiamela : 
As fair .\urora iu her morning gray, 
Deckevl with the ruddy glister of her love, 

Ts fair S;imela : 
Like lovely Thetis ou a cahueil day, 
WTienas her brightness Xeptuue's fancy move, 

Shines fair Sanu-Ia : 
Her tresses gold, her ej-es like glassy streams. 
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts ai-e ivory 

Of fair Samela : 
Her tfhe«ks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams, 
Her brows" bright aix-hes framed of ebony ; 

Thus fair Sttuela 
fair Venus in her bravest hue. 



And ,luuo iu the sliow of msyesty. 
For she "s Samela : 
I'iUlas iu wit, all thive, if you will view. 
For lieauty, wit, and matchless dignity. 
Yield to Samela. 

KOSHKr GKEE.NE. 



THEKE IS A GAKDEK IN HER FACE. 

FKO.V "AN HOVKE-S KECKBA110.N Iti MVSlCliE.- 1(106. 

TuEKE is a gai\len in her face. 
Where i-oses and white lilies blow : 

A heavenly pju-ailise is that place, 
Wheivin all pleas)«ut fruits do gix>w ; 

Then- cherries grow that none may buy, 

Till cherry-rijie themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row. 
Which when her lovely laughter shows. 

They look like iv>sebuds tiUeil with snow; 
Yet them no jieer nor prince may buy, 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still. 
Her brows like bended bows do stand. 

Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 
All that approach with eye or hand 

These sacreil cherries to come nigh. 

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Richard .\luso.\. 



I THE WHITE ROSE. 

SENT BY A ITORKISH LOVER 1\> HIS L.USCASTR1AN UISTSES& 

I If this fair ixvse oftend thy sight, 

flacevl in thy bosom bare, 
'T will blush to find itself less white. 
And turn Lancastrian there. 

But if thy ruby tip it spy. 

As kiss it thou mayest deign. 
With envy jvile "t will lose its dye, 
1 And Y'orkisli turn .-tgiuu. 



MT SWEET SWEETING. 



FROM A MANfSCR 



: TIME OF K£^RV VIIL 



&- 



Ah. my sweet sweeting : 

My little pretty sweeting. 

Mv sweeting will 1 love wherever I go : 

She is so proper and pure, 
Ftill, steadfast, stable, and demure. 

There is none such, \-ou may be sure, 
.Vs my sweet sw^eeting. 



COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION. 



65 



-Qi 



icll tliiM ui.il.l, as lliiiikctli iiic, 
luiic .SI) jilcasaiit t(j my (;'e, 



III 
Is 
'I'liat 1 ain ^jliid so ol't to see, 

As my sweet sweeting. 
Wild) I behold my sweeting sweet, 
Hit face, lier liands, her minion leet, 
'I'lii'V seem to me there is none so mete 

As my sweet sweeting. 

AliDVr all olhcr piaise must I, 
And luve my |Mc-lty l>yg.'inye, 
Fur none 1 lind .so womanly 
As my sweet sweeting. 



A VISION OF BEAUTY. 

It was a beauty tliat I saw, — 
So [lure, so [lerfeet, as the frame 
I If all the universe were lame 

To that one figure, could I draw, 

(Ir give least lino of it a law : 
A .skein of silk without a knot ! 

A fair march ma<l(! without a halt ! 

A curious fiinn without a fault ! 
A printed book without a blot ! 
All beauty ! — and without a spot. 

lll.N Jo 



GIVE I'LACE, YE LOVERS. 

Give place, ye lovers, here before 

That sjjent your boasts and brags in vain 

My lady's beauty passeth more 

The best of yours, I dare well sayen, 

Than doth the sun the candle-light. 

Or brightest day the darkest night. 

And thereto liath a troth as just 

As had r.-ml..|ir the fair;' 
For wlial shi' sailli, yc may it trust. 

As it liy wiiliii;^' scaled were : 
Anil virtues hath .she many mo' 
Than I with pen have skill to show. 

1 lould rehearse, if that I would. 
The whole effect of Nature's plaint, 

When she had lost the perfect mold. 
The like to whom sho eould not paint ; 

With wringing hands, how she did cry. 

And what she said, 1 know it aye. 

1 know she swore with raging mind. 

Her kingdom only set a]iart, 
There was no loss by law of kind 

That eould have gone so neai' her heart ; 
And this was chiefly all her pain ; 
" She could not make the like again." 



.Sitli Nature thus gave her the praise. 
To be the chiefest work she wrought, 

In faith, methink, some better ways 
On your behalf might well be sought. 

Than to compare, as ye liav(' done, 

To matcli the candle with the sun. 

LUUD SUKRHV. 



I'HILLIS IS MY ONLY JOY. 

I'liiLLis is my only joy ; 

Faithless as the wind or seas ; 
Sometimes coming, sometimes coy, 
Yet she never fails to i)lease. 
If witli a frown 
I am cast ilown, 
i'hillis, sniiling 
And beguiling, 
iMakes me happier than before. 

Though, alas ! too late 1 lind 
Nothing can her fancy hx ; 
Yet the moment she is kind 
1 forgive her all her tricks ; 

Which though 1 sec, 

I can't get free ; 

She deceiving, 

I believing. 
What need lovers wish for more ? 

SIR CUARLBS SEDLEV. 



YOU MEANER BEAUTIES. 

You meaner beauties of the night. 
That poorly satisfy our eyes 

More by your number than your light, — 
You common people of th'' skies, 
What are you when the moon shall rise ? 

You curicnis chanters of the wood, 

That warble forth Dame Nature's lays. 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents, — what 'a your praiso 
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 

You violets that first ajipear, 

liy your j)ure purple mantles known. 

Like the ]irnud virgins of the year, 
As if the spring were all your own, — 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 

So when my mistress shall be seen 
In form and beauty other mind ; 

By virtue lirst, then choice, a queen, — 
Tell me, if she were not designed 
Tir eclipse and glory of her kind ? 



d 



cA' 



u6 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



^ 



ly-- 



GO, LOVELY ROSE. 

Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows. 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet ami fail- she seems to be. 

Tell her that 's young, 
And shuns to have her graces spied. 

That hadst thou sjirung 
In deserts, where no men abide. 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty I'rom the light retired ; 

Bid her come forth. 
Suffer herself to bo desired. 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee ; 
How small a part of time they share. 
That are so wondrous, sweet, and fair. 

EDMUND Waller. 

STANZA ADDED BY HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 

Yet, though thou fade. 
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise ; 

And teach the maid. 
That goodness Time's rude hand defies, 
That virtue lives when beautv dies. 



MY LOVE IN HER ATTIRE. 

My Love in her attire doth sliow her wit. 

It doth so well become her : 
For every season she hath dressings tit. 
For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
No beauty she doth miss 

When all her robes are on ; 
But beauty's self she is 
When all her robes are gone. 

ANONYMOUS. 



On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 
Wluch Jews might ki.ss, and Infidels adore. 
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose. 
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those : 
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends : 
Oft she rejects, but never once ofl'ends. 
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike. 
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 



Yet, graceful ease, and sweetness void of ]iride, 
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide ; 
If to her share some female errors fall. 
Look on her face, and you '11 forget them all. 

ALE.\ANDER POPE. 



MOODS. 

Oirx upon it. 1 have loved 
Tliree whole days together ; 

And am like to love three more. 
If it prove fair weather. 

Time shall moidt away his wings. 

Ere he shall discover 
In the whole wide world again 

Such a constant lover. 

But the spite on 't is, no praise 

Is due at all to me : 
Love with me had made no stays, 

Had it any been but she. 

Had it any been but she, 

Anil that veiy face, 
There had been at least ere this 

A dozen dozen in her place. 

Sir John suckling 



"MY LOVE IS ALWAYS NEAR." 

My only love is always near, — 

In country or in town 
I see her twinkling feet, I hear 

The whisper of her gown. 

She foots it ever fair and young. 

Her locks are tied in haste. 
And one is o'er her shoulder flung, 

And hangs below her waist. 

She ran before me in the meads ; 

And down this world-worn track 
She leads me on ; hut while she leads 

She never gazes back. 

And yet her voice is in my dreams. 
To witch me more and more ; 

That wooing voice ! Ah me, it seems 
Less near me than of yore. 

Lightly 1 sped when hope was high. 
And youth beguiled the eJiase, — 

I follow, follow still ; but I 
Shall never see her face. 

FREDERICK Locker 



i 



©^- 



COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION. 



67 



AT THE CHURCH GATE. 

Ali iinfcii I enter not, 
Yet round about the spot 

Ofttimes I liover ; 
And near the saered gate, 
With longing eyes I wait. 

Expectant ol' lier. 

The minster bell tolls out 
Above the city's rcnit 

And noise and Immniing ; 
Tlicy 've hushed the minster bell ; 
The organ 'gins to swell : 

She 's coming, coming ! 

My lady comes at last, 
Timiil and step])ing fxst, 

And hastening hither, 
With modest eyes downcast ; 
She comes, — she 's here, — she 's past! 

May Heaven go with her ! 

Kneel umlisturk-d, lair saint ! 
Pour out your pi'aise or jdaint 

Meekly and duly : 
1 will not enter there. 
To sully your pure prayer 

With thoughts unruly. 

But suffer me to pace 
Round the forbidden place, 

Lingering a minute, 
Like outcast spirits, who wait, 
And see, through heaven's gate, 

Angels within it. 

WILLIAM MAKBI-LACE THACKF.RAV. 



SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 

She was a phan'^om of delight 
When first she gleamed ujion my sight ; 
A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament ; 
H,r ,vrs ;,s shirs of twilight fair ; 
Likr Th iliLiliis, too, her dusky hair ; 
r.iit all tliiiiL;^ else about her drawn 
From JIay-tinie and the cheerful dawn : 
A dancing shape, an image gay. 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin-liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 



A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food. 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller between life and death : 
The I'eason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
A perfect woman, nobly planned 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel-light. 

William Woruswortm 



SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. 

SllK walks in Ijcauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies. 

And all that 's best of dark and bright 
Meets in her ivspecl and her eyes, 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Wliich lieaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impaired the nameless grace 

Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o'er her face, 

Will-re thoughts serenely sweet express 
Iliiw pure, liow dear their dwelling-place. 

Anil on that cheek and o'er that brow 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The .smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

liut tell of days in goodness .spent, — 
A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent. 

Lord bvro.n. 



THE MILKING-MAID. 

The ye.ar .stood at its equinox, 

And bluff the North was blowing ; 

A bleat of lambs came from the flocks. 
Green hardy things were growing ; 

I met a maid with shining locks 
Where milky kine were lowing. 

She w'ore a kerchief on her neck. 
Her bare arm showed its dimple. 

Her apron spread without a sjieck. 
Her air was frank and simple. 

She milked into a wooden pail. 
And sang a country ditty, — 



^-& 



68 



pojlMs of love. 



^ 



u 



All iniiofi'ut I'oiul lovers' tiilo, 

Tliat WHS lull' wise nor witty, 
rallu'tirally nistinil, 

'I'lMi pointless tor tho city. 

Shi' kept ill timo without ii lient. 

As true ns I'huu'h-lu'U riiijjiirs, 
Uiiloss she tainiwl time with her feot, 

til' sciueezeil it with her liiigere ; 
ller eleiir, uiistuilieil notes were sweet 

As iimny a in-.ietii'eil singer's. 

1 stood a niimite out of sight, 

Stood silent lor a niiiuite, 
To eye the (lail, ami eieaniy white 

The frothing milk within it, — 

To eye the eomely inilking-inaiil, 

Herself so fresh ami ereaiiiy. 
"Oood (lay to you ! " at last 1 saiil ; 

She turned her head to see me. 
"tiood day ' " she said, with lifted head ; 

Her eyes looked soft and dreamy. 

And all the while she milked and milked 

The grave cow heavy-ladi'ii : 
I 've seen grand ladies, iihuned and silked, 

But not a sweeter maiden ; 

But not a sweeter, fresher maid 

Than this in homely eotton, 
Whose pleasant face and silky hraiii 

1 have not yet forgotten. 

Seven springs have passed since then, as I 

Count with a sol>er sorrow ; 
Seven springs liave come and passed mo by. 

And spring sets in to-morrow. 

I 've half a mind to shake myself 
Fi-ee, just for once, from London, 

To set my work u|>on the shelf. 
And leave it done or undone ; 

To run down hy the early train, 

Whirl down with shriek and whistle. 

And feel the Mull' North blow again. 
And mark the sprouting thistle 

Set up on waste patch of the lane 
Its green and tender bristle ; 

And spy the scan'e-blown violet banks. 
Crisp prinii'ose-leaves and othei-s. 

And watch the lanilw leap at their pi-anks. 
And butt their i>atient mothei-s. 

Alns ! one point in all my plaii 
My serious thoughts demur to : 



Seven yeare have passed for maid and man, 
Seven years have passed for her too. 

Porhaiis my rose is over-blown, 

Not rosy or too rosy ; 
Perhaps in farm-house of her own 

Some husband keeps her cosy, 
Where I should show a face unknown, — 

Good by, my wayside posy ! 

CHRlSTl.VA GliORCI.VA ROSSETTI. 



A VIOLET IN HEK HAIR. 

A VIOLET in her lovely hair, 
A rose upon her bosom fair I 

Hut 0, her eyes 
A lovelier violet disclose. 
And her ripe lips the sweetest rose 

That 's 'neath the ."-kies. 

A lute beneath her graceful hand 
Breathes iiinsie forth at her eommand ; 

But still her tongue 
Far richer music calls to birth 
Than all the minstrel power on earth 

Can give to song. 

And thus she moves in tender liglit, 
Tlie purest ray, where all is bright. 

Serene, and sweet ; 
And sheds a graceful influence rouud. 
That hallows e'en the very ground 

Beneath her feet ! 



THE ROSE OF THE "WORLD. 

Lo, when the Lord made north and south, 

And sun and moon oulained, he. 
Forth bringing each by woiil of mouth 

In oixler of its dignity, 
Did man from the crude clay express 

By sequence, and, all else decreed. 
He formed the woman : nor might less 

Than Sabbath such n work succeed. 

And still with favor singled out, 

Marred le.ss than man by mortal fall, 
Her disposition is devout. 

Her countenance angelical. 
No faithless thought her instinct shrouds. 

But fancy checkers settled sense. 
Like alteration of the clouds 

On noonday's azure permanence. 
Pure courtesy, composure, ease, 

Declare aft'eetions nobly fixed, 



-4- 



LOVE. 



69 



n 



And impulse sprung from due degrees 

Of sense and spirit sweetly mixed. 
Her modesty, licr eliiefcst glare, 

The cestus ehuspiiig Venus' side, 
Is potent to dejeet the face 

Of him who would affront its pride. 
Wrong dares not in her presence speak, 

Nor spotted thought its taint disclo.se 
Under the protest of a cheek 

Outbragging Nature's boa-st, the rose. 
In mind and manners how di.scrcet ! 

ilow artless in her very art ! 
How candid in discourse ! how sweet 

The concord of her lips and heart ! 
How (not to call tnie instinct's bent 

And woman's very nature hann), 
How amiable and innocent 

Her pleasure in her power to chann ! 



How humbly careful to attract. 

Though crowned with all the soul desires, 
Connubial aptitude exact, 

Diversity that never tires ! 



COVIiNTRV va 



SWEET, BE NOT PKOUD. 

SWKET, be not proud of those two eyes, 
Which starlike sparkle in their skies; 
Nor be you proud that you can see 
All hearts your captives, yours yet free. 
I5e you not proud of that rich hair, 
Whifdi wantons with the love-sick air ; 
Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
.Sunk from the tip of your .soft car. 
Will last to be a precious stone 
When all your world of beauty 's gone. 

KOIfLRT llliKKICK. 



LOVE. 



h 



IF IT BE TRUE THAT ANY UEAUTEOUS TllINO. 

If it be true that any beauteous thing 
Raises the pure and just desire of man 
From earth to Ood, the eternal fount of all, 
Such I believe my love ; for as in her 
So fair, in whom I all besides forget, 
I view the gentle work of her Creator, 
I have no care for any other thing. 
Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvelous. 
Since the effect is not of my own jiower, 
If the soul dotli, by nature tempted forth, 
Enamored through the eyes. 
Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth. 
And through them riseth to the Primal Love, 
As to its end, and honors in admiring; 
For who adores the jMaker needs must love his 
work. 

From the It.ili.in of MICMABL ANGHr.o. 

by J. E. Taylor. 



THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE. 

The might of one fair Dice sublimes my love, 
For it hath weaned my heart from low desires; 
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial (ires. 
Thy beauty, antcpa.st of joys above, 
Instnicts me in the bliss that saints approve ; 
For 0, how good, how beautiful, must be 
The Ood that made so good a thing as thee, 
So fair an image of the heavenly Dove ! 



Forgive me if I cannot tnm away 

From those sweet eyes that are niyearthly heaven, 

For they are guiding stars, benignly given 

To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; 

And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, 

I live and love in God's ]>eculiar light. 

From the nslian >,f yU':uM'.l. AsCl'.tx*. 
by J. n. TAYLOR. 



LOVE SCORNS DEGREES. 

Love scorns degrees ; the low he lift^th high, 
The high he drawetli down to that fair plain 
Whereon, in his divine equality. 
Two loving hearts may meet, nor meet in vain ; 
'Gainst such sweet leveling Custom cries amain. 
But o'er its harshest utterance one bland sigh. 
Breathed jKission-wise, doth monnt victorious 

still, 
For Love, earth's lord, must have his lordly will. 
Paul II Haynr. 



PHUXLS THE FAIR. 

Ok a hill there grows a flower, 
Fair befall the dainty sweet! 

By that flower there is a bower 
Where the heavenly muses meet. 



.^1 



ItJ^ 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Ill ll\iil lunv.'l' IliiM't- is 11 rliiiir, 
Kiin.ni'il iill iilioul Willi j,'"l'l. 

Wlirivaolli sil 111.- Iiiiivsl liiii- 
Tliiil ov.M' ,'v aul y.'t lu'lu.ia. 

ll is l-liillis, I'llil- .111.1 l.ii,«lil. 
Sli.' lluil is llu> sli.'lili.'i.rs j.iY, 

Sll,' lllMl V.MlllS.li.l .L'spil... 

Au.l .li.l Mill.! li.T lilll.' hoy. 

Wl... VV..11I.I ii.il lluil 111.'., u.luiirof 
W'li.i w.Mil.l ii.il lliis siiiiit ii.lol'o* 

M'li.i w.ml.l imt lliis sislit lU'siiv, 
'rii.nif^li li.< lli.iuj{lil 1.1 sw' 110 iuou>y 

'rii.>ii I hilt Mil til.' slioiiliciiVs .1110011. 

l.ooU up.. II lliy lovo-si.'k swain! 
l\v Illy .'.miloil liiivo lioou s.vii 

IV'iul laou l.iHiiij;lit to lil'o njpiiii. 

NU 1101 AS l'.Kin\>N. 



LOVK IS A SIOKNKSS. 

I..1VK is a sioknoss full ..f woos, 

All ivmo.lios ivl'iisiiij; ; 
A (iltiiit tluil iinvsl willi oiiltinj; i;i\i\vs, 
M.ist hinvii with bost using. 
Why so » 
Mmo vv.' oiy.iy il. nmiv it .lies ; 
If not oigovo.l. il sij;liiiig ori.-s 
li.'i^'h-ho! 

liovo is !i tonuoiil of tho niin.l, 

A t.'ini..-st ovoi'liistinj{ ; 
Ami .lov.' h:ith nitulo it of a kin.l. 
N.>l w.ll, nor full, noi- fasting. 
Why so' 
Xl.'ro wo oiijoY il, inoix> it tlios ; 
If not otyov.'il, it sighinj; oriosi 
lioigh-ho ! 



All ! WHAT IS l.OVK? 

All ! what is lovo > It is a |>ivtly thiiijj. 
As swfot unto rt sho|>hoi\l as a kill);, 

.\ml swootor too ; 
I'.iv kiiijpi havo oaivs that wait niion a oivwn, 
.\n.l .-aivsoaii inako tho sw.-otost faoo to fivwn ; 

Ah thou, ah tlion. 
If oounliy hn'os sn.h swoot >h'sii>'s jipiin. 
What huly wonhl not h>vo a shoi.ln'i\l swain • 

Ills Ihvks aiv fohUnl • ho oonu** homo at night 
As worry as a kinj; In liis dolijjht, 

An.l movrioi' t.n^ ; 
h'or kings tvthink thoin what tho stato i"(>.)uiiv, 
Whoiv shoi>hoi>ls. oaivloss, oMv^l hy tho liiv : 

Ah thon, ah thon. 



I U'.'oiiiidy lovo sii.'li swool ilosiros gain, 
What la.ly w.ml.l ii.it lovo a shi'iihoi'd swain '! 

llo kis.s.'lli liisl, Ili.'U silsasl.litlio to<>al 

His .■r.'iiiu iiii.l .ur.l as .I..II1 llu' king his iiu-al, 

Au.l lililhoi- (.... ; 
For kings liavo oflon foars wh.ii lli.'v su]>, 
Whoivslioi.lioiils .livail no i...is..ii in tli.'ir on|. ; 

Ah Ihoii, ah thon. 
If .'.niiitry lovos sn.'h shi>oI il.'.siri's gain. 
What hilly w.ml.l n.il l.'vo a slu'iihonl swiiin ? 

Upon his oou.li ..f sliaw ho .sloops as s.niii.l 
.\s .hitli tho king upon his li.'.ls of .lowii, 

Moiv sonn.lor too ; 
Kor I'aivs .'iiuso kings full ofl tlioiv sl.'.'p l.isi.ill, 
Wlu'iv woary shophonlslio an.l snort llioir till ; 

Ah th.-ii, ah thou. 
If count ly lovos such swool ilosiivs gsiin. 
What huly wonhl not lovo a .shophoi.l swain ! 

Tlius with his wil'o ho siioinls tho y.miv as hlilli.' 
.\s (loth tho king at ovory ti.lo or sylli. 

Ami hlilhor too ; 
Kor kings havo win's ami broil, to tako in haml, 
Whon shojihoiils laugh, ami lovo upon tliolaml ; 

Ah thon, ah thon. 
If oountry lovos suoh swool itosiix>s gain. 
What la.ly would not lovo a slnpli.nl swain I 

KvUIUR'r O.RUliNl:. 



TKLL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE I.OVE. 

Wiii;n Polia on tho plain apiH-ai's, 
Awoil hy a thousand tondor foal's, 
) wouhl appuwoh, but daix> not niovo ; — 
Toll nu>, uiy hoart, if this bo lovo. 

Whoiio'or slio si>oaks, my ravishod oar 
No othoi' voioo than hoi^ oan hoar ; 
No othor wit but hoi's appixno; — 
Toll 1110, my hoart, if this bo lovo. 

If .sho somo othor swain oommon.l. 
Though I was 01100 his londost frioiid. 
His instant onomy 1 provo; — 
Toll 1110, my hotirt, if this bo lovo. 

Whon sho is alvsont, 1 i\o moiv 
FH'lijjlit in all that j>U>as<Hl U-foiv, 
Tho oloaivst spviujt, tho sliadiost giwo; — 
Toll mo, my hoart, if this Iw lovo. 

Whon foiul of {xnvor, of iKVinty vain, 
llor nots sho spivad for ovory swain, 
1 stiwo to liato, but vainly strovo; — 
Toll mo, my hoart, if this V lo\-o. 

OlvOR.'.i;, l.ORlt L\TTRn 



-.-S 




HEIGH-HO! 



• I.oi'f in a <,/r/ene»ji /uli a/ 7/w*. 
Ail reifiediet rf/uii'n^; 
A plant that most with tutting j/rovjt. 
Afoit barren mlih bat uting."" 



[& 



LOVE. 



71 



-a 



GO, HAPPY ROSE ! 

do, luippy Rose! and, iiilurwove 

With other llowers, bind luy love ! 

Tell her, too, she must not be 

Longer flowing, longei' free, 

'i'liat so oft Imth fettered nje. 

Siiy, if she 's fretful, I have bands 
Of pearl and gold to bind lier han<l3 ; 
Tell her, if she straggle still, 
1 have myrtle rods at will, 
For to tame, though not to kill. 

Take llicii my blessing thus, and go, 

And tell her this, — but do not so ! 

Lest a handsouK' anger fly, 

Like a lightning from her eye. 

And Ijurn thee up, as well as L 

KOUKRT IIF.RRICK. 



LOVE. 

FROM ■Tnit MtiRCHANT OF VENtCE." 

Tei.i. me where is Fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished ? 
Heply, rejily. 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and Fani'y dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 

Let us all ring Fancy's knell ; 

I 'U begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 

Ding, dong, bell. 



THE DECEIVED 



LOVER .STJETII ONLY FOR 
LIBERTY. 



&.- 



If chance assigned 
Were to my mind, 
]!y every kind 

Of destiny ; 
Yet would I crave 
Naught else to have 

Hut dearest life and liberty. 

Then wen; I sure 
I might endure 
The displeasure 

Of cruelty ; 
Where now I plain 
Alas ! in vain, 

Lacking my life for liberty. 



For without th' one, 
Th' other is gone. 
And there can none 
It remedy ; 
If th' one be past, 
Th' other doth waste. 

And all for lack of liberty. 

And so I drive, 
As yet alive. 
Although 1 strive 

With misery; 
Drawing my breath, 
Looking for death. 

And loss of life for liberty. 

But thou that still 
Mayst at thy will 
Turn all this ill 

Adversity ; 
For the repair 
Of my welfare, 

Grant mc Ijut life and liberty. 

And if not so. 
Then let all go 
To wretched woe. 

And let me die ; 
For Ih' one or th' other, 
There is none other ; 

My death, or life with liberty. 
Sir Thomas wva 



My banks they are furnished with Ikjcs, 

Whose murmur invites one to slceji ; 
My grottos are shaded with trees. 

And my hills arc wliitc over with sheep ; 
I seldom havi^ met with a loss. 

Such health do my fountains bestow ; 
My fountains all bordered with moss, 

Where the harebells and violets grow. 

Not a i]ine in my grove is there seen 

I'ut with tendrils of woodbine is bound ; 
Not a beach 's more beautiful green, 

But a sweetbrier entwines it around. 
Not my fields, in the prime of the year, 

More charms than my cattle unfohl ; 
Not a brook that i.s limpid and clear. 

But it glitters with fi.shes of gold. 

One would think she might like to retire 
To the bower I have labored to rear ; 

Not a shrub that 1 heard her admire 
But I hasted and planted it there. 



-ff 



lU 



^ 






J^ 


72 POEMS OF 


LOVE. 


^ * 


(> liow siulilon tl>o ji'ssninim' simvo 


11 


is heart in me kiM'|is him ami me in one ; 


Willi 111,' lilii,', to iviiili'iil -iiy 1 




My heart in liiiii las tlu.uj^lits ami senses 




.\\iv:uly it rails for my lovo 

To |Miiin' till' Willi Inaiiilii's away. 


11 


K'ni.les ; 
e loves my heart, lor oiu'P it was his own ; 




l''roiii till' [ilaius, tVoiii tlio wooiUaiuls, niul ^rovos, 
What stniiiis ol' wilil mi'loily Mow ; 


\ 


I eherish his heeanse in nui it hiiles ; 

y tnie-love hath my heart, ami 1 have his. 




How llio iiisjlilinjjiilos wailiU' llirii- lovos, 
Kroiii lliirUots of I'oM's tlial Mow 1 




- -♦ - 




AihI wlii'U lii'V laiglit form shall a|iinniv, 
Kiiili I'inl sliall liavmoniously join 




1 SAW 'I'WO I'l.lUMiS A'f MDHNINC}. 




Koi u I'oiioiit so soil nmi so ilcar, 
As slu' umy not ln> loiul to ivsij;". 

1 liavi- IVmnil out a gifl fof \iiy lair ; 




1 SAW two elomls at morninXi 
Tinj^'il hy the risinj; sun. 

Ami in the ilawn they lloateil on, 
Ami miufjleil into one ; 




1 liavo foiuul wlu'iv tlio \vooil-|iii;oous lirooil ; 
liut U'l mo llial i>limiU<r foiboar, 




I thought that niorniu}; eloml was blesseil, 
It moved so sweetly to the west. 




Slui will say 't was ii Uulmrous ilwil. 








l>'or lio iio'or ooulil lu> trmi, slu' iivoni-il, 




1 saw two sumnnu- eurvents 




Who oo\ilil mil a jiooi' liiixl of his youiij; ; 
Ami 1 IovihI l>or llir moiv xvluii 1 luaul 




l'"low smoothly to their meetinj;, 
Ami join their eoui-se, with silent foive, 




Suoh lomlonioss fall from l»-r loiij^iio. 

1 havoh.'anl li.-r with sw.vtm'ss iiiifoUl 
How that |iity was ihu' to a ilovo ; 

'I'hal it ovrratlouiliHl Ihc hohl, 

Ami sho i-alh'il it tlu' sistor of l.ovo. 




In (leaee eaeh other greet inj; ; 
Calm was their eoni'se through hanks of green, 
While ilimpling oiUlies nhiyetl between. 

Sueh be vour ginitle motion, 
Till life's last l>nlso shall beat ; 




I'mt lior wouls sm'h ii plrasmv I'onvoy, 




Like summer's beam, ami snmnu'r's stream. 




So murh 1 lii'V acoouts iuUm>, 
l.i't lu'r s|ii'ak, iiiul. whatovor sho sny, 




Float on, in joy, to meet 
.\ iiilmer sea, wheiv storms shall eease, 




Mi'thinks 1 shoiiKl lovo hor tlio moiv. 




A jmivr sky, wheiv all is j>eaee. 

Jiin.V l".. f. IIKAINAKO 




fail a luxsom so jjoiitlo ivmain 

I'umovi'il whon hor Ciivyilon sijjlis f 
Will a nyiuiih that is I'omi of the plain 




TllK KlvIAK OV OKIIKKS OKAY. 




'I'lu'so iilaiiis ami this valloy iK'spiso f 
Ui-ivr ivgious of sih'iiio ami shaili> I 

Soft soonos oVoontoiitinont ami oiiso ! 
WhiMv 1 oo\ilil hi>vo (iloasingly stniyoil, 




Ir was a friar of oi\lei-s giiiy 
AValked lorlh to tell his Iwails ; 

Alul he met with a lady fair 
t'lail in a pilgrim's weeds. 




If aiij;ht in her iiKsonio oowhl ploaso. 






r>nl wlnMv iliMvs my rhyltiila stniy ' 
Ami whoiv ai-p liov j;rots anil hor Kiwora ? 

Aw tl\i> jjixivi-s anil llio valloys as jpiy. 
Ami tlio slu-iihoi\ls as j^Mitle as ours » 




"Now Christ thee .save, then nveivnd friar; 

1 pray thee tell to me. 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My trm'-love thon didst see." 




Thi> i;i\>vos may (vrhaivs K> as lair, 
Ami tlio lai'o of tlio valle\-s as lino ; 




"And how should 1 know your true-love 
Fivni tnany another one?" 




riio swains may in mannoi-s ivmiwit), 
l>nt tlu'ir lovo is not oqual to niino. 




" 0, by his eoekle hat, and sfalV, 
And l>y his -siindal shoon. 




WllllAM SHFNSIVWB. 

— • — 




" r>ut ehielly by his I'aee atul mien. 
That weiv so fair to view : 




MY TKUK l.OVK H.\f)l MY tlKAKT. 

My tiui'lovo liath my hwirt, ami 1 Imvo his, 
r>y Just oxi'han_tf<' ono to tlio othor given : 

1 holil his iloar, ami mine lie oai\uot n>iss, 
Theiv never was a Ivtter Iwrjtuiu driven ; 

>ly trne-lovo hath my heart, ami 1 have his. 




His tlaxeti looks that sweetly enrlod. 
And eyes of lovely blue," 

*' lady, he is dead and gvme ! 

l,ady, he "s dead and g\>ne ! 
Ai\d at his head a given grass turf, 

And at his heels a stone. 


J-- 



aj.j._. 



^ 



LOVE. 



73 



'"Ql 



" WitJiin tliewi holy KloiiiUjilt long 

lib luiif;ui»lic<J, aii<l lie did, 
Lamenting of a la<ly'H luvi;, 

And 'plaining ol litr inidc. 

" Hero l)ore him Ijaicfau^/l on hi» bier 

Six proper youlliH and t:il], 
And many a war Ijedewwl his grave 

Within yon kirk-yard wall," 

"And art thoudea<l, thou gentle youth? 

And art thou dea/1 and gone f 
And diilKt thou die for love ol' me ? 

lireak, cruel licart of stone 1" 

"0 weep not, hwly, weep not m; 

Some ghostly wmfort (seek ; 
Let not vain wjrrow rive thy licart, 

Nor tear* lx;<lcw thy ehcik." 

"0 do not, do not, holy friar, 

My liorrow now reprove ; 
For 1 have lout the Kweet<;«t youth 

That e'er won laily'» love. 

*' And now, aU» 1 for thy sad loud 
I '11 evermore weep and sigh : 

For tlie<! I only wij>he<l Ui live, 
For thee I wish to die." 

" Wc*i> no more, lady, weep no more. 

Thy wjrrow in in vain ; 
For violetB plucked, the isweetetit (showers 

Will ne'er make grow again. 

"Our joys as wingW dreams do fly ; 

Why then should wjrrow last? 
8in(« giief but aggravates thy loss. 

Grieve not for what iii jKuit." 

" say not so, thou holy fiiar ; 

I pray th'se, say not so ; 
For since my true-love die<l for me, 

'T is meet my t«ar» shouhl (low. 

" And will he never come again 'f 

Will he ne'er come again ? 
Ah ! no, he is dea/1 and laid in his grave. 

Forever to remain. 

" His cheek was redder than the lose ; 

The comelicst youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave ; 

AUs, and woe is me!" 

"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more. 

Men were delivers ever : 
One foot on sea and one on land. 

To one thing constant never. 



" Ila<lst tliou Ijccn fond, he lia/1 U^en lal»<!. 

And left thee sail and heavy ; 
For young men ever were tickle foun<i. 

Since summer trees were leafy." 

" Now say not so, thou holy friar, 

I pray thw say not s*) ; 
My love he lia/l the truest licart, — 

O, he was ever true ! 

"And art thou d<^l, thou much-loved youtli, 

And diilsl thou die for me ', 
Then farewell home ; forcverniorc 

A pilgrim I will Ut. 

" Hut (irst upon my true love's giave 

My weary limbs I '11 hiy. 
And thric« 1 'II kiss the gri»:n-grass turf 

Tliat wi-a£»s his breathless chiy." 

"Vet stay, fair laily ; rest awhile 

liemsith this cloister wall ; 
S<;c through the liawthora blows the cold wind. 

And drizzly rain <ioth tall," 

" stay me not, tliou holy filar, 

stay me not, I pray ; 
No drizzly rain tliat falls on me 

Can wash my fault away." 

" Yet stay, fair lady, tiir/i again. 

And dry thow,- [xairly t/ars ; 
For s<«;, l>;neath this gown of gray 

Thy own tru<;-love ap|(eais. 

" Here forcwl by grief and lioj*l<;ss love, 

Tli<a>e holy wccls I sought ; 
And here, amirl thev; lonely walls, 

'fo end my "lays I thought. 

" But liaply, for my ywir of graee 

Is not yet jw"*"! away, 
Might I still ho|K; to win thy love. 

No longer would I stay." 

"Now farewell giief, and weh^jmejoy 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I liave found the/;, lovely youth. 

We nevennore will jrart." 

K'U\ArA by THOMA-; PRKCV- 



OK LOVt. 

T/IKBP. is no worldly pleasure here ls;low. 
Which by experience doth not folly prove; 

But among all the follies tliat I know. 
The sweetest folly in the worhl is love : 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



n 



u 



But not that passion which, witli tools' consent, 

Aliove tlie reason bears imperious sway, 
Making their liletime a perpetual Lent, 

As if a man were born to fast and pray. 
No, that is not the humor I approve. 

As either yielding pleasure or promotion ; 
I like a mild and lukewarm zeal in love, 

Although I do not like it in devotion ; 
For it has no coherence with my creed, 

To think that lovers die as they pretend ; 
If all that say they dy had dy'd indeed, 

Sure long ere now the world had had an end. 
Besides, we need not love but if we please, 

No destiny can force men's disposition ; 
And liow can any die of that disease 

Whereof himself may be his own phy.sician ? 
But .some seem so distracted of their wits. 

That I would think it but a venial .sin 
To take some of those innocents that sits 

In Bedlam out, and put some lovers in. 
Yet some men, lather than incur the slander 

Of true apostates, will false martyrs prove. 
But 1 am neither Iphis nor Lcander, 

I '11 neither drown nor hang myself for love. 
Methinks a wise man's actions should be such 

As always yield to reason's best advice ; 
Now for to love too little or too much 

Are both extreams, and all extreams are vice. 
Yet have I been a lover by report. 

Yea I have dy'd for love, as others do ; 
But, praised be God, it was in such a sort. 

That I revived within an hour or two. 
Tims have I lived, thus have 1 lov'd till now, 

And find no reason to repent me yet ; 
And whosoever otherways will do, 

His courage is a", little as his wit. 

sin ROBERT AVTON. 



THE LADY'S LdOKING-GLASS. 

Cell\ and 1, the other day, 

AValked o'er the sand-liills to the sea : 

The settins; sun adorned the coast. 

His beams entire his fierceness lost: 

-And on Tlie surface of the deep 

The winds lay only not asleep ; 

The nymphs did, like the scene, appear 

Serenely pleasant, calmly fair ; 

Soft felt her words as flew the air. 

With secret joy I heard her say 

That she would never miss one day 

A walk so fine, a sight so gay ; 

But 0, the change ! The winds grow liigh, 

Impeuding tempests charge the .sky. 

The lightning flies, the thunder roars. 

The big waves lash the frightened shores. 



Struck with the horror of the sight, 
She turns her head and wings her flight ; 
And, trembling, vows she '11 ne'er again 
Approach the shore or view the main. 

" Once more at least look back," said I, 
" Thyself in that large glass descry ; 
When thou art in good-humor drest. 
When gentle reason rules thy breast. 
The sun upon the calmest sea 
Appears not half so bright as thee : 
'T is then that with delight I rove 
Upon the boundless depth of love : 
I bless my chain, I hand my oar. 
Nor tliink on all I left on shore. 

" But when vain doubt and gi'oundless fear 
Do that dear foolish bosom tear ; 
When the big lip and watery eye 
Tell me the rising storm is nigh ; 
'T is then thou art yon angi'y main 
Deformed by winds and dashed by rain ; 
And the poor sailor that must try 
Its fury labors less than I. 
Shipwrecked, in vain to land I make. 
While love and fate still drive me back : 
Forced to dote on thee thy own way, 
1 chide thee first, and then obey : 
Wretched when from thee, vexed wher. nigli, 
I with thee, or without thee, die." 

Mattheu- Prior. 



•SHALL I TELL YOU WHOM I LOVE'?" 

Shall I tell you whom I love ? 

Hearken then awlule to me ; 
And if such a woman move. 

As I now shall vensifie. 
Be assured, 't is she or none 
That 1 love, and luve alone. 

Nature did her so nmch right 
As she scorns the helpe of art. 

In as many vertues dight 
As e'er yet imbraced a heart. 

So much good so truly tride. 

Some for lesse were deifide. 

Wit she hatb without desire 

To make knowiie how much she hath ; 
And her anger flames no higher 

Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 
Full of pitty as may be, 
Though perhaps not so to me. 

Reason masters every sense. 
And her vertues grace her birth 



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LOVE. 



~rn 



Lovely as all excellence, 

Modest in her most of inirtli : 
Likelihood enough to prove, 
Onely worth could kindle love. 

Such she is : and if you know 
Such a one as I have sung ; 

Be she brown or faiie, or so 

That she be but somewhile young, 

Be assured 't is she or none 

That I love, and love alone. 

WILLIAM bko\v.\ 



LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE. 

Love not nie for comely grace, 
For my pleasing eye or face. 
Nor for any outward part. 
No, nor for my constant heart ; 

For those may fail or tum to ill. 
So thou and I shall sever ; 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 
And love me still, but know not why. 

So hast thou the same reason still 
To d<ite upon me vvn: 



HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK. 

He tliat loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires. 
Or from starlike eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain liis fires ; 
As old Time makes these decay. 
So his dames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying tires : — 

Where these are not, 1 despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

Thom.^s Care 



LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG. 



ilGINALLY PRINTED I 



Love me little, love me lo:ig ! 
Is the burden of my song : 
Love that is too hot and strong 

Bumeth soon to waste. 
Still I would not have thee cold, — 
Not too backward, nor too l.iold ; 
Love that lasteth till 't is old 

Fadeth not in haste. 
Love me little, love me long ! 
Is the burden of my song. 



If thou lovest me too much, 

'T will not prove as true a touch ; 

Love me little more than such, — 

For I fear the end. 
I 'm with little well content. 
And a little from thee sent 
Is enough, with true intent 

To be steadtast, friend. 

Say thou lovest nic, while tliou live 
I to thee my love will give. 
Never dreaming to deceive 

While that life endures ; 
Nay, an<l after death, in sooth, 
I to theo will keep my truth. 
As now when in my Jlay of youth : 

This my love assures. 

Constant love i.s moderate ever, 
And it will through life pcrsever ; 
Give me that with true endeavor, — 

I will it restore. 
A suit of durance let it be. 
For all weathers, — that for me, — 
For the land or for the sea : 

Lasting cvenuore. 

Winter's cold or summer's heat. 
Autumn's tempests on it beat ; 
It can never know defeat, 

Never can rebel : 
Such the love that 1 would gain. 
Such the love, I tell thee plain, 
Thou must give, or woo in vain : 

So to thee — farewell ! 



I DO NOT LOVE THEE FOR THAT FAIR. 

I DO not love thee for that fair 
Rich fan of thy most curious hail', 
Though the wires thereof be drawn 
Finer than the threads of lawn, 
And are softer than the leaves 
On which the subtle spider weaves. 

I do not love thee for those flowers 
Growing on thy cheeks — love's bowers- 
Though such cunning them hath spread. 
None can paint them white and red. 
Love's golden arrows thence are shot. 
Yet for them I love thee not. 

I do not love thee for those soft 
Red coral lips I 've kissed so oft ; 
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard 
To speech whence music still is hc.ir.l. 



^ 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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U 



Though from those lips a kiss being takeu 
Might tyrants melt, and death awaken. 

1 do not love thee, my fairest, 
For that richest, for that rarest 
Silver pillar, which stands under 
Thy sound head, that globe of wonder ; 
Though that neck be whiter far 
Thau towers of polished ivory are. 

THOMAS CAREA 



A HEAITH. 

I FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone ; 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair that, like the air, 

'T is less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own. 

Like those of morning birds, 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, 

And from her lips each Hows 
As one may see the burdened bee 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her. 

The measures of her hours ; 
Her feelings have the fragrancy. 

The freshness of young flowers ; 
And lovely passions, changing oft. 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns, — 

The idol of past years ! 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the brain. 
Anil of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory, such as mine of her, 

So very much endears, 
Wlien death is nigh my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon. 
Her health ! and would on earth there stood 

Some more of such a frame. 
That life might be all poetry. 

And weariness a name. 

EDWARD COATn PINCK.NEY. 



FAIEEE THAN THEE. 

Faikee than thee, beloved, 

Fairer than thee ! — 
There is one thing, beloved, 

Fairer than thee. 

Not the glad sun, beloved, 

Bright though it beams ; 
Not the green earth, beloved, 

Silver with streams ; 

Not the gay birds, beloved, 

Happy and free : 
Yet there 's one thing, beloved, 

Fairer than thee. 

Not the clear day, beloved, 

Glowing with light ; 
Not (fairer still, beloved) 

Star-crowned night. 

Truth in her might, beloved, 

Grand in her sway ; 
Truth with her eyes, beloved, 

Clearer than day ; 

Holy and pure, beloved. 

Spotless and free. 
Is the one thing, beloved, 

Fairer than thee. 

Guard well thy soul, beloved ; 

Truth, dwelling there. 
Shall shadow fortli, beloved, 

Her image rare. 

Then shall I deem, beloved, 

Tliat thou art she ; 
And there '11 be naught, beloved. 

Fairer than thee. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

Genteel in personage. 
Conduct, and equipage ; 
Noble by heritage ; 
Generous and free ; 

Brave, not romantic ; 

Learned, not pedantic ; 

Frolic, not frantic, — 

This must he be. 

Honor maintaining. 
Meanness disdaining. 
Still entertaining. 
Engaging and new ; 



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LOVE. 



r] 



Neat, but not finical ; 
Sage, but not cynical ; 
Never tyrannical. 
But ever true. 



THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE. 

It is not Beauty I ilemand, 

A ciystal brow, the moon's despair, 

Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand. 
Nor meimaid's yellow pride of hair : 

Tell nie not of your staiTV eyes. 
Your lips that seem on roses fed, 

Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, 
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed, — 

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, 
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, 

A breath that softer music speaks 

Than summer winds a-wooing flowers ; — • 

These are but gauds : nay, what are lips ? 

Coral beneath the ocean-stream. 
Whose brink when your adventurer slips 

Full oft he perisheth on them. 

And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft 
That wave hot youth to fields of blood ? 

Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, 
Do Greece or Ilium any good ? 

Eyes can with baleful ardor bum ; 

Breath can poison that erst perfumed ; 
There 's many a white hand holds an urn. 

With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. 

For crystal brows, there 's naught within ; 

They are but empty cells for pride ; 
He who the Siren's hair would win 

Is mostly strangled in the tide. 

Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, 

A tender heart, a loyal mind. 
Which with temptation I wonld trust. 

Yet never linked with error find, — 

One in whose gentle bosom I 

Could pour my secret heart of woes. 

Like the care-burdened honey-fly 
That hides his murmurs in the rose, — 

My earthly Comforter ! whose love 

So indefeasible might be 
Tliat, when my spirit wonned above. 

Hers could not stay, for sympathy. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. 

Three students were traveling over the Rliine ; 
They stopped when they came to the landlady's 

sign; 
"Good landlady, have you good beer and wine? 
And where is that dew little daughter of thine ?" 

' ' My beer and wine are fresh and clear ; 
My daughter she lies on the cold death-bier ! " 
And when to the chamber they made their way, 
There, dead, in a coal-black shrine, she lay. 

The fii-st he drew near, and the veil gently raised. 
And on her pale face he mounifulh' gazeil. 
"Ah ! wert thou but living yet," he saiii, 
" I 'd love thee from tliis time forth, fair maid 1 " 

The second he slowly put back the shroud. 
And turned him away and wei)t aloud : 
"Ah ! that thou liest in the cold death-bier! 
Alas ! I have loved thee for many a year I" 

The third he once more uplifted the veil, 
Anil kissed her upon her mouth so pale : 
"Thee loved I always; I love still but theo; 
And thee will I love through eternity ! " 

From the GerniAn of UHLAND. 
by J. S. DWIGIIT. 



"THREE LOVES." 

Theke were three maidens who loved a king ; 

They sat together beside the sea ; 
One cried, " I love him, and I would die. 

If but for one day he might love me : " 

The second whispered, " And 1 would die 
To gladden his life, or make hini great." 

The thir-d one spoke not, but gazed afar 
W^ith dreamy eyes that were sad as Fate. 

The king he loved the first for a day, 
The second his life with fond love blest ; 

And yet the woman who never spoke 

Was the one of the three who loved him best. 



TO A GENTTL WOMAN 



SosiE women fayne that Paris was 

The falsest louer that could bee ; 

Who for his [life] did nothing passe. 

As all the world might playnly see : 

But ventred life and limmes and all. 
To keepe his freend from Greekish tlirall : 
With many a broyle bee dearely bouglit, 
His [Hellen] whom hee long had sought. 



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78 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



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For lirst [Dame Venus] granted him, 

A galliuit gil'tc of Ueautiiis lleeco : 

Wliii'li lioldely tor to seeke to win, 

l!y suiging Seas lieo sayld to Greece : 

And when lie was arrived theare, 
Hy earnest sute to win his Deare 
No greater paynes niiglit man endure. 
Than Paris did for Hcllen sure. 

Besides all this when they were well. 

Both liee and sheo ai'ryn'd at Troy : 

Kiiigc jMenelaiis wrath did swell, 

And swore, by sword, to rid their ioyc : 

And so heo did for ten yeres' space, 
I lee lay before the Troy an face ; 
With all the hoste that ho could make, 
To bee ri^veng'd for Ilellcns sake. 

Loo ? thus much ilid pooiv Paris bide, 

Who is accounted most untrue : 

All men bee false it hath bin sayd. 

They think not what they speake, (say you) 
Yes Paris spoke, and sped with speede. 
As all the heavenly Gods de(-'reed 
.\nd prooud himselfo a louor iust 
Till stately Troy was turned to dust. 

I doo not reado of any man. 

That so much was unfaythfull found. 

You did us wrong, t' accuse us than. 

And say our freendship is not sound : 
I f any fault bee found at all, 
To womens lot it needes must fall : 
If Ilcllen had not bin so light 
Sir Paris had not died in light. 

The falsest men I can excuse 

That euer you in stories rcado : 

Therefore all men for to accuse, 

Methinkes it was not well decreede : 
It is a signo you have not tride 
What stedfastnesse in men dotli bide : 
Pint when your time alinl try them true. 
This juilgment then you must renue. 

I know not every mans devise 

But commonly they stedfast are : 

Though you doo make them of no price. 

They lireake their vowes but very rare : 

They will jierformo theyr promis well. 
And specially when' lone doth dwell : 
Where freendship dolh not iustly frame, 
Then men (torsooth) nnist beare the blame. 

O. R 

From " A porcious Gallery of Gall.int Inucntions." 
Iiiipriiilcd m London, 1578. 



NOT OURS THE VOWS — 

Nor ours the vows of such as plight 

Tlicir troth in sunny weather, 
While leaves are green, and skies are bright. 

To walk on (lowers together. 



But wo have loved as those who tread 

The thorny path of sorrow. 
With clouds above, and cause to dread 

Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. 

That thorny path, those stormy skies. 
Have drawn our spirits nearer ; 

And rendered us, by sorrow's tics, 
Each to the other dearer. 

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth, 
With mirth and joy may perish ; 

That to which darker hours gave birth 
Still more and more we cherish. 

It looks beyond the clouds of time. 
And through death's shadowy jioital ; 

Made by adversity sublime. 
By faith and hope immortal. 



A " MERCENARY" MARRIAGE. 

She moves as light across the grass 

As moves my shadow large and tall ; 
And like my shadow, close yet free, 
The thought of her aye follows me. 
My little maid of Moreton Hall. 

No matter liow or where we loved, 
Or when we '11 wed, or what IhI'mII ; 

I only feel she 's mine at last, 

I only know I '11 hold her fast, 
Though to dust crumbles Jloreton Hall. 

Her pedigree — good sooth, 't is long ! 

Her grim sires stare from every wall ; 
And centuries of ancestral grace 
Kevive in her sweet girlish face, 

As meek she glides through Morctou Hall. 

Wliilst 1 have — nothing; save, perhaps. 

Some worthless heaps of idle gold 
And a true heart, — the which her eye 
Through glittering dross spied, womanly ; 
Therefore they say licr heart was sold ! 

I laugh ; she laughs : the hills and vales 
Laugh as we ride 'neatli chestnuts tall, 
Or start the deer that silent graze. 
And look up, large-eyed, with soft gaze. 
At the fair maid oi' Murcton Hall ; 

We let the neighbors talk their till, 

Kor life is sweet, and love is strong, 
And two, close knit in marriage tics, 
The whole world's shams may \\A\ despise, • 
Its folly, madness, shame, and wrong. 



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LOVE. 



79 



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We are not proud, with a fool's priile, 
Xor cowards, — to Ije held in tliruU 

ISy pelf or lineage, rank or laml^ ; 

One honest heart, two honest li;uids, 
Are worth far more than Moreton Hall. 

Therefore we laugh to scorn — we two — 

The bars that weaker souls appall ; 
I take her hand, and hold it fast, 
Knowing she '11 love ine to the last. 
My dearest maid of Moreton Hall. 

Dl.NAH MUl.OCK CRAllC 



SONG. 

Shall I love you like the wind, love. 

That is so fierce and strong. 
That sweeps all barriers from its [lath 

And recks not riglit or wrong ! 
The jjassion of the wind, love. 

Can never last for long. 

Shall I love you like the fire, love. 
With furious heat and noise. 

To waken in yo>i all love's fears 
Anil little of love's joys ? 

The passion of the fire, love, 
Whate'er it finds, destroys. 

I will love you like the stars, love, 

Set in the heavenly blue. 
That only shine the brighter 

After weeping tears of dew ; 
Above the wind and fire, love. 

They love the ages through. 

And when this life is o'er, love. 

With ail its joys and jars, 
We 'U leave behind the wind and fire 

To wage their boisterous wars, — 
Then we shall only be, love. 

The nearer to the stars ! 

R. w. ravmo.vd. 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION. 

Bkfoiik I trust my fate to thee, 
Or place my hand in thine, 

Before 1 let thy future give 
Color and form to mine. 

Before I peril all for tbec, 

Question thy soul to-night for me. 

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel 

A shadow of regret : 
Is there one link within the past 

That holds thy spirit yet ? 



Or is thy faith as clear and free 

As that which I can pledge to thee ? 

Does there within thy dimmest dreams 

A possible future shim:. 
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, 

Untouched, unshared by mine ? 
If so, at any pain or cost, 
0, tell me before all is lost ! 

Look deeper still : if thou canst feel, 

Within thy inmost soul. 
That thou hast kept a jiortion back, 

While I have staked the whole, 
Let no false jiity spare the blow. 
But in tine mercy tell me so. 

Is there within thy heart a need 

That mine cannot fullill '. 
One chonl that any other liand 

Could bett<-i' wake oj- still .' 
Speak now, lest at some future day 
My whole life wither and decay. 

Lives there within thy nature hid 

The demon-spirit, change, 
Sliedding a passing gloi-y still 

On all things new and strange ? 
It may not be thy fault alone, — 
But shield my heart against thine own. 

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day 

And answer to my claim. 
That fate, and that to-day's mistake, — 

Not thou, — had been to blame ! 
Some soothe their conscience thus ; but thou 
Wilt surely warn and .save me now. 

Nay, answer ?w/, — 1 dare not hear, 
The words would come tfra late ; 

Yet I would si>are thee all remorse. 
So comfort thee, my fate : 

Whatever on my heart may fall. 

Remember, I would risk it all ! 

ADELAIDE A.VNE PROCTER. 



THE LADY'S "YES." 

"Yes," I answered you last night ; 

" No," this moniing, sir, I say. 
Colors seen by candleliglit 

Will not look the same by day. 

When the viols played their heat. 
Lamps above, and laughs below. 

Love me sounded like a je.st. 
Fit for yen or fit for tm. 



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80 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



^^ 



Call me false or call me free, 
Vow, whatever light may shine, 

No man on your face shall see 
Any grief for change on mine. 

Yet the sin is on us both ; 

Time to dance is not to woo ; 
Wooing light makes fickle troth ; 

Scorn of me recoils on you. 

Learn to win a lady's faith 

Nobly, as the thing is high. 
Bravely, as for life and death, 

With a loyal gravity. 

Lead her from the festive boards. 

Point her to tlie starry skies, 
Guard her, by your truthful words. 

Pure from courtship's flatteries. 

By your truth she shall be true, 

Ever true, as wives of yore ; 
And her yes, once said to you. 

Shall be Yes forevennore. 

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 



LOVE'S SILENCE. 

Because I breathe not love to everie one. 
Nor do not use set colors for to weare. 
Nor nourish special locks of vowed haire, 

Nor give each speech a full point of a groane, — 

The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moane 
Of them who on their lips Love's standard beare, 
"What, he?" say they of me ; "now I dare 
sweare 

He cannot love : No, no ! let him alone." 
And think so still, — if Stella know my minde. 

Profess, indeed, I do not Cupid's art ; 

But you, faire maids, at length this true shall 
finde, — 
That his right badge is but worne in tlie hearte. 
Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers 

prove : 
They love indeed who ijuake to say they love. 
SIR Philip Sid.ney. 



THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE. 

Never wedding, ever wooing. 
Still a love-lorn heart pursuing, 
Read you not the wrong you 're doing 

In my cheek's pale hue ? 
All my life with sorrow strewing. 

Wed, or cease to woo. 



Rivals banished, bosoms plighted, 
Still our days are disunited ; 
Now the lamp of hope is lighted, 

Now half ([uenched appears. 
Damped and wavering and benighted 

Midst my sighs and tears. 

Charms you call your dearest blessing, 
Lips that thrill at your caressing, 
Eyes a mutual soul confessing. 

Soon you '11 make them grow 
Dim, and worthless your possessing. 

Not with age, but woe ! 



GIVE ME MORE LOVE OR MORE DISDAIN 

Give me more love or more disdain ; 

The torrid or the frozen zone 
Brings equal ease unto my pain ; 

The temperate affords me none ; 
Either e.vtreme, of love or hate, 
Is sweeter than a calm estate. 

Give me a storm ; if it be love, 
Like Danae in a golden shower, 

I swim in pleasure ; if it prove 
Disdain, that toiTent will devour 

My vulture hopes ; and he 's possessed 

Of heaven that 's but from hell released ; 

Then crown my joys, or cure my Jiain ; 

Give me more love or more disdain. 

THOtlAS carew. 



LOVE DISSEMBLED. 



FROM ■' AS 1 



Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
'T is but a peevish hoy : — yet he talks well ; — 
But what care I for words ? — yet words do well. 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
But, sure, he 's proud ; and yet his pride becomes 

him ; 
He '11 make a proper man : The best thing in him 
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offense, his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he 's tall ; 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 
A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mi.\ed in his cheek ; 't was just the 

difference 
Betwi.xt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had tliey marked 

him 
In parcels, as I did, would have gone near 
To fall in love with him : but, for my part, 
I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet 



LflVE. 



81 



-a 



I have more cause to hate him than to love him ; 

For what had he to do to chide at me ? 

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; 

And, now I am remembered, scorned at me : 

I marvel, why I answered not again : 

But that '3 all one ; omittance is no quittance. 



MILLAIS'S "HUGUENOTS.' 



Your fav'rite picture rises up before me, 

Whene'er you play that tune ; 
I see two figures standing in a garden, 

In the still August noon. 

One is a girl's, with pleading face turned upwards, 

Wild with great alarm ; 
Trembling with haste she binds her broidered 
kerchief 

About the other's arm. 

Whose gaze is bent on her in tender pity. 

Whose eyes look into hers 
With a deep meaning, though she cannot read it. 

Hers are so dim with tears. 

Wliat are they saying in the sunny garden. 

With summer (lowers ablow ! 
What gives the woman's voice its passionate 
pleading ? 

What makes the man's so low ? 

"See, love !" she muimurs ; "you shall wear 
ny kerchief. 

It is the badge, I know ; 
And it will bear you safely through the conflict. 

If — if, indeed, you go ! 

" You will not wear it ? Will not wear my ker- 
chief < 

Xay ! Do not tell me why, 
I will not listen ! If you go without it. 

You will go hence to die. 

"Hush ! Do not answer ! It is death, 1 tell you ! 

Indeed, I speak the truth. 
You, standing there, so warm with life and vigor. 

So bright with health and youth ; 

' ' You would go hence, out of the glowing sunshine. 

Out of the garden's bloom. 
Out of the living, thinking, feeling present. 

Into the unknown gljom! " 

Then he makes answer, "Hush ! 0, hush, ray 
darling ! 
Life is so sweet to me. 



So full of hope, you need not Ijid me guard it, 
If such a thing might be ! 

" If such a thing might be ! — but not through 
falsehood, 

I could not come to you ; 
I dare not stand here in your pure, sweet presence. 

Knowing myself untrue. " 

"It is no sin ! " the wild voice interrupts him, 

" This is no open strife. 
Have you not often dreamt a nobler warfare, 

In which to spend your life ? 

" Oh ! for my sake — though but for my sake, 
wear it I 

Think what my life would be 
If you, who gave it first true worth and meaning, 

Were taken now from me. 

"Think of the long, long days, so slowly passing ! 

Think of the endless years ! 
I am so young ' Must I live out my lifetime 

With neither hopes nor fears ? " 

He speaks again, in mournful tones and tender. 

But with unswerving faith : 
' ' Should not love make us braver, ay, and 
stronger. 

Either for life or death ? 

"And life is hardest I my love ! my treasure ! 

If I could bear your part 
Of this great sorrow, 1 would go to meet it 

With an unshrinking heart. 

"Chilli ! child! 1 little dreamt in that bright 
summer. 

When first your love I sought. 
Of all the future store of woe and anguish 

Which I, unknowing, wrought. 

" But you '11 forgive me ? Yes, you will forgive 
me, 
I know, when I am dead ! 
I would have loved you, — but words have scant 
meaning ; 
God loved you more instead 1 " 

Then there is silence in the sunny garden. 

Until, with faltering tone. 
She sobs, the while still clinging closer to him, 

" Forgive me — go — my own ! " 

So human love, and death by faith unshaken, 

llingle their glorious psalm, 
Albeit low, until the passionate pleading 

Is hushed in deepest calm. 



^.- 



-^ 



1^s7 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



-^ 



WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN I'M OLD? 

Will affection still infold me 

When the day of life declines, 
When old age with ruthless rigor 

Plows my face in furrowed lines ; 
When the eye forgets its seeing, 

And the hand forgets its skill, 
ind the very words prove rebel 

To the mind's once kingly will ; 

When the deaf ear, strained to listen, 

Scarcely hears the opening word. 
And the unfathoiued depths of feeling 

Are by no swift current stirred ; 
When fond memory, like a limner, 

Manv a line perspective casts, 
Spreading out our bygone pleasures 

On the canvas of the Past ; 

When the leaphig blood grows sluggish. 

And the fire of youth has fled ; 
A'hen the friends who now surround us 

Half are numbered with the dead ; 
K'hen the years appear to shorten. 

Scarcely leaving us a trace ; 
When old Time with bold approaches 

Marks his dial on my face ; 

When our present hopes, all gathered. 

Lie like dead flowers on our track ; 
When the whole of our existence 

Is one fearful looking back ; 
When each wasted hour of talent. 

Hardly measured now at all, 
Sends its witness back to haunt us. 

Like the writing on the wall ; 

"Wlien the ready tongue is palsied, 

And the form is bowed -n-ith care ; 
When our only hope is Heaven, 

And our only help is prayer ; 
When our idols, broken round us. 

Fall amid the ranks of men : 
Until Death uplifts the curtain, — 

Will thy love endure till then » 

ANON^'MOUS. 



A PASTOKAL. 



She touched my shoulder with fearful finger , 
She said, " We linger, we must not stay ; 

My flock 's in danger, my sheep will wander ; 
Behold them yonder, how far they stray ! " 

I answered, bolder, " 'Say, let me hear you, 
And stUl be near you, and still adore ! 

No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling, — 
Ah ! stay, my darling, a moment more ! " 

She whispered, sighing, " There will be sorrow 
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day ; 

My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, — 
I shall be scolded and sent away ! " 

Said I, repl}-ing, " If they do miss you. 

They ought to kiss you when you get home ; 

And well rewarded by friend and neighbor 
Should be the labor from which you come." 

"They might remember," she answered, meekly, 
" That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild ; 

But if they love me, it 's none so fervent — 
I am a servant, and not a child." 

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me. 
And love did win me to swift reply : 

"Ah ! do but prove me, and none shall bind you. 
Nor fray, nor find you, until I die ! " 

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting. 

As if debating in dreams divine ; 
But I did brave them, — I told her plainly. 

She doubted vainly, she must be mine. 

So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley 
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes ; 

And homeward drove them, we two together. 
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. 

' That simple duty such grace did lend her. 
My Doris tender, my Doris true, 
That I, her warder, did always bless her, 
And often press her to take her due. 

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling 
With love excelling and undefiled ; 
1 And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent. 
No more a servant, nor yet a child. 

' .\RTHLR J MUNDV. 



I S-\T with Doris, the shepherd maiden ; 

Her crook was laden with ■i\Teatlied flowers ; 
I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling. 

And shadows stealing, for hours and hours. 

And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses 
Wild summer roses of faint perfume, 

The while I sued her, kept hushed, and hearkened 
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. 



FETCHING WATER FROM THE WELL. 

Early on a sunny morning, while the lark was 

singing sweet. 
Came, beyond the ancient farm-house, sounds of 

lightly tripping feet. 



ly- 



^ 



[&-- 



'T was a lowly cottage maiden gouig — why, let 

young hearts tell — 
With her homely pitcher laden, fetching water 

from the well. 
Shadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the 

quiet lane, 
And the breezes of the morning moved them to 

and fro again. 
O'er the sunshine, o'er the shadow, passed the 

maiden of the farm. 
With a charmed heart within her, thinking of 

no ill nor harm. 
Pleasant, surely, wero her musings, for the nod- 
ding leaves in vain 
Sought to press their bright'ning image on her 

ever-busy brain. 
Leaves and joyous birds went liy her, like a dim, 

half-waking dream ; 
And her soul was only conscious of life's gladdest 

summer gleam. 
At the old lane's shady turning lay a well of 

water bright, 
Singing, soft, its hallelujah to the gracious morn- 
ing light. 
Fei'u-leaves, broad and green, bent o'er it where 

its silvery droplets fell. 
And the fairies dwelt beside it, in the .spotted 

foxglove bell. 
Back she bent the shailing fern-leaves, dipt the 

pitcher in the tide, — 
Drew it, with the dripping waters flowing o'er its 

glazed side ; 
But before her arm could place it on her shiny, 

wavy hair. 
By her side a youth was standing ! — Love re- 
jo. ced to see the pair ! 
Tonesof tremulous emotion trailed uponthemorn- 

ing breeze, 
Gentle words of heart-devotion wliisi)ered 'neath 

tlie ancient trees ; 
But the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not 

to tell : 
Life had met another meaning, fetching water 

from the well ! 
Down the rural lane they sauntered. He the bur- 
den-pitcher bore ; 
She, with dewy eyes down-looking, grew more 

beauteous than before ! 
When they neared the silent homestead, up he 

raised the pitcher light ; 
Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of 

wavelets bright : 
Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of 

him she 'd bear, 
Calling every burden blessed, if his love but 

lighted there. 
Then, still waving benedictions, farther, farther 

off he drew. 



'E. 83 

While his shadow seemed a glory that across the 

pathway grew. 
Now about her household duties silently the 

maiden went. 
And an ever-radiant halo o'er her daily life was 

blent. 
Little knew tlie aged matron as her feet like music 

fell. 
What abundant treasure found she, f'elchingwater 

from the well 1 

ANONV.MOUS. 



OTHELLO'S DEFENSE. 

Othello. 1 '11 present 

How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
And she in mine. 

Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
Still questioned me the story of my life, 
From year to year ; — the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have passed. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish ilays, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it : 
Wherein 1 spake of most disastrous chances. 
Of moving accidents by flood and llehl ; 
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly 

breach ; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence. 
And portance in my travel's history : 
Wherein of antres vast, and deseits idle. 
Rough fjuarries, rocks, and hills whose heads 

touch heaven. 
It was my hint to speak, — such was tlie process ; 
And of the t'annibals that each other eat. 
The Anthrojiophagi, and men who.se heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear. 
Would Desdemona seriou.sly incline : 
But still the house affairs would diaw lier thence ; 
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, 
She 'd come again, and with a greedy car 
Devour up my discourse. Which 1 ob.serving. 
Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
That I would all my [nlgi-image dilate. 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not intentively : I did consent ; 
-■Vnd often did beguile her of her tears, 
\Vlien I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suff'ered. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, — in faith 't was strange, 't was pass- 
ing strange ; 
'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous jiitiful : 
She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished 
That Heaven had made her such a num : she 



thanked me : 



— w 



a- 



84 



PUEMS OF LOVE. 



^ 



c;i-. 



And liiule lue, if 1 had a Irieiid that loved her, 
I slmuld Uwh him liow tu Il-U my story, 
And tliut would woo hor. Ujioii this liiiit, 1 spaku 
She lovod mu for the dangers 1 had [lassod ; 
And 1 loved hor that she di<l jiity thorn, 
'i'lus only is tlie wilelu'rait 1 have used : 
Here comes the lady, let her wituess it. 



FOLLOW A SHADOW, IT STILL FLIES YOU. 

Follow m sliadow, it still Hies you ; 

Seem to lly it, it will pursue : 
So court a mistress, she denies you ; 

Let her alone, she will court you. 
Say, are not women truly, then, 
.Styled I'ut tlie shadows of us men ? 

At luoru and even, shades are longest ; 

At noon they are or short or none : 
So men at weakest they are strongest, 

IJut grant us perfect, they 're not known. 
Say, are not women truly, then. 
Styled but the shadows of us men .' 

Ul-N JONSON. 



TIIK rUKll'AN LOVERS. 

Drawn out, like lingering bees, to share 
The last, sweet summer weather, 

Benealli the reddening maples walked 
Two rurilans li>gether, — 

A youth and maiden, heeding not 

The woods which round them brightened, 

Just conscious of each other's thoughts. 
Half h,'iiii)y and half frightened. 

Grave were their brows, and few their words 
And coarse their garb and simple ; 

The nuiiden's very cheek seemed shy 
To own its worldly dimple, 

For stern the tiiiic ; they dwelt with fare. 

And fear was oft a comer ; 
A sober April ushered in 

The Pilgrim's toilful summer. 

And stiTU tlieir creed ; tlu\v tarried hern 

Mere desert dand sojourners ; 
They must not dream of mirth or rest, 

God's humblo lesson dearnors. 

The tcmjile's sacred perfume round 
Their week-day robes was clinging ; 

Their nurth was but the golden bells 
On priestly garments ringing. 



Hut as to-day they softly talked. 

That serious youth and maiden, 
Their plainest words strange beauty wore, 

Like weeds with dcwdrops laden. 

The saddest theme had something sweet. 

The gravest, something tender, 
While with slow steps they wandered on, 

Mid summer's fading splendor. 

He said, " Ne.\t week the churrli will hold 

A day of prayer and fasting" ; 
And then he stoi)ped, and bent to pick 

A wdiite lile-cverlasting, — 

A silvery Idooni, with fadeless leaves ■, 

He gave it to lier, sighing ; 
A mute confession was his ghinee, 

Her blush, a mute replying. 

" Mchetabel 1 " (at last he spoke,) 

' ' My fairest one and dearest ! 
One thought is ever to my heart 

The sweetest and the nearest. 

" You read my soul ; you know my wish ; 

0, grant mo its fulfilling ! " 
She answered low, " If Heaven snules, 

And if my father 's willing ! " 

No idle passion swayed her heart. 
This (|naint New Knghind beauty ! 

Faitli was the guardian of her life, — 
Obedience was a duty. 

Too truthful for reserve, she stood. 
Her brown eyes earthward easting. 

And held with trendiling hand the wlnle 
Her white life-everlasting. 

Her sober answer pleased the youth. — 
Frank, clear, and gravely elu'crful ; 

He left lier at her father's door, 
Too hnjipy to be fearful. 

She looked on high, witli earnest plea. 
And Hc:i\c II M , iiH .1 iM-ight above her ; 

And wdieii sIm' ^In 1\ --["ike his name. 
Her I'allu'i piMi^.d her lover. 

An.l when, that night, she sought her couch 
With head-board high and olden. 

Her prayer was praise, her pillow down. 
And all her ilreams were golden. 

And still upon her throbbing heart, 

In bloom and breath undying, 
A few life-everlasting flowers. 

Her lover's gift, were lying. 



1 



LOVE. 



85 



13] 



Venus' myrtles, frosh and green I 

() (.'iqiiil's liliisliing roses I 
Not oil your classic llowers alone 
The sacred light reposes ; 

Thoiifjh f;cntler care may shield your l)uds 
Kroin north-winds rude and blastin^^, 

As dear to liovo, those few, palo llowers 
or white life-evorhusting. 

ANNM! D. CRL!1!N (MARIAN DOUGLAS). 



WERE I AS ISASE AS 13 THE LOWLY I'LAIN. 

Wriik I as li.iso as is the lowly plain, 
And you, my love, as hij,'li as heaven aliove, 
Yot should the thoughts ol' me your humlile swain 
Ascend to lumvon, in honor of my love. 

Were I as high as heaven above the ])lain. 
And you, my love, as humble and as low 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Wlioreso'or you were, with you my love should 

Were you the earth, dear love, and 1 the skies, 
My love should shine on yo\i like to the sun. 
And look n])iin you with ten thousand (^yes 
Till heaven waxed Ijlind, and till tlie world were 
done, 

Whereso'cr 1 am, lielow, or else above you, 
Whereso'er you aic, my heart shall truly love you. 

JOSnUA SVLVHS'IeK. 



AH, HOW SWEET I 

All, how sweet it is to love ! 

Ah, how gay is young desire ! 
And what pleasing pains we prove 

When we first approach love's fire ! 
I'ains of love arc sweeter far 
'I'lian :ill other jilt^asurcs are. 

Sighs which arc from lovers blown 
Do but gently heave the heart : 

E'en the ti'ars they shed alone 
('me, like trickling balm, their smart. 

Lovers, when they lose their breath, 

lileed away in easy death. 

Love and Time with reverence use. 
Treat them like a ]ia.rting friend ; 

Nor the goldi;n gifts r(!fuse 

Which in youth sincere they .send ; 

For each year their jirice is more. 

And they less simide than before. 



Love, like spring-tides full and high, 
Swells in i^very youthful vein ; 

ISut each tide does less supply. 
Till they (|uite shrink in again. 

If a How in age ajijiear, 

'T is but ruin, and runs not clear. 



THE FIRE OK LOVE, 

TiiK lire of love in youthful blood. 
Like what is kindled in brushwood, 

But lor a moment burns ; 
Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise ; 
It crackles, ami to vapor turns, 

And soon itself destroys. 

But wlien crept into aged veins. 
It slowly burns, then long rcnuiins, 

And with a silent heat, 
Like lire in logs, it glows and warms 'em long ; 
And though the llamo b(! not so great, 

Vet is the heat as strong. 

Laki, Ol' DOKSeT. 



CHILD AND MAIDEN. 

Am, Chloris ! could 1 nr>w but sit 

As uni:oncerned as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

No happiness or ]iain ! 
When I the dawn used to admire, 

And praised the coming day, 
I little thought the rising lire 

Would take my rest away. 

Your charms in hannlcss eliildliood Iiiy 

Like metals in a mine ; 
Age from no fa(-(! takes more away 

Than youth concealeil in thine. 
But as your charms insensibly 

To tlwiir fiei-fcc!tion jircst. 
So love as unjierccived did lly, 

And ccntereil in my breast. 

My passion with your beauty grew, 

Wliile I'lijiid at my heart 
Still, as his mother favonsl you, 

Threw a new llaming dart. 
Each gliu'i(«l in tludr wanton part ; 

To make a lover, he 
Employed the utmost of his art ; 

To make a l)eauty, she. 

Sm CIIAKLI'.S SF'Dl.I 



-3 



a-^- 



8G 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



ON A GIRDLE. 

'I'liM' wliii'li hi'v sUniilor wiiist I'liuliiuxl 
SluiU lunv my joyful tcuipli's hiiul ; 
No UHiuiuvli Imt would fjivo Ills iTown, 
His unns inii;lit ilo wlml lliis luilh iloiio. 

It was lUV luMVl'll's CNlliMlU'sl Splu'VO, 

Tlu' imU.\vlii,'h lioM lliiil lov.'ly Aw: 
My joy, my ijncr, luy liopf, my love, 
IH.l all within this riivlc move. 

A iianow ,-omi«ss ! an.l \v\ Www 
llwill all lliat 's -ooa, aii.l all lliat 's fail', 
llivo me tml what this rililion liouiul. 
Take all the test the smi goes I'ouiul I 



WHY, LOVELY CHARMER') 

FROM '■ lllu llivi; ■■ 

■\ViiY, lovely eliarmer, tell me why 
80 very kiiiil, ami yet so sliy ' 
^\'hy lioes that eoli'l, I'orliiiUiiiif,' aiv 
(live liamiis ot' somnv ami despair f 
Ov why that smile my soul subdue, 
And kindle uji my llames anew ' 

In vain you strive with all your art, 
lly turns to lire and t'li'e/e my heart ; 
When 1 behold 11 liiee so lair. 
So sweet a look, so soft un nir, 
My ravished soul is ehnrmed lUl o'er, 
1 eamiot love thee loss or more. 

ANONVMOUS 



I PRITHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART. 

1 riilTllEl'. scud me Kiek my heart, 

Sinee 1 eanuot have thine ; 
V'or if from yours yon will not part. 

Why then shouldst thou have nduo ? 

Yet, now 1 think on 't. let it lie ; 

To timl it weiv in vain ; 
For tlion 'st a thief in either eye 

^Vould steal it baek asniiu. 

Why sluaild two hearts in one bivnst li», 
.\n,l yet not lodgt" totrether ? 

l.ove ! whore is thy syiuiwthy 
If thus our bivasts thou sever ? 

Hut love is sueh a mystery, 

1 eanuot liud it out ; 
For when 1 think 1 'ni Iwsl resolved 

Then 1 am most in doubt. 



Tlieu larewell care, ami farowell woo ; 

I will no lons;er pine ; 
For 1 '11 believe I have her heart 

As mueh as she has mine. 

SIK lOUN SUCK 



IK DOIHJIITY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE. 

ll'' doughty deeds my lady please, 

liighl soon 1 11 nu)uut my stood. 
And strong his arm ami fast his seat 

That bears I'l-.ie uu' the nu<od. 
1 '11 wear tliy eolors in my eap, 

'I'hy pieture at my heart. 
And he that bends not to thine oyo 
Shall rue it to his smart ! 

Then tell me how to woo thoc, Love ; 

O, tell nui how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake mu' eare 1 '11 take, 
Though ne'er another trow me. 

If gay attire delight thine eye, 

I '11 diglit me in array ; 
1 '11 tend thy fhamber door all night. 

And squire tliee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds ean win thine ear, 

Tho.se sounds 1 '11 strive to eateh ; 
Thy voiee 1 '11 steal to woo thysell, 

That voioo that nane oau mateh. 

l?nt if fond love tliy lieart ean g.dii, 

I never broke a vow ; 
Nae nuiiden lays her .skaith to me ; 

1 never loved but yon. 
For you alone I ride the ring, 

For you I wear tlie blue ; 
For you alone 1 strive to sing, 
("1. tell n\e how to woo ! 

Then tell nu' how to woo thee, l.ove 

0, toll mo liow to woo thee '. 
For thy dear sake nae eaix' 1 '11 take. 
Though ne'er another trow me. 
OK.\nAM or 



TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 

\Vhi-:n Love with uiu'onliu^d wings 

llo\vrs within my girtes. 
And my divine Althoa brings 

To wbisper at the grates : 
When 1 lie tangled in her hair 

And fetteivd to her eye. 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no sueh liberty. 

AVheu flowing eups nui swiftly round 
AVith no aUaving Thanu>s, 



■-'-91 




TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE. 

'* J/ doughty (icctis my indy please 
Right soon I 'it mount my steed ^ 
And strong his arm and /ntt itis seat 
That Itears frae me the meed^ 



LOVE. 



87 T 



Our careless heads with roses crowned, 
Our hearts with loyal flames ; 

AVhen thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
When healths and draughts go free, 

Fishes that tipple in the deep 
Know no such liberty. 

When, linnet-like confined, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty 

And glories of my King ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how gi-eat should be, 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Xor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage : 
If I have freedom in my love. 

And in my soul am free. 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 



WELCOME, WELCOME DO I SING. 

Welcome, jrclcome, do I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring; 
He that parteth from you never 
Shall enjoy a spring forever. 

Love, that to the voice is near. 
Breaking from your ivoiy pale. 

Need not walk abroad to hear 
The delightful nightingale. 

Welcome, welcmnc, then I sing, etc. 

LoTe, that still looks on your eyes. 
Though the winter have begun 

To benumb our arteries. 

Shall not want the summer's sun. 
Welconw, welcome, then I sing, etc. 

Love, that still may see your cheeks. 
Where all rareness still reposes, 

Is a fool if e'er he seeks 
Other lilies, other roses. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc. 

Love, to whom your soft lip yields. 
And perceives your breath in kissing. 

All the odors of the fields 

Never, never shall be missing. 

William Browne. 



RIVALKY IN LOVE. 

Of all the torments, all the cares, 

With which our lives are curst ; 
Of all the plagues a lover bears. 

Sure rivals are the worst ! 
By partners in each other kind. 

Afflictions easier grow ; 
In love alone W'e hate to find 

Companions of our woe. 

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see 

Are lab'ring in my breast, 
1 beg not you would favor me. 

Would you but slight the rest ! 
How great soe'er your rigors are, 

With them alone 1 '11 cope ; 
I can endure my own despair. 

But not another's hoi«;. 



VERSES WRITTEN Es" AN ALBUM. 

Heke is one leaf reserved for nu-, 
From all thy sweet memorials free ; 
And here my simple song might tell 
The feelings thou must guess .so well. 
But could I thus, within thy miud, 
One little vacant corner find. 
Where no impression yet is seen. 
Where no memorial yet has been, 
0, it should be ray sweetest care 
To write my name forever there ! 

Tho.\ias moore. 



HER LIKENESS. 

A GIRL who has so many willful ways 

She would have caused Job's patience to for- 
sake him. 
Yet is so rich in all that 's girlhood's praise. 
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, 
A little better she would surely make him. 

Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon. 
And very far from angel yet, I trow. 

Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human ; 

Yet she 's more lovable as simple woman 
Than any one diviner that 1 know. 

Therefore I wish that she may safely keep 

This womanhede, and change not, only grow ; 
From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, 
And in perennial blessedness still reap, 

On every hand, of that which she doth sow. 
Dinah muloci 



tzh 



-^J 



e- 



ss 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



»-4J 



A SLEEPING BEAUTY. 

Sleep ou ! ami dream of lleaveu awhile ! 

Though shut so close thy laughing eyes, 
Thy rosy lijis still wear a smile, 

Ami move, iiml breathe delicious sighs. 

Ah 1 now soft blushes tiuge her iheeks 
And mantle o'er her neck of snow ; 

Ah ! now she murmurs, now she speaks, 
What most I wish, and fear, to know. 

She starts, she trembles, and slu' weeps ! 

Her fair hands folded on her breast ; — 
And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! 

A seraph in the realms of rest ! 

Sleep on secure ! Above control, 

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee ; 
Ami may the secret of thy soul 

Hemaiu within its sanctuary ! 

Samuf.l Rogers. 



SHE IS NOT FAIR TO OUTWARD VIEW. 

Shk is not fair to outward view. 

As many maidens bo ; 
Her loveliness 1 never knew 

Until she smiled on me : 
0, then 1 saw her eye wa.s bright, — 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold ; 

To mine they ne'er reply ; 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye : 
Her vpiy frowns are better far 
Than smiles of other maidens are ! 

Hartley Coleridge. 



03.- 



THE FLOWER'S NAME. 

Hfiif. 's the garden she walked across. 

Arm in my arm, such a short while since : 
Hark ! now I push its wicket, the moss 

Himlei-s the hinges, and makes them wince. 
She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, 

As back with that nnirmur the wicket swung ; 
Forshe laid the poor snail mychancefoot.spurned, 

To feed and forget it the leaves among. 

Down this side of the gravel-walk 

She went while her robe's edge bruslied the box ; 
And liore she paused in her gracious talk 

To point me a moth on the milk-wliite phlox. 
Roses, ranged in valiant row, 

I will never think that she jxissed you by ! 



She loves you, noble roses, 1 know ; 

Hut yonder see where the rock-plants lie ! 

This Hower she stopped at, linger on lip, — 

Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; 
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip. 

Its soft meandering Spanish name. 
What a name ! was it love or praise ? 

S[ieoch half asleep, or song half awake .' 
I must learn Spanish one of these days. 

Only for that slow sweet name's sake. 

Roses, if I live and do well, 

1 may biing her one of these days, 
To fix you fast with as fine a spell, — 

Fit you each with his Spanisu phra.so. 
Uut do not detain me now, for she lingei'S 

There, like sunshine over the ground ; 
And ever I see her soft white lingei'S 

Searching after the bud she found. 

Flower, you Spaniard ! look that you grow not, — 

Stay as you are, and be loved forever ! 
Bud, if I kiss you, 't is that you blow not, — 

Mind ! the shut pink mouth opens never ! 
For while thus it pouts, her fingei-s wrestle. 

Twinkling the audacious leaves between, 
Till round they turn, and down they nestle : 

Is not the dear mark still to be seen > 

Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; 

Whither 1 follow lier, beauties llee. 
Is there no method to tell her in Spanish 

June 's twice.! imesinceshe breathed itwith me? 
Come, bud ! show me the least of her traces. 

Treasure my lady's lightest footfall : 
Ah ! you may flout and turn up your faces, — 

Roses, }'ou are not so fair after all ! 

RomiKT Browning. 



WHY 7 



Why came the rose ? Because the sun in shining. 
Found in the mould some atoms rare and fine •. 

And stooping, drew and warmed them into grow- 
ing. — 
Dust, with the spirit's mystic countei-sign. 

'\\'hat made the perfume ? All his wondrous kisses 
Fell on the sweet red mouth, till, lost to sight. 

The love became too e.xquisite, and vanished 
Into a viewless rapture of the night. 

Why did the rose die ? Ah, why ask the question ? 

There is a time to love, — a time to give ; 
She perished gladly, folding close the secret 

Wherein is garnei-ed what it is to live. 



MARV LOUISE Rl- 



-^ 



^- 



LOVE. 



89 T 



CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYINO. 

Get up, get up ! for shame ! tlie blooming moni 
Upon her wings presents the god unsliom. 
See how Aurora tlirows her fair 
Frcsh-nuilteil colors through the air ; 
Get ui), sweet shigalieil, anil sec 
The (lew bespangling herb and tree. 
Eaeh llowf-r has wept, and bowed toward the east, 
Above an hour since, yet you are not drest, — 
Nay, not so mueli as out of l«;d, 
When all the birds have matins said. 
And sung their thankful hymns : 't is sin, 
Nay, profanation, to kee|i in, 
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. 

Kise, anil put on your foliage, and be seen 
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and 
green. 
And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
For jewels for your gown or hair ; 
Fear not, the leaves will strew 
Gems in abundance upon you ; 
Besides, the childhood of the day has ke[it. 
Against you come, some Orient pearls unwept. 
Come, and receive them while the light 
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night ; 
And Titan on the eastern hill 
Retires himself, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in 

j.raying ; 
Few beads arc best, when once we go a- Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come I and, coming, mark 
How each field turns a street, cacli street a park, 
Made green and trimmed with trees ; .see how 
Devotion gives each house a bough 
Or branch ; each porch, each door, ere this 
An ark, a tabernacle is, 
Maile up of white thoni neatly intenvove. 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
Can such delights be in the street 
And open fields, and wc not see 't ? 
Come, we '11 abroad, and let 's obey 
Tlie proclamation made for May, 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; 
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. 

There 's not a budding boy or girl this day 

But is got up and gone to bring in May. 
A deal of youth, ere this, i-s come 
Back, and with white thorn laden, home ; 
Some have dispatched their cakes and cream 
Before that we have left to dream ; 

And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted 
troth. 

And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth ; 



Many a green gown has Iwen given ; 

Many a kiss, Ixjth odd and even ; 

Many a glance, too, has V)een sent 

From out the eye, love's firmament ; 
Many a jest told of the keys' lietraying 
This night, and locks picked, yet we're not 
a-Maying. 

Come, let us go, while wc are in our prime. 
And take the hannlcss folly of the time. 

We shall glow olil ajiacc, and die. 

Before we know our liljerty. 

Our life is .short, and our days run 

As fast away as does the sun ; 
And a.s a vapor, or a drop of rain. 
Once lost, can ne'er Ije fouml again. 

So when or you or I are mailc 

A fable, song, or fleeting shaile, 

All love, allliking, all delight. 

Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying. 
Come, ruy Corinna, coine, let 's go a-Maying. 

KolJI-.RT HeUKlCK. 



A MATCH. 

If love were what the rose Ls, 
And 1 were like the haf. 

Our lives would grow together 

In sad or singing weather. 

Blown fields or flowerful closes, 
fjreen pleasure or gray grief ; 

If love were what the rose is. 
And 1 were like the leaf. 

If I were what the words are, 

And love were like the tune. 
With douljle sound and single 
Delight our lips would mingle, 
Witli kisses glad as birds are 

That get sweet rain at noon ; 
If I were what the words are. 
And love were like the tune. 

If you ware life, my d.arling. 

And I, your love, were death. 
We 'd shine and snow together 
Ere March made sweet the weather 
With daffodil and starling 

And hours of fruitful breath ; 
If you were life, rny darling, 
And I, your love, were death. 

If you were thrall to sorrow. 

And I were page to joy. 
We 'd jilay for livas and seasons. 
With loving looks and trcason.s. 



-^ 



fl- 



90 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



-Q: 



And tears of night and morrow, 
And laughs of maid and boy ; 

If yim wi'rc thrall to sorrow, 
Anil 1 were page to joy. 

If yon were April's lady. 

Ami I were lord in May, 
We \i tlirow with leaves for hours. 
And draw for days with flowers, 
Till day like night were shady, 

And night were Ijriglit like day ; 
If you were April's lady. 

And 1 were lord in May. 

If you were ciueen of pleasure, 

.\nd 1 were king of pain. 
We 'd hunt down love together, 
Plnek out his llying-feather, 
And teaeli his feet a measure, 

And find his mouth a rein ; 
If you were (jueeu of pleasure. 

And I were king of pain. 

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 



THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. 



1 1 lie lofty Ben Lomond, 
I.I |irosideo'er the scene. 



U-- 



TllKsnnhnsgaui' ilnv 

.\nil li'ftthrrr.lil 
While lanely I stiay in tlir ralni snmmergloamin', 

To nmse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum- 
Mane. 

How sweet is the biier, wi' its saftfauldin' Wossom, 
An<l sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green ; 

Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this liosom. 
Is lovely young .lessie, the Flowero' Dumblane. 

She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie, — 
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain ; 

And far be the villain, divested of feeling, 
Wha 'il lilight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' 
Dundilane. 

Sing on, thou sweet m.avi.s, thy hyum to the 
e'ening ! — 
Thou 'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen: 
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless .and winning, 
Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dum- 
blane. 

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie ! 

The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain ; 
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie 

Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o' 
Dumblane. 



Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur. 
Amidst its profusion I 'd languish in pain, 

And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor. 
If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum- 
blane. 

KuKUKI TANNAHU.L. 

THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL. 

On Kichmond Hill there lives a lass 
More bright than May-day morn. 

Whose charms all other maids surjiass, — 
A rose without a thoin. 

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet. 
Has won my right good-will ; 

I 'd crowns resign to call her mine. 
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. 

Ye zephyrs gay that fan the air. 

And wanton through the grove, 

0, whisper to my charming fair, 
1 die for her 1 love. 

How happy will the shepherd be 
Who calls this nymph his own ! 

0, may her choice be fi.\ed on me ! 
Mine 's ti.xed on her alone. 

James Upton. 



MARY MORISON. 

Mary, at thy window be ! 

It is the wished, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
Coulil I the rich reward .secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed through the lighted hn'. 

To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Though this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sighecl, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie. 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thotight ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 

Robert burns. 






LOVE. 



— a 

91 



y-^- 



THE POSIE. 

0, LUVE will venture in where it daunia weel be 

seen, 
0, luve will venture in where wisdom anee has been ! 
But I will down yon river rove amang the woods 

sae green : 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And 1 will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
For she 'a the pink o' womankind, and blooms 
without a peer : 
And a' to be a posie to my aiu dear May. 

I '11 pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps 

in view, 
For it's like a balmy kiss o' her .sweet bonnie moii' ; 
The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging 

blue : 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

Tlie lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
.\nd in her lovely bosom I '11 place the lily there ; 
Tlie daisy 's for simplicity and unaffected air ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear JIay. 

The hawthorn I will jiu', wi' its loekso siller gray. 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o'day; 
liut the songster's nest within the bush 1 winna 
take away : 
And a' to be a posie to my aiu dear May. 

The woodbine I will pn, when the e'ening star 

is near, 
And the diamonil draps o' dew shall be her een 

sae clear ; 
The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to 

wear ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

1 '11 tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luvc. 
And I '11 place it in her breast, and I '11 swear by 

a' above 
That to my latest drauglit o' life the band shall 

ne'er remove : 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 



MARY LEE. 

I HAVE traced the valleys fair 
In May morning's dewy air. 

My bonny Mary Lee ! 
Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear, 

Gathered all for thee ? 



They are not flowers of I'ride, 
For they graced the dingle-side ; 
Yet they grew in Heaven's smile. 

My gentle Maiy Lee ! 
Can they fear thy frowns the while 

Though oliered by me ? 

Here 's the lily of the vale. 
That perfumed the morning gale, 

My fairy Mary Lee ! 
All so spotless and so pale. 

Like thine own purity. 
And might 1 make it known, 
T is an emblem of my own 
h^ve, — if I dare so name 

My esteem for thee. 
Sursly (lowers can l>ear no blame, 

My bonny Mary Lee. 

Here 's the violet's modest blue. 

That 'ncath hawthorns hides fiom view, 

My gentle Mary Lee, 
V^ould show whose heart is true. 

While it thinks of thee. 
While they choose each lowly spot, 
The .sun disdains them not ; 
I 'm as lowly too, indeed. 

My charming Mary Lee ; 
So I 've brought the flowi-rs to plead, 

A*\d win a smile from thee. 

Here s a wild rose just in bud ; 
Si)ring's beauty in its hood, 

My bonny Mary Lee ! 
'T is the first in all the wood 

I couM find for thee. 
Though a blush is scarcely seen. 
Yet it hides its worth within. 
Like my Ime ; for 1 've no power, 

My angel Mary Lee, 
To speak unless the flower 

Can makf excuse for me. 

Though tliey deck no ])rlncely halls. 
In bou<|uets for glittering balls. 

My gentle Mary Lee, 
I'icher Imes than painted walls 

Will make them dear to thee ; 
For the blue and laughing sky 
Spreads a grander eaii^'jiy 
Than all wealth's golden skill. 

My <:harming Mary Lee ! 
Love would make them dearer r'ill. 

That offers- tliem to the«. 

My wreathed flowers are few, 
Yet no fairer drink the dew, 
My bonny Mary Ij<:e ! 



^ 



a- 



92 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



& 



They may seem as trifles too, — 

Not, I hope, to tliee ; 
Some may boast a richer prize 
Under pride and wealth's disguise ; 
None a fonder offering bore 

Than this of mine to thee ; 
And can true love wish for more ? 

Surely not, Mary Lee ! 

JOHN Clare. 



THE BROOKSIDE. 

I WANDERED by tho brookside, 

I wandered by the mill ; 

I could not hear the brook flow, — 

The noisy wheel was still ; 

There was no burr of grasshopper. 

No chirp of any bird. 

But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

I sat beneath the elm-tree ; 

I watched the long, long shade. 

And, as it grew still longer, 

I did not feel afraid ; 

For I listened for a footfall, 

I listened for a word, — 

But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

He came not, — no, he came not, — 
The night came on alone, — 
The little stars sat one by one, 
Each on his golden tlirone ; 
The evening wind passed by my cheek. 
The leaves above were stirre<l, — 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 

Fast silent tears were flowing, 
When something stood behind ; 
A hand was on my shoulder, — 
I knew its touch was kind : 
It drew me nearer, — nearer, — 
We did not speak one word. 
For the beating of our own hearts 
Was all the sound we heard. 



How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To Music at night 
Wlien, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away o'er lawns and lakes 

Goes answering light ! 



Yet Love hath echoes truer far 

And far more sweet 
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star. 
Of horn or lute or soft guitar 

The songs repeat. 

'T is when the sigh — in youth sincere 

And only then. 
The sigh that 's breathed for one to hear - 
Is by that one, that only Dear 

Breathed back again. 

Thomas Moorh 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 



THE FIRST PART. 

My dear and only love, I pray. 

That little world, — of thee, — 
Be governed by no other sway 

Than purest Monarchic. 
For if confusion have a part. 

Which virtuous souls abhore. 
And have a Synod in thine heart, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

As Alexander I will reign. 

And I will reign alone ; 
My thoughts shall evermore disdain 

A rival on my throne ; 
He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small 
That puts it not unto the touch. 

To will or lose it all. 

But I will reign, and govern still, 

And always give the law. 
And have each subject, at my will. 

And all to stand in awe ; 
But 'gainst my batteries if I find 

Thou kick or vex me sore, 
As that thou set me up a blind, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

And in the Empire of thine heart. 

Where 1 should solely be, 
If others do pretend a part, 

Or dare to vie with me, 
Or if Committees thou erect. 

And go on such a score, 
I '11 laugh and sing at thy neglect, 

And never love thee more. 

But if thou wilt prove faithful then. 
And constant of thy word, 

I '11 make thee glorious by my pen 
And famous by my sword ; 



LOVE. 



93 



-a 



I '11 serve thee in such noble ways 

Was never heard before, 
1 11 crown and deck thee all with bays, 

And love thee more and more. 



THE SECOND PART 

My dear and only love, take heed 

How thou thyself dispose ; 
Let not all longing lovers feed 

Ujjon such looks as those ; 
1 11 marble wall thee round about. 

Myself shall be the door, 
And if thy heart chance to slide out, 

I 'U never love thee more. 

Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, 

Make any breach at all. 
Nor smoothness of their language plot 

Which way to scale the wall ; 
Nor balls of wildfire love consume 

The shrine which I adore. 
For if such smoke about thee fume, 

1 '11 never love thee more. 

I know thy virtues be too strong 

To suffer by surprise ; 
If that thou slight their love too long. 

Their siege at last will rise, 
And leave thee conqueror, in that health 

And state thou wast before ; 
But if thou turn a Commonwealth, 

1 '11 never love thee more. 

And if by fraud, or by consent, 

Thy heart to ruin come, 
I '11 sound no trumpet as I wont. 

Nor march by tuck of drum. 
But hold my arms, like Achaiis, up, 

Thy falsehood to deplore. 
And bitterly will sigh and weep, 

And never love thee more. 

I '11 do with thee as Nero did 

When he set Rome on fire; 
Not only all relief forbid, 

But to a hill retire. 
And scorn to shed a tear to save 

Thy spirit grown so poor, 
But laugh and smile thee to thy grave, 

And never love thee more. 

Then shall thy heart be set by mine, 

But in far different case, 
For mine was true ; so was not thine. 

But looked like Janus' face ; 



For as the waves with every wind, 

So sails thou every shore 
And leaves my constant heart behind, — 

How can I love thee more ? 

My heart shall with the sun be fi.x'd, 

For constancy most strange ; 
And there shall with the moon be mi.v'd. 

Delighting aye in change ; 
Tliy beauty shiued at first so bright ! 

And woe is me therefore, 
That ever 1 found thy love so light 

That I could love no more. 

Yet foi- the love 1 bare thee once. 

Lest that thy name should die, 
A monument of marble stone 

The truth shall testify ; 
That every pilgrim passing by. 

May pity and deplore, 
And, sighing, read the reason why 

1 cannot love thee more. 

The golden laws of love shall be 

Upon these pillars hung ; 
A single heart ; a simple eye ; 

A true and constant tongue ; 
Let no man for more love pretend 

Than he has hearts in store ; 
True love begun will never end ; 

Love one and love no more. 

And when all gallants ride about 

These monuments to view, 
Whereon is written, in and out, 

Thou traitorous and untrue ; 
Then, in a passion, they shall pause, 

And thus say, sighing sore, 
Alas ! he had too just a cause 

Never to love thee more. 

And when that tracing goddess Fame 

From east to west shall flee. 
She shall recoid it to thy .shame 

JIo-w thou hast lovfcd me ; 
And how in odds our love was such 

As few have been before ; 
Thou lovedst too many, and 1 too much ; 

So I can love no more. 

The misty mount, the smoking lake. 

The rock's resounding echo. 
The whistling winds, the woods that shake. 

Shall all, with me, sing hey ho 1 
The tossing seas, the tumbling boats, 

Tears dropping from each oar, 
Shall tuiie with me their tiirlle notes, — 

I '11 never love thee more. 



6 



t' 



Jl-I 



rOKMS OK LurK. 



•-fl' 



As (li>lli llic luvlli'. rliiiNt,. iiml Inio. 

lloi IVIlow s (U-lltll ivgivt. 
Ami (liiily mminis lV>i' lii>i' mlii'il, 

Ami m''i'r iviiowm 1>oi' mute i 
t^o, lluv\ij{h m_Y I'uilli wiix oviM' liisl, 

W'liioli jsi'iovi'N mo womliwis soiv. 
Y('( 1 sliiill livo ill K>vo »o oliiisto 

Tlml 1 »liii>l love no moiv. 

lAMiiv »;k,miam. MARVl'IS v>l' Mv>NrK»Sll. 



UOSAl.lNK, 

LiKK l»> the olwu' ill higluKst splloiv, 
WlnMV 111) imiH'rittl j(l»i'V !<liiii(<s, 
01' s>-lfsiitm> I'olor is lnM' liiiii'. 
WliciluM- imlViUlwl. or in twiiios ; 

lli-i}{li-lio, I'liii' Kiwiilino ! 
lloi' oyos tuH- siH>i>l\iiV!ii set in snow, 
Kiwmliliiijj luMVon l>y ovtvv wink ; 
'I'lio jjvhIs do losir wln>n«8 llu\v glow. 
Ami I >U> uvmblo wlu'ii I think 

lloi^li-lio, wouM slio wviv uiiiio I 

lliM- >'lnH'ks i»v like tlip Uusliiiig olovui 
'rii»( iHHivUilii's Auivra's rai-e, 
ih liki> llio silvoi I'limsou slii\mil 
'I'liivl riio'lms' smiliiijj looks violli graoo ; 

lloijjiihis I'iiiv UiK-ialim' I 
lloi' U|v< iuv liko two bmUlwl iwsos 
Whom nuiks of liliiw m-igUlMi' iiigU, 
WiUiiti wluv-h K>umls slio hilm cm'losos 
Ai>t to oinioo ;> (loity ; 

IU'igli-lu>. woviKl sUi> wviv iuiiu< ! 

llv'V mvk is liko a stiito^v towiiv 
WliiMV Low liinisclf imjiiisonwl U(>!>, 
To wiitoU lof gliinoos ouny liour 
Fi><ii\ lu'i- tUviiio ami saoiwl p\-v« ; 

lU'igU-lio. fair KvissvUuo ! 
Ilor ivi^s aiv iviitivs of >lolij;)»t, 
Hor iiR-asIs aiv orK< of luviwiily lHim>. 
Wlu'iv Natniv monUls tin- vlow of light 
'l\< flHHl IHM'fvVtioll «ith tlio s;mu' : 

lloijfhho, wouUl slio woiv mino ! 

With orioiil |w>rl. with rviby uhI, 
With marMo whito, with sannUviv Wuo, 
Hor Knly ovory way is IVhI, 
Yot svft in tonoh anil swwt in viow : 

lloijthliv*, fair l!vv<;>liuo I 
Xatiuv hoivolf hor shajH' ailuiirx's ; 
TUo j5\hIs aiv wmuiuUhI in hor sight : 
Aii.l I ow foiNiikos his hiNiwuly liros 
Aiul at hor oy\>s his l>r:»ml >loth light : 

lloigh-Uo, «\niUl sho wviv niino ! 



Siuoo for a fair tlioiv '» faiivr iiono, 
Nor for hor virtuos so ilivino , 

lloigh-ho, ftiir Hosaliiio ' 
lloighho, my hoart I wonM lloil lli:il 
mino ! 

ruoMA 



KOK l.OVES SWKKT SAKK, 

Awvur '. (ho slany midnight lionr 

Hangs I'hiiinioil, ami imnsoth in its lliglil : 
In its own swoolnos,s sU'oivi iho llowor. 
Ami tlio ilovos lio liushoil in (loop ilolight, 
Awako I awako ! 
liook lorlh, n>j- lovo, for l.ovo's swoot sako! 

Awako ! soft dows will soon arlso 

I'' linn daisy moad and thorny Iniiko ; 
'rhoii. swoot, niu'loud thoM' oastorn oyos. 
Ami liko iho tomlor morning luvak 1 
Awaki' ! awako ' 
l>awn lortli. my lovo. for Kovo's swoot sjiko! 

Awako ! — within tho imisk-rvvso bowor 
I watoh, \v>lo llowor of lovo, for Ihoo. 
Ah, oomo ' and show tln> starry hour 

What w<\dth of lovo tlion hid'st fivm mo! 
Awako ! awiko ! 
Show all thy low, for l.ovo's swoot sako 1 

.Vwako ! - - no'or howl thoitgh listoning night 

Stoal innsio t\vm thy sil\or voioo ; 
fmloiivl thy Ivauty, riiii' and hright. 
Ami l>id tlio world and mo i^joiw ! 
.\wako I awsiko ! - 
Sho oiMUOs at last, for Low's swwt sako. 

KWKV OORNXVAIU 



LOVK AND TIMK, 

Two j>ilgriiHS fivlu tho distant (daiii 
I'omo >(niokly o'or tho mossy gixmiid, 

t">no is a K>y, w ith loi-ks of gvdvl 

Thiok ourling i\<nnd lli^ faoo so fair ; 

TUo othor pilgrim, storii and old, 
lias jmowy In-aui and silvov hair, 

Tho wuth with many a worry triok 

t>vH<s singing on his oandoss way ; 
Uis old wnnwniou wsdks sis .(uiok, 

PmU siwiks no woi\l hy night or day. 
Whow'or tho old man tmuls, tho grass 

Kast ladoth with a i-ortain doom : 
l»»t whoiv tho IvautorHis N>y doth jviss 

t'nmimlviwl Uowvtv ar* s>vn to hUnitn. 



Thon niwsv> tiot, Xynij^lts, though X bo«\vv>n 
TUo .■>l>sot»i\> of fi»«r Uosaliup, 



^ 



Aitd thus KvtVir*? tUo sag«>, tlio K>y 
Tril>s lightly o'or tlio blooming huul 



^4i 



ifh 



Li>VK. 



»1^ 



And jiroiiilly Imiirn » \mMy Uiy, — 
A r.ryMJti |{lu»)) witli (liniiioii'i <iaiii)H, 

A ijiiiil'! '/or iuiy I'/nw wkiiIiI ixwft 
'I'll »<■« liiid (r'/lic ill tliir sun, 

'!'(; «(;<: liiiii stidkc till! cryfstal «Iiwb, 
Ami iiink". tlic wiTido niwi! '(iiirkly run. 

Aiiil (iiiw tli«y kiifi tli« »lr<«i(ii)irt. <ti:r, 

A silver tlir<;(«l wi wlill* fiml llii»i, 
Ami ii'/w Ui«y r<Mu;li Hi<! ojnii ilnor, 

Aii'l ii'/w l.li'^y lij?liHy 'iiil'^i' ill ; 
"Owl «iv« nil liB(<!," - Uial kiml wi»li llino 

mill xvtmUiT fr'rtii lii« li|« w swwit ; 
"(»(;() siivii ymi kiii'lly," Nornli i.rh'M, 

" Hit, i|/rt*(i, (fiy (diilil, iiii'l rest, (iii'l •■.ai," 

"TlittiikK, j<««t,l« Niifftli, I'nir iiiiil (/'>'<il, 

W<! 'II rial iiwliilo our wi;(iry t<>-X ; 
Dill, l.lioiinli tliiii ol'l mini (i<."«l«lli fwxl, 

'\'\\ifi:'fi (i'/l,liifi« li'ini tlittt Ik! i:(tii «at, 
lli^ t„i*f<: is nirniiv.'', '"' '«'♦" "Ioiks, 

liiiiwdli tvniii; riiiiiwl cli/ixUtr"* <!«(>«, 
0/ '<i( fKHfie Uri,U;rilin tiirri,-!'* ttUilin, 

Wliilo I can i>nly llvi; on l('>)X! 1 

" A v/iwk n((o, »;rn yon vtimt vmi, ■■- 

It was lli« V'iry nif<lil, l«l'(/r(!, — 
l/|ioi( wi KKtny swM;(,» I fi'A 

Wliili! (xKsiiin l<y y/iir iiKillipr's iIwjt, — 
It, V/IU-: that, il«ir, 'li^lii'iuiis (I'mr 

Wlii:ii Owi:ii lii:rii till! wiff.y.iiy l/r«ii(<lit, 
Ami fiiiinil yon in t,li« wi»/ill/ini; \iiivikt, — 

Hini« llK-fi, indwal, I 'v; im-AiA UMiiCm,," 

A IjIiisJi «t<!«Ii« '/vcr SurMa (iu:i;, 

A »n(il« <-/)ines avKr Owi.ii'n Uniw, 
A trfinijiiil ,j'/y illnnii!'! t,ti<: |>l.-i/'<^ 

A« if tliB nim/n w':r>! sliininj^ wiw ; 
Til*: tx>y twIi'/Md tlic iilwwinx liiiii, 

Till; dWf!<!t, '^rtifiwlmi 111! liiiA iIkiib, 
A nil sliakftst the crystal glaiw anftiii, 

And ni«ke« tli<! windft rni/re (jnickly run, 

" l)i'ar N'i;r»ti, we, an; i>ilffrirn», Ixrtind 

l,'(>(>n an (rTii|l<rs« (latli silbli/ni! ; 
W« (Xi/w ttiR !/,ri;<m i!art,li ronnil and riffltid, 

And uiortii)!! call ii« (/>VK and TfMK ; 
n<; fs<:«k» tli'i many, I tli« ffw ; 

I dwell witli fx»i.<!ant,«, lie, with kinifft. 
Wk swddirtn tni!<rt, ; tint wtiBH Wf do, 

I tJtkc h'm j<la<i«, and li« rny win({«, 

" And til lis t/)};<rth<fr on wc j(o, 

Wlicrccr I clianwi or wisdi V) I'swl ; 

And Time, wlio«: lonely HUffa are slow, 
Now swwrjw alon(( with )it/)itmtiH »^aA. 

}iitvt im our bri;;ht jirwlestinwl way 
We, rniigt t'< '/tlier Ti:fr)iiiin jiasn ; 



Ktit tekfi tills Kitl, and nl^lit and day 
l/>ok well ii|i«/n lis Irnlliriil uliisn, 

" JIow ijiiiik or slow tlie IniKtil sands' fall 

Is liid fioiii loveis' eyes alone; 
If yon can aixi llieiii move at all, 

lU- sine your lieart Inw i/ildei ;/M;Wn, 
'T is I'oldness makes tlie kImss j/row dry, 

Tlie ley liand, tlie tfu/.iiin lifow ; 
I'.iit wiiiiii till: liearl, and hreatlie tlie sijiili, 

And Hien llicy 'II jiass, yon know n/rf, li//w." 

Hlin took tlie ((lass wli<;re Ixive's warm lianda 

A l/ri((lil lm|X!rvioii3 vufKir east ; 
Hlio I'Kiks, l/iit eannot. B(;e tlie sands, 

Altlioi(p;li slie feels lliey re fallinj; fast, 
lint i^dd lioiiis ejinie, and tlien, ala.4 ! 

Hlie saw tlieni fallin({ fiowm tlifo)ii(li. 
Till l<«ve's warm liiflit siiirii«;d tlie ({laso. 

And liid tlie loos';ninK samls from view I 

DeMIS PUfUHU'.K MAI'.AafllV 



Ol/tNKVKHK TO tAKCKUXT, 

WoMA'i is etowiied, lint niaii in triitli is king, 
I am a ijiieeii, liiit when my vassals hrinj^ 
Krnit l/i my lijis it is m/t fruit t// me. 
While hitt^^r hrea/l would I* a feast with thee, 
And each hrealti tremhle into e/;stasy j 
Hilt Kat»; forhids the dear delight Ui l«, 
I am a i\\tivM, l/ilt (x»ve of '(mens is li/rd ; 
I am a i)iie,<-ii, l/iil firtterwl dy a eord 
Tlgiit as the silk the t^iiiriils ((resse/l around 
The l<«ir, ilestroyiiii/ A'loii with a wound, 
Koiiiid Knil'y 'ly 'In- l-oves, (iiid slain whin found ; 
''oiiilemned liy Venus to a death r'li'/wne'l, 
I am a qiieeri ; Ix; men iful t^< me, 
,My sulijeet, Lamelot, Tine alone I s^-e ; 
All el.s<- is tuWfiu, (iinii xny swiniminx eyes. 
That whi/di in ine was '(ue,«;fi is dead or dies, 
lint v/hat was woman livi« the more, and sighs 
Like weary 1/alx- athirst at niidnij^ht cries. 
A i|iieeri e//Himands n</t. heart, litit li(. and knee, 
I'oor little ifiieen, why must thou rovfl If ' 
Knight of the smile and voic« so l.linding swe,et,. 
Is ii'rt. rank iee, and jiasslon melting heat ' 
Wi|X! off the (lakes that f<f,ain thy whiter feel, 
IJjxm my crown, I/rr/wn it, ye smrws and sh;^ I 



KLV TO rilK IjtrjiKtCe, frhV WITH MK. 

Ttl, IIP W'/I/HMAMAI. 1» "(Ml! I.KiHf '* IMR HAKSM. 

"Vl,v t/> the des/rrt, (ly with ni«. 

Our Ara>« f/^nts are nnle for thee ; 

I'ut oh ! the choii^j what heart ivin dotiW 

f>f t«»it» with I</Ve >it thrf/Ti«9 withoot 



' ^ 



©-^- 



90 



POEMS UF LOVE. 



■-a 



& 



" Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Tir ucucia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For llowering iu a wilderness. 

" Our sands are bare, but down their slope 

The silvery-footed antelope 

As gracefully and gayly sjirings 

As o'er the marble courts ui' kings, 

"Then come, — thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone aea('ia-tre(!. 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

"0, there are looks and tones tnat dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart. 
As if the soul that minute lauglit 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

" As if the very lips and eyes 
Predestined to have all our sighs. 
And never be forgot again. 
Sparkled and spoke before as then ! 

"So came thy every glance and tone, 
When lirst on me they breathed and shone ; 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if loved for years ! 

"Then lly with me, if thou hast known 
No other Hame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou hadst swoni 
Should ever in tliy heart be worn. 

' ' Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain underground. 
When first 't is by the lapwing found. 

" But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and I'udcly break 
Her worshiped image from its base, 
To give to me the ruined place, 

" Then, fare thee well ! — I M rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine 
Than trust to love so false as thine ! " 

There was a pathos in this lay. 

That even without enchantment's art 
Would instantly luivo found its way 
Deep into Selim's burning heait ; 
But breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and li]>s unknown ; 
With eveiy chord fresh from the touch 
Of music's spirit, 't was too much ! 



Starting, he dashed away the cup, — 

Which, all the time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, untasted, up, 

As if 't were fi-Kcd by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnamed. 
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed, 
" Nourmahal ! Nourmalial ! 

Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, 
I could forget — forgive thee all. 

And never leave those eyes again." 

The mask is off, — the charm is wrought, — 
And Selim to his heart has caught, 
In blushes more than ever bright, 
His Nounnahal, his Harem's Light ! 
And well do vanished frowns enhance 
The charm of every briglitened glance ; 
And dearer seems each dawning smile 
For having lost its light awhile ; 
And, happier now for all her sighs, 

As on his arm her head reposes, 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

" Remember, love, the Feast of Koses ! " 
Thomas Moore. 



COME INTO THE GAKDEN, MAUD. 

Come into the garden, Maud, 

For the black bat, night, has flown ! 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 

And the woodbine .spices are wafted abroad. 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves, 
And the planet of Love is on high. 

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves. 
On a bed of daffodil sky, — 

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves. 
To faint in its light, and to die. 

All night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon ; 
All night has the casement jessamine stirred 

To the dancers dancing in tune, — 
Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 

And a hush with the setting moon. 

I said to the lily, " There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
■WHien will the dancers leave her alone ? 

She is weary of dance and play." 
Now half to the setting moon are gone. 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 



LOVE. 



97 



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i&. 



I said to the rose, "The briel' night goes 

In babble and revel and wine. 
young loril-lover, what sighs are those 

For one that will never be thine ? 
But mine, Imt mine," so I sware to the rose, 

" For ever and ever mine ! " 

And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 

As tlie music clashed in the hall ; 
And long by the garden lake 1 stood. 

For I heard your rivulet tall 
From the lake to the meadow ami on to tlie wood. 

Our wood, that is dearer than all ; 

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet 
That, whenever a March-wind sighs. 

He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
In violets blue as your eyes. 

To the woody hollows in which we meet, 
Ami the valleys of Para.lise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long railk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 

Knowing your promise to me ; 
The lilies and roses were all awake. 

They sighed for the dawn and thee. 

(}uccn rose of the rosebud garden of girls, 
I nnio hither ! the dances are done ; 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of ]iear]s, 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls. 
To the llowers, and Iw tliiir sun. 

There has fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
Slie is rnniing, my dove, my dear ; 

Sill' is I'oiiiing, my life, my fate ! 
The nil rn.si- cries, "She is near, she is near" ; 

And the white rose weeps, " She is late " ; 
The larkspur listens, " I hear, I hear" ; 

And the lily whispers, " I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet ! 

Were it ever so aiiy a tread, 
My heart would hear her and beat. 

Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 
My du.st would hear her and beat. 

Had I lain for a century dead ; 
Would start and tiemble under her feet. 

Ami blossom in purple and red. 

Alfred TENt^'SON. 



It may be through some foreign grace. 

And unfamiliar charm of face ; 

It may be that across the foam 

Which bore her from her childhood's home, 

By some strange spell, my Katie brought, 

Along with English creeds and thought, — 

Entangled in her golden hair, — 

Some EnglLsh sunshine, warmth, and air ! 

I i^annot tell — but here to-day, 

A thousand billowy leagues away 

From that gi-een isle whose twilight skies 

No darker an^ than Katie's eyes. 

She seems to me, go whei'e .she will. 

An English girl in England still. 

I meet her on the dusty street. 

And daisies spring about her feet ; 

Or, touched to life beneath her tread. 

An English cowslip lifts its head ; 

Anil, iLs to do her grace, rise up 

The primrose and the buttercup. 

1 roam with her through fields of cane, 

And seem to stroll an Knglish lane. 

Which, white with blossoms of the May, 

Spieads its green carpet in her way. 

As fancy wills, the patli beneutli 

Is golden gorse, or purple heath ; 

And now we hear in woodlands ilim 

Their unarticulated hymn, 

Now walk through rippling waves of wheat 

Now sink in mats of clover sweet. 

Or see before us from the lawn 

The lark go up to giec-t the dawn. 

All liirds that love the English sky 

Throng round my path when she is by ; 

The lilackhird from a neighboring thorn 

With music brims the cup of morn. 

And in a thick, melodious rain 

Th<! mavis pours her mellow strain. 

I>nt only when my Katie's voice 

Makes all the listening woods rejoice 

I hear — with cheeks that Hush and pale - 

The passion of the nightingale. 

Anon the pictures round her change. 

And through an ancient town we range 

Whereto the shadowy memory clings 

Of one of England's Saxon kings, 

And which, to .shrine his fading fame. 

Still keeps Ids ashes and his name. 

Quaint houses rise on either hand ; 

But still the airs are fresh and bland. 

As if their gentle wings caressed 

Somi' new-born village of the West. 

A moment by the Nonnan tower 

We pause ; it is the Sabbath hour ! 

And o'er the city sinks and swells 



-4? 



£1-7 

1 "JS 



I'UEMS OF LOVE. 



^ 



1&- 



The chime of old St. Mary's bells, 

Wliieh still resouml in Katie's eare 

As sweet as when in ilistuiit ycai-s 

She heard them (leal wiili jinuiul din 

A merry linglisli Christmas in. 

We pass the Abbey's ruined arch, 

.\nd statelier grows my Katie's march, 

As round her, wearied with the taint 

OrTninsatlantic pine and paint. 

She sees a thousand tokens east 

Of Englanil's venemble jMst. 

Our i-everent footstejvs lastly claims 

The younger chapel of St. James, 

Which, though, as Knglish records run, 

Not old, had seen full many a sun, 

Kre to the cold Uecember g.\le 

The thoughtful I'ilgrini spivad his S!>il. 

There Katie in her childish days 

SiH'lt out her pniyei-s and lis|wd her praise, 

And doubtless, as her beauty grew. 

Did much as other maidens do, — 

Across the pews and down the aisle 

Sent many a beau-bowildering smile, 

.■\nd to subserve her spirit's need 

Learned other things beside the ei-eed. 

The;v, too, to-day her knee she bows. 

And by her one w hose darker brows 

Betray the Southern heart that burns 

lieside her, and which only turns 

Its thoughts to Heaven iu one request. 

Not all unworthy to be blest. 

But rising from an eartldier juiiu 

Thau might lieseem a I'hristiau fane. 

Ah ! can the guileless maiden share 

The wish that lifts that i«issionate prayer ? 

Is all at peace that bit-ast within ? 

Good angels ! wsirn her of the sin ! 

Alas ! what boots it ■ who can sjive 

A w illing victim of the wave .' 

W ho cleanse a soul that loves its guilt ? 

Or givther wine when wine is spilt ? 

Wo quit the holy house ami giun 
The open air ; then, happy twain, 
.\down familiar streets we go, 
And now and then she turns to show, 
With feai-s that all is changing fast. 
Some spot that 's sjiered to her past. 
Here, by this way, through shadows cool, 
A little maid, she tripi>ed to school ; 
.■\nd there, each morning used to stop 
Before a wonder of a shop 
Where, built of apjilesand of i>eai's. 
Hose pyramids of golden spheivs ; 
While dangling in her dazzled sight, 
Hipe cherries cast a crimson light 
.■\iid made her think of elfin lamps. 
And least and sport in fairy camps. 



Whereat upon her royal throne 
(Most richly carved in cherry-stone) 
Titauia ruled, in iiueeuly state. 
The boisterous revels of the fete ! 
'Twas yonder, with their "horrid" noise, 
Dismissed from books, she met the boys. 
Who, with a barbarous scorn of girls. 
Glanced lightly at her sunny curls, 
And laughed and leaped as reckless by 
As though no pretty face were nigh. 
But here the maiden grows demuiv, — 
Indeed, she 's not so very sure 
That in a year, or haply twain. 
Who looked e'er failed to look again ; 
And, sooth to say, 1 little dottbt 
(Some !\zure day the truth will out '.) 
That certain baits in certain eyes 
Caught many an unsuspecting prize ; 
And somewhere underneath tlie.se eaves 
A budding flirt put forth its leaves ! 

Has not the sky a deeper bine. 
Have not the trees a greener hue, 
And bend they not with louUier grace 
And noble shapes above the place 
Wheivon, one cloudless winter morn. 
My Katie to this life was born ' 
Ah, folly ! long hath tied the lioin- 
When love to sight gave keener power. 
And lovers looked for special boons 
In brighter flowers and larger moons. 
But wave the foliage as it may. 
And let the sky be ashen gray. 
Thus much at least a manly youth 
May hold — and yet not blush — as truth : 
If near that blessed spot of earth 
Which saw the cherished maiden's birth 
No softer dews than usual rise. 
And life there keeps its wonted guise. 
Yet not the less that spot may seem 
As lovely as a poet's dream ; 
And should a fervid faith incline 
To make thereof a sainted shrine. 
Who may deny that roumi us throng 
A hundred earthly creeds as wrong. 
But meaner far, which yet unblamed 
Stalk by us and are not ashamed > 
So, therefore, Katie, as our stroll 
Ends at this portal, while you roll 
Those lustrous eyes to catch each ray 
That may recall some vanished day, 
I — let them jeer and laugh w ho will — 
Stoop down and kiss the sacred sill ! 
So strongly sometimes on the sense 
These fancies hold their iiUluence, 
That iu long well-known streets I stray 
Like one who fears to lose his way. 
The stranger I, the native slie. 



i 



LOVE. 



•-a 



99 



Myself, not Kate, had crossed tlie sea ; 

And changing place, and mixing times, 

I walk in unfamiliar climes. 

'I'tjesc houses, free to every breeze 

That lilows from warm Flondian seas. 

Assume a massive English air. 

And close around an English square ; 

While, if I issue from the town, 

An English hill looks greenly down. 

Or lound me rolls an English park. 

And in the Broad 1 liear the lark. 

Thus when, where woodland violets hide, 

I rove with Katie at my side. 

It .scarce would seem ami.ss to say ; 

" Katie ! my home lies far away. 

Beyond the jiathless waste of brine, 

In a young land of pahn and pine. 

There by the tropic heats the soul 

Is touched as if with living coal. 

And glows with such a fire as none 

Can feel beneath a Northern sun, 

Unless — my Katie's heart attest ! — 

'T Ls kindled in an English breast. 

Such is the land in which I live. 

And, Katie ! such the soul I give. 

Come, ere another morning beam. 

We '11 cleave the sea with wings of steam ; 

And soon, despite of storm or calm. 

Beneath my native groves of palm. 

Kind friends shall greet, with joy and pride, 

The Southron and his English bride I 



U-- 



KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY. 

Two brown heads with tossing curls, 
Red lips shutting over pearls. 
Bare feet, white and wet with dew, 
Two eyes black, and two eyes blue ; 
Little girl and boy were they, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey. 

They were standing where a brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks 
Of willow fringed its mossy banks ; 
Half in thought, and half in play, 
Katie Lee and Willie Orey. 

They had cheeks like cherries red ; 
He was taller, — near a head ; 
She, with arms like wreaths of snow, 
Swung a basket to and fro 
As she loitered, half in play, 
Chattering to Willie Grey. 

" Pretty Katie," Willie said, — 
And there came a da.sh of red 



Through the brownness of his cheek, 
" Boys are strong and girbj are weak. 
And 1 '11 carry, so 1 will, 
Katie's basket up the hill." 

Katie answered with a laugh, 
" You shall carry only half" ; 
And then, tossing back her curls, 
" Boys are weak as well as girls." 
Do you think that Katie guesscl 
Half the wisdom she expressed ? 

Men are only hoys grown tall ; 
Hearts don't change much, after all ; 
And when, long years from that day, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey 
Stood iigain beside the brook, 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, — 

Is it strange that Willie said. 

While again a dash of re<l 

Crossed the brownness of his cheek, 

" I am strong and you are weak ; 

Life is but a slipf)ery steej). 

Hung with shadows cold and deep : 

" Will you trust me, Katie dear, — 
Walk beside me without fear ? 
May I carry, if ! will. 
All your burdens up the hill ? " 
And she answered, with a laugh, 
"No, but you may carry half." 

Close beside the little brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Wtishing with its silver hands 
Late and early at the sands. 
Is a cottage, where to-day 
Katie lives with Willie Grey. 

In a porch she sits, and lo ! 
Swings a l>asket to and fro — 
Vastly different from the one 
That she swnng in years agone : 
This is long and deep and wide, 
And has — rocirrs nt Oir side. 



ENCHANTMENT.?. 

A LI. in the May-time's merriest weather 

Rode two travelers, bride and groom ; 
Breast and breast went their mules together. 

Fetlock deep through the daisy bloom. 
Roses peeped at them out of the hedges. 

White flowers leaned to them down from the I 
thorn. 
And up from the furrows with sunlit edges ' 

Crowded with children that sowed in the corn, T 



^ 



Cheek o'er cheek, ami with red so tender 

Rippiing briglit tlirougli the gypsy brown, 
Just to see how a lady's sjilendor 

Shone tlie heads of the daffodils down. 
Ah, but the wonder grows and lingers. 

All, but their fields look low and lorn, 
Just to think how her jeweled fingers 

Shamed the seeds of their yellow corn ! 

0, it was sweet, so sweet to be idle ! 

Each little sower with fate fell wroth ; 
0, but to ride with a sjiangled bridle ! 

for a saddle with scarlet cloth ! 
Waving corn — each stalk in tassel ; 

Home, with its thatch and its turf-lit room — 
What was this by the side of a castle ? 

Wliat was that to a tossing plume ? 

Winds through the violets' misty covering 

Now kissed the white ones and now the blue, 
Sang the redbreast over them hovering 

All as the world were but just made new. 
And on and on through the golden weather, 

Fear at the faintest and hope at the best. 
Went the tine lovers riding together. 

Out of the East-land and into the West. 

Father and mother in tears abiding, 

Bridemaids all with their favors dressed. 
Back and backward the daisies sliding, 

Dove-throat, Black-foot, breast and breast. 
Yet hath the bridemaid joy of licr pining, 

And grief sits light on the mother's brow ; 
Under her cloud is a silver lining, — 

The lowly child is a lady now. 

But for the sowers, the eyes held shady 

Either till' sun-brown arm or hand ; 
Darkly tiny tullow the lord and lady 

AVitli jcnlous hatred of house .and land. 
Fine — it was all so fine to be idle ; 

Dull and weary the work-day doom ; 
0, Imt to ride with a spangled bridle ! 

foi' a cap with a tossing plume ! 

Nearer the castle, the bells fell ringing, 

And strong men and maidens to work and wait. 
Cried, "God'sgraceonthebride'shome-bringing," 

And master, mistress, rode through the gate. 
Five select ladies — maids of the chamber — 

One sewed her silken seams, one kept herrings. 
One for the pearl combs, one for the amber. 

And one for her green fan of peacock wings. 

And sweetly and long they abode in their castle. 
And daughters and sons to their love were born ; 

But doves at the dew-fall homeward nestle. 
To lodge in the rafters they left at morn ; 



And memory, holding true and tender, 
As pleasures faded and years increased. 

Oft bore the lady from all her splendor 
Out of the West-land into the East ; 

And far from the couch where sleep so slowly 

Came to her eyes through the purples grand. 
Left her to lodge in the bed so lowly. 

Smoothed by the mother's dear, dear hand. 
But after all the ado to assemble 

The sunrise pictures to brighten the set. 
One there was thrilled her heart to a tremble. 

Half made of envy and half of regret. 

Ah, was it this that in playful sporting, 

And not as lamenting her maiden years. 
Often she brought from the time of the courting. 

When hopes are the sweeter for little fears. 
That one day of the days so pleasant. 

When, while she mused of her lord, as it fell. 
Rode from the castle the groom with his jiresent. 

Dear little Dove-throat, beloved so well ? 

Or altar, in splendor of lilies and laces. 

Long-tressed bridemaids, or jjriest close shorn? 
Or ride through the daisies, or green field spaces. 

Gay with children that sowed in the corn ? 
Ye who have left the noontide behind you, 

And whom dull shadows begin to ojipress, 
Say, ere the night-time falleth to blind you, 

Which was the picture — pray, do you guess ? 

All in the castle was sweet with contentment, 

For Fortune, in granting all favors but one, 
Threw over the distance a cruel enchantment 

That darkened the love-light and darkened the 
sun. 
Of alms and of pleasures the life-long bestowers. 

The lord and the lady had just one lament : 
for the lives of the brown little sowers ! 

And for their artless and homely content ! 

ALlCr; CARV. 



THE WELCOME. 

Come in the evening, or come in the morning ; 
Come when you 're looked for, or come without 

warning ; 

Kisses and welcome you '11 find here before you, 

And the oftener you come here the more I '11 adore 

you ! 

Light is myheart since the day we were plighted; 

Red is mycheek that they told me was blighted ; 

The gi-een of the trees looks far greener than 

ever. 
And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't 



-4J' 



LOVE. 



101 



n 



I '11 pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose 

them, 
Or, after you 've kissed them, they '11 lie on my 

bosom ; 
1 '11 fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire 

you; 
I '11 fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire 
you. 
Oh ! your step 's like the rain to the summer- 
vexed farmer. 
Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor ; 
I '11 sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above 

me. 
Then, wandering, 1 '11 wish you in silence to 
love me. 

We '11 look through the trees at the cliff and the 

eyrie ; 
We '11 tread round tlic rath on the track of the 

fairy ; 
We '11 look on the stars, and we '11 list to the 

river. 
Till you ask of your darling what gift you can 
give her. 
Oh! she'll whisper you, — "Love, as un- 
changeably beaming. 
And trust, when in sei^ret, most tunefully 

streaming ; 
Till the starl ight of heaven above us .shall quiver, 
As our souls How in one down eternity's river." 

So come in the evening, or come in the morning; 
Come when you 're looked for, or come without 

warning ; 
Kisses and welcome you '11 find here before you, 
And the oftener you come here the more I '11 adore 
you ! 
Liglit is my heart since thedaywewereplighted; 
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; 
The green of thetreeslooks fargreenerthan ever, 
And tlie linnets aresinging, "True lovers don't 
sever ! " 

TnoM.\s Davis. 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 



t]— 



Oa' the yowes to the Icnovjes, 
Ca' tliem where tite heatlt^r grows, 
Ca' tliem where the burnie roiaes, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Cluden's woods amang ; 
Then a-faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Cn the, etc. 



We '11 gae down by Cluden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' live, etc. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midnight liours, 
O'er the lU'wy bending llowors, 
Kairies diiiice sac chccrie. 
Cit' the, etc. 

Chaist nor bogle shalt thou fi'ar : 
Thou 'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, 
Kocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Oa the, etc. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' tlie, etc. 

While waters wimple to the sea ; 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
Till clay-canld death shall blin' my e'e, 
Ye shall be my dearie. 
Ca' tlw, etc. 

ROBtRT BCK.N& 



CHARLIE MACHREE. 

A BALLAD. 

Come over, come over 
The river to me, 
If ye are my laddie, 
Kold Charlie machree. 

Here 's Mary McPherson 
And Susy O'Linn, 
Wlio say ye 're faint-hearted. 
And darena plunge in. 

But the dark rolling water, 
Tlioiigh deep as the sea, 
I know willna scare ye. 
Nor keep ye frae me ; 

For stout is yer back. 
And strong is yer arm. 
And the heart in yer bosom 
Is faithful and warm. 

Come over, come over 
The liver to me, 
If ye are my laddie, 
Rold Charlie machree ! 



-^ 



f 



102 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



-a 



I see liii.i, I s,T linii! 
Ilo'r. iilui.Kcl in I.Im; tide, 
ilia sli'oiig iiniis iiro diisliiiig 
Tlio big waves aside. 

0, the (lark rolling water 
Shoots swift as tlic sea, 
Hilt blithe is the glance 
or his bonny blue e'e ; 

And his cheeks are like rosos, 
Twa buds on a hough ; 
Who says ye 'I'e faint-hearted, 
My bmvo Charlie, now ? 

]lo, ho, foaniing river, 
Ye may roar as ye go, 
Hut yu caniia bear ( 'harlie 
'J'o the dark loeh lielow ! 

Come over, come over 
The river to ino, 
My true-liearted laddio. 
My Charlie niaehrco ! 

He 's sinking, he 's sinking, 
0, what shall I do ! 
Strike out, Charlie, boldly. 
Ten strokes and ye 're thro'. 

Ill' 's sinking, () Heaven ! 
Ne'er fear, man, ne'er fear ; 
1 've a kiss for ye, (Charlie, 
As soon as yo 're hero I 

Ho rises, I soo him, — 
Five strokes, Charlie, inair, — 
Me 's shaking the wet 
From his bonny brown hair ; 

He eoiniuers (he eurront. 
He gains on the sea, — 
Uo, when' is tlie swimmer 
Like Charlie maehree ' 

Come over the river. 
Hut onee eome to mo, 
And 1 '11 love ye forever. 
Dear Charlie niaehroo I 

He's sinking, he 's gone, — 
God ! it is 1, 
It is I, wlio have killed him - 
Help, helii ! — he must die ! 

Hel]i, hel|i ! — ah, lie rises, - 
Strike out and yo'ro free ! 
Ho, liravely done, Charlie, 
Onee wore now, for mo 1 



Now eliiig to the roek. 
Now gie lis yer hand, -- 
Ye 're safe, dearest Charlie, 
Yo 're safe on the land ! 

Come rest in my bosom, 
I f there ye can sleep ; 
1 eanna speak to ye, 
1 only can weep. 

Ye 've crossed tlie wild river, 
Yo 've risked all for me. 
And 1 '11 part frae ye never. 
Dear Charlie niiiehiee ! 

W1I.1.IAM J. Ho 



ROBIN ADAIR. 

What 's this dull town to me ? 

Koliiii 's not near, — 
He wlnnn I wished to .see. 

Wished for to hear ; 
Where 's all the, joy and mirth 
Made life a heaven on earth, 
0, they 're all fled with tliee, 

Ixobin Adair! 

What made the assembly shine? 

Kobin Adair : 
Wliat made the ball so fine ? 

liobin was there : 
What, when the play was o'er, 
What made my heart so sore 1 
0, if was imrting with 

liobin A.lair ! 

But now thou art far from mo, 

Kobin Adair ; 
But now 1 never see 

Kobin Adair; 
Yet him I loved so well 
Still in my heart shall dwell ; 
0, 1 can ne'er forget 

Kobin Adair ! 

Welcome on shore again, 

Robin Adair I 
Welcome once more again, 

Kobin Adair ! 
I feel thy trembling hand ; 
Tears in thy eyelids stand. 
To greet thy native land, 

Kobin Adair. 

Long I ne'er saw thee, love, 

Kiibiii Adair ; 
Still I prnye.l lor thee, love, 

Kobiii Adair ; 



f 



LOVE. 



103 



-a 



U-- 



Whin thou werl liir at aca, 
Ahuiy iiiailo lovu to me, 
lint slill 1 tlic)iij;ht uu tlicc, 
Kobiii Adaii'. 

Comic to my heart attain, 

Kohin Adair; 
NcviT to part agaiu, 

Kobiii Ailair ; 
And if thou still art true, 
I will bo constinit too, 
Ami will wed none but you, 

Hol>in Adair I 



TllK lilllTII OF PORTRAITURE. 

An 'inrc a (Jrcrian maitlen wove 

llc.ryarland mid thr summer bowers, 
TliiTe stood a youth, with eyes ol' love. 

To watch her while she wreathed the llowcrs. 
Till' youth was skilled in painting's art, 

liut ne'er had studii^d woman's Iprow, 
Nor knew wliat magic hues the heart 

Can shed o'er Nature's charm, till now. 



Blest bo Love, to whom we owe 
All that '» fair and bright below. 

His haiid had pictured many a rose. 

And sket(dicd the rays that lit the brook; 
liut what wore these, or what were tliose, 

T" woman's blush, to woman's locdi < 
" (), if such magie power there b(\ 

This, this," he cried, "is all my [■i.iyer. 
To p.iiut that living light I see. 

And fix the soul that sparkles there ! " 

His prayer as soon as breathed was heard ; 

His pallet touched by Lov(^ grew warm, 
.And painting saw her thus transferred 

l''riim lifeless llowers to woman's form. 
Still, as from tint to tint he stole, 

'I'lie fair design shone out lln^ more. 
And Ihere was now a life, a soul. 

Where only .-olors glowed bcfoi'e. 

Then lirst iariiali(.n learned to speak, 

And libei into life were brought ; 
While, mantling on the maiden's elieek, 

■young ro.ses kindled into thought : 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 

IJjion the locks of li(siuty threw ; 
And violets transformed to eyes, 

Inslirinod a soul within their blue. 



Blest be Love, to whom we owe 

All that's bright ami lair Iwdow ; 

Song was cold and [lainting dim, 

Till .song and painting learned from him. 



O NANCY, WILT THOU OO WITH ME? 

Nancy, wilt thou go with me. 

Nor sigh to leave the Haunting town 'f 
Can silent gleus have charms for thee. 

The lonely cot and russet gown ' 
No longer drest in silken sheen. 

No longer decked with jewels rare. 
Say, canst thou cpiit eacdi conrlly seeno 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ( 

Nancy ! when thou 'it far away. 

Wilt thou not cast a wish licdiind ? 
Say, canst thou face' the pandiing ray, 

Nor shrink before the winlry wiml 1 
0, can that .soft and gentle mien 

Kxtrenu's of hai'dshiji leaiii l.i ii i. 
Nor sad regret each courtly seen" 

WIkm-c llnai wert fairest of the fair I 

Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Through perils keen with me to go. 
Or when thy swain nu.shaji shall rue. 

To share with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befall. 

Wilt thou assunu,' the nur.Hir's care. 
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall 

Where thou wert fairest of thc! fair ? 

And when at last thy love shall die, 

Will thou receive his parting breath ? 
Wilt thou lepress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles tlu^ bed of death 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay. 

Strew llowers, aixl drop the tender tear. 
Nor then regret tho.se scenes so gay. 

Where thou werl fairest of I lie fair ' 



WHISTLE, AND I 'LL COME TO VOU, MY LAU. 

O wuisri.F, and I 'II come to yon, my lad, 
O whistle, and 1 'II eotnc to you, my lail ; 
Tho' father and mither atid a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 

Hut warily tent, when ye one' lo <'ourt me. 
And come na mdess the back-yett be a-jee ; 



-EP 



G- 



104 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



1 



«■ 



Syno up Ihr l«uk .ttilo, iiiiil l>'l imolHiily moo, 
Aiul coiui' US yo wiTc im' oiiniiii' to mo. 
A.ul <oiiio, olo. 

O wl.isllo, oU'. 

At kirk, 111' 111 imirkot, whoiip'or yo moot mo, 
(lull},' liy uio iiM dm' tlml yo oiiroil imo ii Ilio ; 
lUil siriil 1110 11 Mink o' ymii- luiimio liliiok o'o, 
Vot look MS yo woio nil lookiu' at mo. 
Vol look, olo. 

(1 wliisllo, oto. 

Ayr vow iiml prulost tlml yo oiii'o ua I'dr mo, 
Ami «liilos yo may li^'lilly my boaiily a woo; 
Km ooiii't iiao aiiitlior, llio' jiikiu' yo bo, 
l''oi' loar tliat slio wilo yoiii- I'lmoy IVao mo. 
Km- loar, oto. 

O wliistlo, oto. 



TIIK SUKrUKKD TO HIS l.OVE. 

fiiMi, livo wilh mo, ami l.o mv lovo, 
Aial wo will all tlio [iloa-uros piuv,' 
Thai valloys, jjrovos, and liilU, ami lioUls, 
WooiU or .stoopy moiuitaiiis, yioUls, 

Ami wo will sit Ilium tli • rooks, 
Sooiiij; tho slu'iilionls IVoil llioir Hooks 
liy shallow rivor.s, to wlioso falls 
Moloitious liinla sing mailrigiils. 

Tlioro will 1 iiiftko tlioo liods of roses 
Willi a tliousiiml fragriuit [losios ; 
.\ oa|i of llowoi's, ami a kirtlo, 
iMuluvicloroil all with loavos of myrtlo ; 

.\ gown imulo of tho tiiiost wool, 
Whioh from our |>rotty lambs wo [luU ; 
Kair-Uuoil slippors for tho oohl, 
Wilh buoklos of tho piuvst gohl ; 

A bolt of straw, ami ivy bmls. 
With coral olasps ami ainbor stmls : 
.\ml if thoso ploasuros may llioo movo, 
t'omo, livo with mo, ami bo my lovo. 

Tlu' shoplioitl swains shall ihiuoo ami .sing 
For thy ilolight oaoh May nioriiiiig : 
If thoso ilolights thy miml may niovf, 
Thou livo with mo, ami bo my lovo. 

CmtlSlv^I'IlBR MAKl-OWR. 



THE NYMPH'S REPLY. 

\v that tho worhl ami lovo woif young, 
.\ml truth in ovory shophonl's tonguo, 
Thoso pntty ploasuros might mo niovp 
To livo with tlioo anil K> thy lovo. 



Itul limoilrivos llork^ Iroiii lold lo I,, 1,1, 
Whon runs iaj;o, ami looks -row ool.l ; 
Ami I'hiloinol booomolh diiuili. 
Ami all oumplain of oaros to oonio. 

Tho llowors do fudo, and wauluii Holds 
To wayward wintor rookoning yiolds ; 
A hoiioy touguo, a hoarl of gall, 
l.s fanoy's spring, but .sorrows fall. 

'Thy gowns, thy shoos, thy bods of rosoa, 
Tliy oa|i, thy kirtlo, ami thy posios 
Soon broak, soon withor, soon I'orgotton, — 
In folly ripo, in roason rolton. 

'Thy bolt of straw and ivy buds. 
Thy ooral clasps luid ainbor studs, — 
All thoso in ino no moans can movo 
'To oomo to Ihoo, ami bo thy lovo. 

I'.nl oouKI youth last, and lovo still brood. 
Had joys no dato, nor ago no mod, 
'Thou thoso doliglits my mind might movo 
To livo with tlioo, and bo thy lovo. 

SIK W'.\l.ri;K KALHIGII. 



MAUD MUl.l.KK. 

M.vrii Mrii.KU, on a summoi's ibiv, 
Uak.'d tho moadow swoot willi hay. 

Honoalh hor torn hat glowod tho woalth 
l>f simplo boauty and rustio hoallh. 

Singing, sho wrought, and hor luony gloo 
'Tho mook-bird oohood from his troo. 

I5ut, whon sho ghuiood to tho far-olf tow ii, 
Whito Iroiii its hill-slopo looking down, 

'Tho swoot song diod, and a vagno unrost 
.\iid a iiiimoloss longing lillodhor broasl, 

.\ wish, that sho hardly darod to own. 
For .somothing bettor than sho had known. 

Tho .ludgo rode slowly down tho Inno, 
Smoothing his horse's ohestnut inano. 

He diinv his bridle in the sliade 

Of tho apple ti-oos, to git-et tho mnid, 

.\nd ask a dmuglit from the spring that llowod 
Through the moadow, across the iiind, 

Sho stooped whoro the cool spring bubbled up. 
And tilled for him her small tin oii|>. 



■^ 



^- 



LOVJi. 10 



r^ 



h 



And IJushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

" Thanks I " said the Judge, "a sweeter drauglit 
From a fairer hand was never ijualfed. " 

He spoke of llie glass and flowers and trees. 
Of tlie singing birds and the liuniming bees ; 

Tlien talked of the haying, and wondered wliether 
The eloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graeeful ankles, bare and brown, 

And listened, while a pleased surjirisc 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud .Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! 
That 1 the Judge's bride might be ! 

" He would dress me up in silks so fine. 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

" My father should wear a broadcloth eoat, 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

" I 'd dress rny mother so graml and gay. 
And the iMby should have a new toy each day. 

" And I 'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked lack as he ilimbed the hill. 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet. 
Ne'er Iiath it been my lot to meet. 

" And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

"Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his sister proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 



But the lawyers smiled that afternoon. 
When he hummed in court an old love tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well. 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower. 
Who live<i for fashion, as he for [xjwer. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet .Vlauil Muller's liazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was re<l. 
He longed for the wayside well instea<l, 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, 
To dream of mea<lows and clover blooms ; 

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
"Ah, tliat 1 were free again I 

" Free as when I rode that day 

Wiere the Ijarefoot maiden raked the hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children [ilayed round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and child-birth i»ain. 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown liay in the meadow lot, 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein, 

And, gazing down with a timid giace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately lialls ; 

Tlie weary wheel to a spinnet tunied, 
The tallow candle an astral burned ; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
iJozing and gnimbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side .she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again. 
Saying only, " It might have Wn." 



[0- 



1(16 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



n 



h 



Alas for maiden, alas forjudge, 

For rich repiiicr and lioiiscliold drudge ! 

Cod (lity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly tho (hfanis of youth rooall ; 

Kor ol' all sail words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these : " It might have been ! " 

Ah, %v(dl ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Docply buried IVoni human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Koll the stone from its grave away ! 

John Gkeenleaf whittier. 



QTTAKERDOM. 

TlIROTTGii her forced, abnormal quiet 
Fla-shed the sold of frolic riot. 
And a nsost malicious laughter lighted up her 
downcast eyes ; 
All in vain 1 tried each topic. 
Ranged from polar climes to tropic, — 
Every commonplace 1 started met with yes-or-no 
replies. 

Kor lier mother — stiff and stately. 
As if starched and irone.l lately — 
Sat erect, with rigid idlunvs l)edilcd thus in curv- 
ing palms ; 
There she sat on L,'n:inl bcfnn' us, 
And in words ]ir(risr, dn .nuus, 
And most calm, revicwrrl the w.ather, and recited 
several ]isalms. 

How without abruptly ending 

This my visit, and offending 
Wealthy neighbors, was the problem which em- 
|)loyed my mental care ; 

When the butler, bowing lowly, 

Utl.'red clearly, stiffly, slowly, 
"Madam, jdrase, the gardener wants you," — 

Heaven, 1 thought, has heard my prayer. 

" Pardon me ! " she grandly uttered ; 
Howing low, I gladly muttered, 
"Surely, nuidam!" and, relieved, 1 turned to 
scan the danghter's face : 
Ha ! what pent-up mirth outllashes 
From beneath those penciled lashes ! 
How the drill of Quaker custom yields to Na- 
ture's brilliant grace ! 

r.rightly springs the prisoned fountain 
From the side of Delphi's mouutuiu, 



When the stone that weighed upon its buoyant 
life is thrust aside ; 
So the long-enforced stagnation 
Of the maiden's conversation 
Now imparted fivefold brilliance to its ever- 
varying tide. 

Widely r,anging, quickly (diauging, 
Witty, winning, from beginning 
Unto end I listened, merely Hinging in a casual 
word ; 
Eloquent, and yet how simple ! 
Hand and eye, and eddying dinijile. 
Tongue and lip together made a music seen a-; 
well as heard. 

When the noonday woods are liuging. 
All the birds of summer singing, 
Suddenly there falls a silence, and we know a 
serpent nigh : 
So upon the door a rattle 
Sto])ped our animated tattle, 
And the stately mother found us prim enough to 
suit her eve. 



THE CHESS-BOARD. 

My little love, do you remember. 

Ere we were grown so sadly wise. 

Those evenings in the bleak December, 

Cuitained warm from the snowy weather, 

When you and I played chess together, 

(.'heekmated by each other's eyes? 

Ah ! still I see your soft white hand 
Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight ; 

Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand ; 
The double Castles guard the wings ; 
The IMsliop, bent on distant things, 
Moves, sidling, through the fight. 

Our fingers touch ; our glances meet, 
And falter ; falls your golden hair 

Against my cheek ; your bosom sweet 
Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen 
liides slow, her soldiery all between, 

And checks me unaware. 

Ah me ! the little Irattle 's done : 
Disperst is all its idiivalry. 
Full many a move .since then have we 
Mid life's perplexing checkers m.ade. 
And many a game with fortune played ; 

What is it we have won ? 

This, this at least, — if this alone : 



^d' 










STMMKK PAYS. 

**/w suMuur. w/ifN tht' days iver^ /cwi*. 
nV xtuiikni together in the uhhh/ : 

Our hfitrt was ftght. our st^/ was strong.' 
Swret JlttttfriMg^ 7t'ert' there m'n onr blood 

In summer, when the days are /ong:*^ 



LOVE. 



-rf^j 



107 



That never, never, nevermore, 

As in those old still nights of yore, 
(Ere we were gi'own so sadly wise,) 
< 'an you and 1 shut out tlie skies, 

.Shut out the world and wintry weatlier, 

And,eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, 

I'lay chess, as then we jjlayed together. 

KODIiRT UULWEK LVTroN. 



DINNA ASK ME. 

0, DiSNA .ask me gin I lo'e ye : 

Troth, I daunia tell ! 
Diniia a.^k me gin 1 lo'e ye, — 

Ask it o' yoursel'. 

0, (linna look sae sair at me, 

For weed ye ken me true ; 
0, gin ye look .sae sair at me, 

I daunia look at you. 

Wlien ye gang to yon braw hraw town, 

And bonnier lassies see, 
0, dinna, Jamie, look at them, 

Lest ye should mind na me. 

For I could never bide the la.ss 
That ye 'd lo'e mair than ine ; 

And 0, I 'm sure my heart wad tirak, 
Gin ye 'd prove fause to me ! 



In summer, when the days were long. 
On ciainty chicken, snow-white brea<l, 

We feasted, with no grace but song ; 
We jjlucked wild strawberries, ripe and red. 

In summer, when the days were lorjg. 

We loved, and yet we knew it not, — 
For loving seemed like breathing then ; 

We found a heaven in every spot ; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men ; 

And dre.imeil of (!od in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
Alone I wander, muse alone. 

I see her not ; but that old song 
Under the fragrant wind is blown. 

In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood : 
But one fair si)irit hears my sighs ; 

And half I see, so glad and good, 
The honest ilaylight of her eyes. 

That charmed me under earlier .skies. 

In sumniei, when the days are long, 
I love her as we loved of old. 

My heart is liglil, niy step is strong ; 
For love brings back tho.se houra of gold, 

lu summer, when the days are long. 

A.NO.NVMOUS. 



SUMMER DAYS. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We walked together in the wood ; 

Our heart was light, our step was strong ; 
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood. 

In summer, when the days were long. 

We strayed from morn till evening came ; 
We gathered Mowers, and wove u.s crowns ; 

We walked mid poppies red as flame, 
Or sat upon the yellow downs ; 

And always wished our life the same. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
VVc h'aped the hedgerow, crossed the brook ; 

And still her voice flowed forth in song. 
Or else she read some graceful book. 

In summer, when the days were long. 

And then we sat beneath the trees. 
With shadows lessening in the noon ; 

And in the sunlight and the breeze. 
We feasted, many a gorgeous .June, 

While larks were singing o'er the leas. 



GENEVIEVE, 

Am, thoughts, all jjassions, all delights. 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er .again that happy hour. 
When midway on the mount I Lay 
IJeside the ruined tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve ! 

She leaned against the armtd man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay, 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 



^ 



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108 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



n 



u 



1 played a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story, — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listened with a flitting blush. 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew, I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And tliat for ten long years he wooed 
Tlie Lady of tlui' land. 

I told licr how he pined : and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
Willi which 1 sang another's love 
Interpreted my own. 

She listened with a Hitting blnsli, 
With ilowneast eyes, and modest grace; 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face. 

ISut wlieu 1 tuld the cruel scorn 
Tliat crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he crossed the mountain-woods. 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from the darksome sliade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, 

There came and looked him in tlie face 
All angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
This miserable Knight ! 

And that, unknowing what he did. 
He leaped amid a murderous band. 
And savi'd from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ; 

Anil how she wept, and clasped liis knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain ; 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; 

And that she nursed him in a cave. 
And how his madness went away. 
When on th(' yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; 

— His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
My faltering voice and pausing luirp 
Disturbed her soul with pity. 



All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
The imisie and the doleful tale. 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng, 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 
Subdued and cherished long. 

She wept with pity and delight. 
She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard lier breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved, — she stejiped aside. 
As conscious of my look she slept, — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
Slio fled to me and wept. 

She lialf enclosed me with her arms. 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
And bending back her head, looked up. 
And gazed upon my lace. 

'T was partly love, and partly fear. 
And partly 'twas a baslil'ul art 
That I might rather feel than see 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calmed !ier fears, and slie was calm, 
And told lier love with virgin pride ; 
Anil so I won my (ienevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Hride. 



WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. 

Come, all ye jolly sheiiherds. 

That whistle throngh the glen ! 
I '11 tell ye o' a secret 

That courtiers dinna ken : 
What is the greatest bliss 

That the tongue o' man can name ? 
'T is to woo a bonnie lassie 
When the kye come hame. 
Ifhcn the kye come hame, 
li'hcn the k)je come hame, — 
'Tira-n the gloamin an the mirk, 
H'hen the ki/e come luime. 

'T is not beneath the burgonet. 

Nor yet beneath the crown ; 
'T is not on couch o' velvet, 

Nor yet in bed o' down : 
'T is bi'iieatli the spreading liirk. 

In the glen without the name, 



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[&-- 



LOVE. 



lO'J 



^ 



W'i' ;l bonuie bonnie lassie. 
When the kye come hame. 

Tliere the blackbird bigs his nest, 

For the mate he lo'es to see, 
Ami ou the tapmost bough 

O, a happy l)ird is he ! 
There he pours his melting ditty, 

And love is a' the theme ; 
And he '11 woo his bonnie lassie, 

When the kye come hame. 

Wlien the blewart bears a pearl. 

And the daisy turns a pea, 
And the bonnie lucken gowan 

Has fauldit up his ec, 
Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift, 

Draps down and thinks nae shame 
To woo his bonnie lassie, 

When the kye come hame. 

See yonder pawky shepherd. 

That lingers on the hill : 
His yowes are in the fauld, 

And his lambs are lying still ; 
Yet he dowua gang to bed. 

For his heart is in a flame. 
To meet his bonnie lassie 

When the kye come hame. 

When the little wee Lit heart 

Rises high in the breast, 
And the little wee bit stam 

Rises red in the east, 
0, there 's a joy sae dear 

That the heart can hardly frame ! 
Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie. 

When the kye come hame. 

Then since all Nature joins 

In this love without alloy, 
0, wha wad prove a traitor 

To Nature's dearest joy ? 
Or wha wad choose a crown, 

Wi' its perils an' its fame. 
And miss his bonnie lassie, 

When the kye come luime ? 



THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING 
OR, TEN YEARS AFTER. 

The country ways are full of mire. 
The boughs toss in the fading light,. 

The winds blow out the sunset's fire. 
And sudden droppeth down the night. 

I sit in this familiar room, 

Where mud-splashed hunting sijuires resort 



My sole companion in the gloom 
This slowly dying pint of port. 

'Mong all the joys my soul hath known, 

'Mong errors over which it giieves, 
I sit at this dark hour alone. 

Like Autumn mid his withered leaves. 
This is a night of wild farewells 

To all the past ; the good, the fair ; 
To-morrow, and my wedding bells 

Will make a music in the air. 

Like a wet fisher, tempe.st-tost. 

Who sees throughout the weltering night. 
Afar on some low-lying coast. 

The streaming of a rainy light, 
I saw this hour, — and now 't is come ; 

The rooms are lit, the feast is set ; 
W^ithin the twilight 1 am dumb. 

My heart filled with a vain regret. 

I cannot say, in Eastern style. 

Where'er she treads the pansy blows ; 
Nor call her eyes twin stars, her smile 

A sunbeam, and her mouth a rose. 
Nor can 1, as your bridegrooms do, 

Talk of my raptures. 0, how sore 
The fond romance of twenty-two 

Is parodied ere thirty-four. 

To-night I shake hands with the past, — 

Familiar years, adieu, adieu ! 
An unknou7i door is open cast, 

An empty future wide and new 
Stands waiting. ye naked rooms, 

Void, desolate, without a charm. 
Will Love's smile chase your lonely glooms, 

And drape your walls, and make Ihem warm ! 

The man wlin knew, while lii' was young. 

Some soft and soul-subduing air. 
Melts when ngain he hears it sung, 

Although 't is ordy half .so fair. 
So I love thee, and love is sweet 

(My Florence, 't is the cruel truth) 
Because it can to age rei)c.at 

That long-lost passion of my youth. 

0, often did my spirit melt. 

Blurred letters, o'er your artless rhymes ! 
Fair trees, in which the sunshine dwelt, 

I 've kissed you many a million times ! 
And now 't is done, — my passionate tears. 

Mad pleadings with an iron fate, 
And all the sweetness of my years. 

Are blackened ashes in the grate. 

Then ring in the wind, my wedding chimes ; 
Snnle, villagers, at every door ; 



i 



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110 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



■-f^ 



Old churchyard, stuffed with buried crimes, 
Be clad in sunshine o'er and o'er ; 

And youthful maidens, white and sweet, 
Scatter your blossoms far and wide ; 

And with a bridal chorus greet 

This hajijiy bridegroom and his bride. 

"This happy bridegroom ! " there is sin 

At bottom of my thankless mood : 
What if desert alone could win 

For me life's chiefest grace and good ? 
Love gives itself ; and if not given. 

No genius, beauty, state or wit. 
No gold of earth, no gem of heaven, 

Is rich enough to purchase it. 

It may be, Florence, loving thee. 

My heart will its old memories keep ; 
Like some worn sea-shell from the sea, 

Filled with the music of the deep. 
And you may watch, on nights of rain, 

A shadow on my brow encroach ; 
Be startled by my sudden pain. 

And tenderness of self-reproach. 

It may be that your loving wiles 

Will call a sigh from far-otT years ; 
It may be that your happiest smiles 

Will brim my eyes with hopeless tears ; 
It may be that my sleeping breath 

Will shake, with painful visions wrung ; 
And, in the awful trance of death, 

A stranger's name be on my tongue. 

Ye phantoms, born of bitter blood, 

Ye ghosts of passion, lean and worn. 
Ye terrors of a lonely mood, 

Wliat do ye here on a wedding-morn ? 
For, as the dawning sweet and fast 

Through all the heaven spreads and flows. 
Within life's discord, rude and vast. 

Love's subtle music grows and grows. 

And lightened is the weaiy curse. 

And clearer is the weary road ; 
The very worm the sea-weeds nurse 

Is cared for by the Eternal God. 
My love, pale blossom of the snow, 

Has ])ierced earth wet mtli wintry showers,- 
O may it drink the sun, and blow. 

Followed by all the year of flowers ! 

Black Bayard from the stable bring ; 

The rain is o'er, the wind is down, 
Round stin'ing farms the birds will sing. 

The dawn stand in the sleeping town. 
Within an hour. This is her gate, 

Her sodden roses droop in night. 



And, emblem of my happy fate. 
In one dear window there is light. 

The dawn is oozing pale and cold 

Through the damp east for many a mile 
When half my tale of life is told, 

Grim-featured Time begins to smile. 
Last star of night that lingerest yet 

In that long rift of rainy gray. 
Gather thy wasted splendors, set. 

And die into my wedding day. 

Ale.\a.\der Smith. 



ATAiANTA VICTORIOUS. 



And there two runners did the sign abide 
Foot set to foot, — a young man slim and fair. 
Crisp-haired, well knit, with firm limbs often tried 
In places where no man his strength may spare ; 
D.ainty his thin coat was, and on his hair 
A golden circlet of renown he wore. 
And in his hand an olive garland bore. 

But on this day with whom shall he contend ? 
A maid stood by him like Diana clad 
When in the woods she lists her bow to bend, 
Too fair for one to look on and be glad, 
Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, 
If he must still behold her from afar ; 
Too fair to let the world live free from war. 

She seemed all earthly matters to forget ; 
Of all tormenting lines her face was clear ; 
Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set 
Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near; 
But her foe trembled as a man in fear. 
Nor from her loveliness one moment turned 
His anxious face with fierce desire that burned. 

Now through the hush there broke the trum- 
pet's clang. 
Just as the setting sun made eventide. 
Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang. 
And swiftly were they running side by side ; 
But silent did the thronging folk abide 
Until the turning-post was reached at last. 
And round about it still abreast they passed. 



But when the people saw how close they ran, 
W^hen half-way to the starting-point they were, 
A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man 
Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near 
Unto the very end of all his fear ; 
And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel, 
And bliss unhoped for o'er his heart 'gan steal. 



4 



1&-- 



LOVE. 



Ill 



n 



t&^- 



But midst the loud victorious shouts he heard 
Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound 
( )f fluttering raiment, and thereat afeared 
H is flushed and eager face he turned around, 
And even then he felt her past him bound 
I'leet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there 
'I'ill on the goal she laid her fingers fair. 

There stood she, breathing like a little chUd 
Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, 
I'or no victorious joy her red lips smiled, 
Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep ; 
No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep. 
Though some divine thought softened all her face 
As once more rang the trumpet through the place. 

But her late foe stopped short amidst his course. 
One moment gazed upon her piteously. 
Then with a groan his lingering feet did force 
To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see ; 
And, changed likeone who knows his time must be 
But short and bitter, without any word 
He knelt before the bearer of the sword ; 

Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, 
Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded jjlace 
Was silence now, and midst of it the maid 
Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace. 
And he to hers upturned his sad white face ; 
Nor did his eyes behold another sight 
Ere on his soul there fell eternal night. 

William MorriS- 



ATALAJSTTA CONQUERED. 



Now has the lingering month at last gone by. 
Again are all folk round the running place. 
Nor other seems the dismal pageantry 
Than heretofore, but that another face 
Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the race, 
For now, beheld of all, Milanion 
Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. 

But yet — what change is this that holds the 
maid ? 
Does she indeed see in his glittering eye 
More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, 
Some happy hope of help and victory ? 
The others seemed to say, " We come to die. 
Look down upon us for a little while. 
That dead, we may bethink us of thy smile." 

But he — what look of mastery was this 
He cast on her ? why were his lips so red ? 
Why was his face so flushed with happiness ? 
So looks not one who deems himself but dead, 
E'en if to death he bows a willing head ; 



So rather looks a god well pleased to find 
Some earthly damsel fashioned to his mind. 

Why must she drop her lid.s before his gaze. 
And even as she casts adown her eyes 
Redden to note his eager glance of praise. 
And wish that she were clad in other guise ? 
Why must the memory to her heart arise 
Of things unnoticed when they first were heard. 
Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word ? 

What makes these longings, vague, williout a 

name. 
And this vain pity never felt before. 
This sudden languor, this contempt of fame. 
This tender sorrow for the time past o'er. 
These doubts that grow each minute more and 

more ? 
Why does she tremble as the time gi'ows near, 
And weak defeat and woful victory fear ? 

But while she seemed to liear lier beating heart. 
Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out. 
And forth they sprang ; and she must play her 

jiart ; 
Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, 
Though slackening once, she turned her liead 

about, 
But then she cried aloud and faster fled 
Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead. 

But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, 
.\nd thence what seemed a ray of light tlierc flew 
And past the maid rolled on along the sand ; 
Then trembling she her feet together drew. 
And in her heart a strong desire there grew 
To have the toy ; some god she thought had given 
That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. 

Then from the course with eager steps she ran. 
And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. 
But when she turned again, the great-limbed man 
Now well ahead she failed not to behold, 
And mindful of her glory waxing cold, 
Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit, 
Thougli with one hand she touched the golden 
fruit. 

Note, too, the how that she was wont to hear 
She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize. 
And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair 
Three aiTows fell and lay before her eyes 
Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries 
She sprang to head the strong Milanion, 
Who now the turning-post had wellnigh won. 



But as he set his mighty hand on it, 
White fingers underneath his own were laid. 



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112 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



U 



And wliiti' limbs I'roni his dazzled eyes did Hit, 
Then he the second fruit cast by the maid, 
Hut she ran on awhile, then as afraid 
Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no 

stay 
Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. 

Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, 
Now far ahead the Argive could she see. 
And in her garment's hem one hand she wound 
To keep the double prize, and strenuously 
Sped o'er the course, and little doubt had she 
To win the day, though now but scanty spaci; 
Was left betwixt him and the winnmg place. 

Short was the way unto such winged feet. 
Quickly she gained upon him, till at last 
He turned about her eager eyes to meet. 
And from his hand the third fair apple cast. 
She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast 
After the prize that should her bliss fulfill, 
That in her hand it lay ere it was still. 

Nor did she rest, but turned about to win 
Once more, an unblest woful victory — 
And yet — and yet — why does her breath begin 
To fail her, and her feet drag heavily ? 
Why fails she now to see if far or nigh 
Tlie goal is ? why do her gray eyes grow dim ? 
Why do these tremors run through every limb ? 

She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find 
Else must she fall, indeed, and findetli this, 
A .strong man's arms about her body twined. 
Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss. 
So wrapped she is in new, unbroken bliss : 
Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, 
She weeps glad tears for all her glory done. 

WILLIAM MORRIS. 



THE SIESTA. 

FROM THH SPANISH. 



Air.';, that wander and murmur round. 
Bearing delight where'er ye blow ! 

Make in tlie elms a lulling sound. 
While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 

Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest. 

Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er. 
Sweet be her slumbers ! though in my breast 

The pain she has waked may slumber no more. 
Breathing soft from the blue profound. 

Bearing delight where'er ye blow, 
Make in the elms a lulling sound. 

While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 



Airs ! that over tlie bending boughs. 

And under the shade of pendent leaves, 
Munnur soft, like my timid vows 

Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves, — 
Gently sweeping the grassy ground. 

Bearing delight where'er ye blow. 
Make in the elms a lulling sound. 

While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



ACBAR AND NOtTRMAHAI,. 

0, BEST of delights, as it everywhere is, 

To be near the loved one, — what a rapture is his 

Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may 

glide 
O'er the Lake of Cashmere with that one by his side ! 
If woman can make the worst wUderuess dear. 
Think, think what a heaven she must make of 

Cashmere ! 

So felt the magnificent Son of Acliar, 
When from power and pomp and the trophies of war 
He flew to that valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of the Harem, his young Nour- 

mahal. 
When free and uncrowned as the conqueror roved 
By the banks of that lake, -with his only beloved. 
He saw, in thewreaths shewould playfully snatch 
From the hedges, a: glory his crown could not 

match. 
And preferred in his heart the least ringlet that 

curled 
Down her exijuisito neck to the throneof the world! 

There 's a beauty forever unchangingly bright. 
Like the long .sunny lapse of a summerday's light. 
Shining on, shiningon, by no shadow madetemler, 
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. 
This was not the beauty — 0, nothing like this. 
That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss. 
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it Hies 
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the 

eyes ; 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
Like the glimpses a saint has of heaven in his 

dreams ! 
When pensive, it seemed as if that very grace. 
That charm of all others, was born with her face ; 
And when angry, — for even in the tranquilest 

climes 
Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes, — 
The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken 
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when 

shaken. 



J=V- 



LOVE. 



113 



If tenderness touched her, the dark of lier eye 

At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye. 

From the depth of whose shadow, like holy re- 

vealings 
From innermost shrines, came the liglit of her 

feelings ! 
Then her mirth — 0, 't was sportive as ever 

took wing 
From the heart with a burst like the wild-bird 

in spring, — 
llhimed by a wit that would fascinate sages. 
Vet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 
While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
liut the sweet one of gracefidness, rung from her 

soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could dis- 
cover, 
In lip, cheek, oreyes, forshe brighteneilall over, — 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon. 
When it breaks into dimples, and laughs in the 

sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments that 

gave 
Nourmahal the proud Lord of the Kast for her 

slave ; 
And though bright was his Harem, — a living 

parterre 
Of the flowers of this planet, — though treasures 

were there, 
For which Solomon's self might have given all 

the store 
That the navy from Ophir e'er winged to his shore. 
Yet dim before licr were the smiles of them all, 
And the Light of his Harem was young Nounnahal ! 
TiioMAS Moore. 



f&-.- 



PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE. 

FROM "THE EARTHLY PARADISE." 



A Man of Cyprus, a Sculptor named Pygmalion, made an lm.ige 
of a Woman, fairer than any that had yet been seen, and in the 
end came to love his own handiworlt as though it had been alive ; 
wherefore, praying to Venus for help, he obtained his cud, for she 
made the image ahve indeed, and a Woiuan. and Pygmalion wedded 

At Amathus, that from the southern side 
Of Cyprus looks across the .Syrian sea. 
There did in ancient time a man abide 
Known to the island-dwellers, for that he 
Had wrought most godlike works in imagery, 
And d.ay by day still greater honor won, — 
Which man our old liooks call Pygmalion. 

The lessening marble that he worked upon 
A woman's form now imaged doubtfully ; 
And in such guise the work had he begun, 
Because when he the untouched block did see 
In wandering veins that form there seemed to be, 



Whereon he cried out in a careless mood, 
" lady Venus, make this presage gootl ! 

"And then this blockof stone .shall bethy maid, 
And, not without rich golden ornament, 
Shall biile within thy ijuivering myrtle-shade." 
So spoke he, but the goddess, well content. 
Unto his hand such godlike masteiy sent. 
That like the first artificer he wrought. 
Who made the gift that woe to all men brought. 

And yet, but such as he was wont to do. 
At first indeed that work divine he deemed, 
And as the white chips from the I'hisi'l Hew 
Of other matters languidly he dnamnl, 
p'or easy to his haiiil that labor s'_riiiiil. 
And hewas stirred with many atroubling thought. 
And many a doubt perplexed him as he wrought. 

And yet, again, at last there came a day 
When smoother and more shapely grew the. stone, 
And he, grown eager, put all thought away 
But that which touched his craftsmanship alone. 
And he would gaze at what his hands had done, 
Until his heart with boundless joy wouUl swell 
That all was wrought so wonderfully well. 

Yet long it was ere he was .satisfied, 
;Vntl with his pride that by his mastery 
This thing was done, whose ei[ual far and wide 
In no town of the world a man could see, 
(^amc burning longing that the work should be 
E'en better still, and to his heart there came 
A strange and strong desire he ivmhl not name. 

The night seemed long, and long the twilight 

seemed, 
A vain thing seemed his flowery garden fair ; 
Though through the night still of his work he 

dreamed, 
And though his smooth-stemmed trees so nigh it 

were, 
That thence he could behoM the marble hair. 
Naught was enough, until with steel in hand 
He came before the wondrous stone to stand. 

Blinded with tears, his chisel up he caught, 
And, drawing near, and sighing, tenderly 
Upon the marvel of the face lie wrought, 
E'en as he used to pa.ss the long days by ; 
But his sighs changed to sobbing presently. 
And on the floor the useless steel he flung. 
And, weeping loud, about the image clung. 

"Alas! " he cried, "why have I made thee then, 
That thus thoxi raockest me ? I know indeed 
That many such as thou are loved of men, 
Whose passionate eyes poor wTetches still will lead 
Into their net, and smile to see them bleed ; 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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I '.III llirso Iht Gods luiuk', ;iiul Uiishaiul maile theo 
Who wilt not speak one littlo word to luu." 

'I'licii IVoiu the inmye did ho draw aliack 
'I'o g;i/A' uu it throiigli tuars ; and you llad said, 
Kc'gariliiig it, that little ilid it lack 
To bo a living and most lovely maid ; 
Naked it was, its unbound looks wore laid 
Over the lovely shoulders; with one hand 
Reaehed out, as to a lover, did it stand. 

Tlie dllici' belli a lair roso ovor-blown ; 
Nu smili' was un the' i)arted lijis, tho eyes 
Seemed as il' oven now great love had shown 
Unto tliem something of its sweet surjiriso, 
Yet saddened them with hall'-seen mysteries. 
And still midst passion maiden-like she soeniod, 
As though of love unchanged for aye she dreamed. 

lieproachfuUy beholding all her grace, 
I'ygnialion stood, until he grew dry-eyed. 
And tlieu at last ho turneil away liis face 
As if I'roni her cold oyi'S his grief to hide ; 
.\Hd thus a weary while did ho abide. 
With nothing in his heart but vain desire, 
The iver-buniing, unconsuming fire. 

Xo word indeed the moveless imago said. 
But with tho sweet grave eyes his hands had 

wrought 
Still gazed down on his bowed imploring head ; 
Yet his own words some solace to him brought, 
(Ulding the net whoroin his soul was caught 
With something like to hope, and all tiuit day 
Some tender words ho ovor founil to say ; 

And still ho i'clt as sonu>thing heard him speak; 
Sometimes he jjraised her beauty, and somoliui 
Koproachod her in a feeble voice and weak. 
And at tho last drew foi'th a book of rliynws, 
Wherein were writ the tales of many climes. 
And read aloud the sweetness hid therein 
0( lovers' sorrows and their tangled sin. 

And wIlcii the sun went down, the frankincense 
Again upon the altjir-llauie he cast 
That through tho open window floating thence 
O'er the fresh odors of the garden passed ; 
And so another day was gone at last, 
And he no more his lovelorn watch could keep, 
lint now for utter weariness iiuist sleep. 

But tlie nextuuirn, e'en whilethe ini'cnse-smoke 
At sunrising curled round about her head. 
Sweet sound of songs the wonted ipiiet broke 
nown in the street, and he, by something led. 
He knew not what, uuist leave liis ju-ayer unsaid, 
.■\ud through the freshness of the morn must see 
Tho folk who went with that sweet minstrelsy ; 



Damsels and youths in woiulerfnl attire, 
And in their midst upon a car of gold 
An image of the Mother of Desire, 
Wrought by his hands in days that seemed grown 

old. 
Though those sweet limbs a garment did enfold, 
Colored like llamo, enwrought with precious 

things, 
Most fit to be the prize of striving kings. 

Tlieu he romombored that the nuiuner was 
That I'air-clad jiriests the lovely CJueeu shouldtake 
Thrice in tho year, and through the city pass. 
And with sweet songs tho dreaming folk awake ; 
And through tho clouds a light there seemed to 

break 
When he remembered all the tales well told 
About her glorious kindly deeds of old. 

So his unfinished prayer he finished nut, 
But, kneeling, ouco more kissed the marble fi'ct, 
And, while his Iioart with many thoughts \va.\ed 

hot. 
He clad himself with fresh attire and meet 
For that bright service, and with blossoms sweet 
Entwined with tender leaves he crowned his head. 
And followed after as the goddess led. 

.So tliere he stood, that help from her to gain, 
Bewihha'cd by that twilight midst of day ; 
Downc'ast with listening to the joyous strain 
He hud no part in, hopeless with delay 
Of all the fair things he had meant to say : 
Yet, as the incense on the llame ho east. 
From stammering lips and jialo these words there 
passed, - 

" O thou forgotten lielp, dost thou yet know 
What thing it is I need, when even I, 
Bent down before thee in this shame ami woo, 
Can I'rame no sot of words to tell thee why 
1 needs must pray, O hell) ""' *"' ' ^^^^ • 
Or slay me, and in slaying take from me 
Kven a dead man's feeble memory. 

Yet soon, indeed, before his door ho stood, 
And, as a num awaking from a dream. 
Seemed waked from his old folly ; naught seemed 

good 
In all tho things that ho before had doomed 
At least worth life, and on his heart there streamed 
Cold light of day, — he found himself alone, 
lleft of desire, all love and nnuiuoss gone. 

Thus to his chamber at the last he came. 
And, pushing through the still half-opened door, 
Ho stood within ; but there, for very shame 
Of all the things that he had done before. 
Still kept his eyes bent down upon the floor, 



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Thinking of all that he haj done and said 
Since he had wrought that luck less marble maid. 

Yet soft his thoughts were, and the very place 
Seemed perfumed with some nameless heavenly ail'. 
So gaining courage, did he raise his face 
Unto the work his hands had made .so fair, 
And cried aloud to sec the niche all bare 
Of that sweet form, while through liis heart again 
There shot a pang of his old yearning pain. 

Yet while he stood, and knew not what to do 
With yearning, a strange thrill of hope there came, 
A shaft of new desire now pierced liim through, 
And therewithal a soft voice called his name. 
And when he turned, with eager eyes aflame. 
He saw betwi.xt him and the setting sun 
The lively image of his loved one. 

He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes, 
Hirr very lips, were such a.s he had made. 
And though her tresses fell but in such guise 
As he had wrought them, now was she arrayed 
In that fair gannent that the priests had laid 
l-'pon the goddess on that very morn, 
Dyed like the setting sun upon the corn. 

' Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear. 
Simple and sweet as she was wont to be, 
And once again her silver voice rang clear. 
Filling his soul with great felicity. 
And thus she spoke, "Wilt thou not come to me, 
dear companion of my new-fmind life, 
For I am called thy lover and thy wife ' " 

She reached her hand to him, and with kind 
eyes 
Gazed into his ; but he the fingers caught 
And drew her to him, a:id midst ecsta-sies 
Passing all words, yea, wellnigh passing thought. 
Felt that sweet breath that he so long had sought, 
Felt the warm life within her heaving breast 
.As in his arms his living love he pressed. 

But as his cheek touched hers he heard her say, 
"Wilt thou not speak, love? why dost thou 

weep ? 
Art thou then sorry for this long-wished day, 
Or dost thou think perchance thou wilt not keep 
This that thou boldest, but in dreamy sleep? 
Xay, let us do the bidding of the Queen, 
And liand in hand walk through thy garden 

green ; 

" Then shalt thou tell me, still beholding me. 
Full many things whereof I wish to know. 
And as we walk from whispering tree to tree 
Still more familiar to thee .shall I grow, 
And such things shalt thou say unto me now 



As when thou deemedst thou wast quite alone, 
A madman kneeling to a thing of stone." 

But at that word a smile lit up his eyes 
And therewithal he spake some loving word, 
And she at first looked up in grave suiprise 
When his deep voice and musical she heard. 
And clung to him as somewhat grown afeard ; 
Then cried aloud and said, "O mighty one ! 
What joy with thee to look upon the sun ! " 

Then into that fair garden did they pass, 
And all the story of Ids love he told. 
And as the twain went o'er tlie dewy grass. 
Beneath the risen moon could he behohl 
The bright tears trickling down, then, wa.'cen 

bold, 
He stopped and said, "Ah, love, what meaneth 

this ? 
Seest thou how tears still follow earthly bliss !" 

Then both her white arms round his neck she 
threw. 
And sobbing said, "O love, what hurteth me ? 
When first the sweetness of my life I knew, 
Xot this I felt, but when I lirst saw thee 
A little pain and great felicity 
Hose up within me, and thy talk e'en now 
Made pain and pleasure ever greatei- grow." 

" sweet," he said, "this thing is even love, 
Whereof I told thee ; that all wise men fear. 
But yet escape not ; nay, to gods above. 
Unless the old tales lie, it draweth near. 
But let my happy ears, I pray tln-e, licar 
Thy story too, and how thy lilesse<l birth 
Has made a heaven of this once lonely earth." 

" My sweet," she said, "as yet I am not wise. 
Or stored with words, aright the tale to tell. 
But listen : when I opened first mine eyes 
1 stood within the niche thou knowcst well. 
And from mine hand a heavy thing there fell 
Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things 

clear, 
And but a strange confused noise could hear. 

" At last mine eyes could see a woman fair. 
But awful as this round white moon o'erhead, 
.So that I trembled when I saw her there. 
For with my life was bom some touch of dread. 
And therewithal I heard her voice that said, 
' Come down, and learn to love and be alive, 
For thee, a well-prized gift, to-day I give. ' 

"Then on the floor I stepped, rejoicing much, | 
Not knowing why, not knowing aught at all. 
Till she reached out her hand my brea.st to touch. 
And when her fingers thereupon did fall, J 

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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Tliouglit came unto my life, and therewithal 

I knew Iier for a goddess, and hegaii 

To niurnuir in some tongue unknown to man. 

" iVnd then indeed m)t in lliis guise was I. 
No sandals had 1, and no safl'ron gown, 
But naked as thou knowest utterly, 
lO'en as my limbs beneath thine hand had grown, 
And this fair ])erl'umed robe then fell adown 
(.)ver the goddess' feet and swept the ground, 
And round her loins a glittering belt was bound. 

" I'ut when the stammering of my tongue she 
heard 
Upon my trembling lips her hand slie laid, 
Anil spoke again, ' Nay, say not any word. 
All that thine heart would say I know unsaid. 
Who even now thine heart and voice have made ; 
But listen rather, for thou knowest now 
What those words mean, and still wilt wiser grow. 

'"Thy body, lifeless till 1 gave it life, 
A certain man, my servant, well hath wrought, 
I give thee to him as his love and wife, 
With all thy dowry of desire and thought, 
Since this his yearning heart hath ever sought ; 
Now from my temple is he on the way. 
Deeming to find thee e'en as yesterday ; 

" ' Bide thou his coming by the bed-head there. 
And wdieu thou seest him set his eyes upon 
Thine empty niche, and hear'st him (n-y for care. 
Then call him by his mmie, Pygmalion, 
And certainly thy lover hast thou won ; 
But when ho stands before thee silently. 
Say all these words that I shall teach to thee.' 

' ' With that she said what first I told thee, love. 
And then went on, ' Moreover thou shalt say 
That 1, the daughter of almighty Jove, 
Have wrought for him this long-desired day ; 
1 n sign whereof, these things that pass away. 
Wherein mine image men have well arrayed, 
I give thee for thy wedding gear, maid. ' 

" Tlicn witli lirr i.iiinent she put off from her, 
And Ini.l bare »U lirr perfect loveliness, 
And, smiling on me, came yet more anear. 
And on my mortal li]is her lips did [u-ess. 
And said, ' Now herewith shalt thou love no less 
Than Psyche loved my son in days of old ; 
Karewell, of thee shall many a tale be told.' 

" And cvin with that last word was she gone, 
Mow, 1 know not, and I my limbs arrayed 
In her fair gifts, and waited thee alone — 
Ah, love, indeed the word is true she said. 
For now I love thee so, 1 gi-ow afraid 



Of what the gods upon our heads may send — 
I love thoe so, I think upon the end." 

What words ho .said ? How can 1 tell again 
What words they said beneath the glimmering 

liglit, 
Some tongue they used unknovm to loveless men 
As each to each they told their great delight. 
Until for stillness of the growing night 
Their soft sweet murmuring words seemed grow- 
ing loud. 
And dim the moon grew, hid by fleecy cloud. 



The gray sea, and the long black land ; 
And the yellow half-moon large and low ; 
And the startled little waves, that leap 
In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
And quench its speed in the slushy sand. 

Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach ; 

Three fields to cross, till a farm appears : 

A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 

And blue spurt of a lighted match. 

And a voice less loud, through its joys ami fears, 

Than the tw'o hearts, beating each to each. 

ROUHRT HKOWNINC. 



A MAIDEN WITH A MILKING-PAIL. 



What change has made the pastures sweet, 
And reached the daisies at my feet, 

And (doud that wears a golden hem ? 
This lovely world, the hills, the sward, — 
They all look fresh, as if our Lord 

Hut yesterday had finished them. 

And here 's the field with light aglow ; 
How fresh its boundary lime-trees show ! 

And how its wet leaves trembling shino ! 
Between their trunks come through to me 
The morning .sparkles of the sea. 

Below the level browzing line. 

I see the pool, more clear by half 
Than ])ools where other waters laugh 

Up at the breasts of coot and rail. 
There, as she passed it on her way, 
I saw reflected yesterday 

A maiden with a milking-pail. 



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There neither slowly nor in haste, — 
One hand upon her slender waist, 

Tlie other lifted to her jiail, — 
She, rosy in the morning light, 
Among the water-daisies white. 

Like some fair slooj) appeared to sail. 

Against her ankles as she trod 
The lucky huttei-i:ups did nod : 

I leaneil upon the gate to see. 
The sweet thing looked, but did not speak ; 
A dimple came in either cheek. 

And all my lieart was gone from me. 

Then, as I lingereil on the gate. 
And she eame up like coming fate, 

I saw my picture in her eyes, — 
Clear dancing eyes, moi'e black than sloes I 
Cheeks like the mountain pink, that gi'ows 

Among white-headed majesties ! 

I saiil, " A tale was made of old 
That 1 would fain to thee imfold : 

Ah I let me, — let me tell the tale." 
Bui high she held her comely head : 
" I cannot heed it now," she said, 

" For carrying of the milking-pail." 

She laughed. What good to make ado ? 
I held the gate, and she came through, 

And took her homeward path anon. 
From the clear pool her face had lied ; 
It rested on my heart instead, 

lietlected when the maid was gone. 

With happy youth, and work content, 
So sweet and stately, on she went. 

Right careless of the untold tale. 
Each step she took I loved her more, 
And followed to her dairy <loor 

The maiden with the milking-pail. 



For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, 
Plow fine, how blest a thing is work ! 

For work does good when reasons fail, — 
Good ; yet the ax at every stroke 
The echo of a name awoke, — 

Her name is Mary Martindale. 

I 'm glad that echo was not heard 
Aright by other men. A bird 

Knows doubtless what his own notes tell 
And 1 know not, — but I can say 
I felt as shamefaced all that day 

As if folks heard her nanjc ri'dit well. 



And when the west began to glow 

I went — I could not choose but go — 

To that same dairy on the hill ; 
And while sweet Mary moved about 
Within, 1 came to her without. 

And leaned upon the window-sill. 

The garden border where I stood 

Was sweet with pinks and southernwood. 

I spoke, — her answer seemed to fail. 
I smelt the [jinks, — I coidd not see ; 
The dusk came down and sheltered me ; 

And in the dusk she heard ray tale. 

And what is left that I should tell ? 
I begged a kiss, — 1 pleaded well : 

The rosebud lips did long decline ; 
r.ut yet, I think — I think 't is true — 
That, IciUied at last into the dew. 

One little instant they were mine ! 

life ! how dear thou hast become ! 
She laughed at dawn, and 1 was dumb ! 

But evening counsels best prevail. 
Fair .shine the blue that o'er her spread.s, 
Green be the pastures where she treads. 

The maiilen with the milking-pail 1 

JBAN I.VGELOW. 



THK MILKMAID'S SONG. 

Trr.N, turn, for my cheeks they bum, 

Tuni by the dale, my liany ! 
' Fill pail, fill pail, 

J le has turned by the dale. 

And there by the stile waits Harry. 
I Fill, fill. 

Fill pail, (ill, 

For there by the stile waits Harry ! 

The world may go round, the world may stand still. 

But I can milk and marry, 
I Fillpail, 

1 can milk and marry. 

I Wheugh, wheugh ! 
0, if we two 

Stood down there now \>y the water, 
I know who 'd carry me over the ford 
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord. 
Though I don't live over the water. 
Wheugh, wheugh ! he 's whistling through. 
He's whistling "The Fanner'.s Daughter." 
Give down, give down, 
My cnimpled brown ! 
He shall not take the road to the town, 
For I '11 meet him beyond the water. 
Give down, give down, 
.My crumpled brown ! 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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And send me to my Harry. 

The folk o' towns 

May have silken gowns, 

l!ut I can milk and marry, 

Filli-ail, 

1 can milk and marry. 

Wheugh, wlu-ugh ! he has whistled through, 

He has whistled throngh the water. 

Kill, fill, with a will, a will. 

For he 's whistled throngh the water. 

And he 's whistling down 

The way to the town. 

And it 's not " The Farmer's Daughter ! " 

Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer. 

The suu sets over the water, 

Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer, 

1 'm too late for my Harry ! 

And, 0, if he goes a-soldiering, 

The cows they may low, the bells they may ring 

Hut I '11 neither milk nor marry, 

Fillpail, 

Neither milk nor marry. 

My brow beats on thy Hank, FUlpail, 

Give down, good wench, give down ! 

I know the primrose bank, Filljiail, 

Between him and the town. 

Give doAvn, good wench, give down, Fillpail, 

iiul he shall not reach the town ! 

?train, strain ! he 's whistling again, 

He 's nearer by half a mile. 

Wore, more ! 0, never before 

Were you such a weary while ! 

Fill, fill ! he 's crossed the hill, 

I can see him down by the stile. 

He 's passed the hay, he 's coming this way. 

Ho 's coming to me, my Harry ! 

Ciive silken gowns to the Iblks o' towns. 

He 's coming to me, my Harry ! 

There 's not so grand a dame in the land. 

That she walks to-night with Harry ! 

Come late, come soon, come sun, come moon, 

O, I can milk and many, 

Fillpail, 

1 can milk and marry. 

Wheugh, wheugh ! he has whistled through. 

My Harry ! my lad ! my lover ! 

••■^et tlie sun and fall the dew. 

Heigh-ho, merry world, what's to do 

That you 're smiling over and over ? 

Up on the hill and down in the dale. 

Ami along the tree-tops over the vale 

Shining over and over. 

Low in the grass and high on the bough. 

Shining over and over, 

O world, have you ever a lover? 

You were so dull and cold just now. 



world, have you ever a lover ? 

1 could not see a leaf on the tree, 

And now I could count them, one, two, three. 

Count them over and over. 

Leaf I'rom leaf like lips apart. 

Like lips apart for a lover. 

And the hillside beats with my beating heart, 

.\nd the apple-tree blushes all over. 

And the May bough touched me and made me 

start. 
And the wind breathes warm like a lover. 

Pull, pull ! and the pail is full, 

And milking 's done and over. 

Who would not sit here under the tree ? 

What a fair fair thing 's a green field to see ! 

Brim, brim, to the rim, ah me ! 

I have set my jiail on the daisies ! 

It seems so light, — can the sun be set ? 

The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet. 

I could cry to have hurt the daisies ! 

Harry is near, Harry is near. 

My heart 's as sick as if he were here. 

My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet. 

He hasn't uttered a word as yet. 

But the air 's astir with his imiises. 

My Harry ! 

The air's astir with your praises. 

He has scaled the rock by the pi.xy's stone. 

He's among the kingcups — he picks me one, 

I love the grass that I tread upon 

When I go to my Harry ! 

He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the 

knowe. 
There 's never a faster foot I trow. 
But still he seems to tarry. 

Harry ! Harry ! my love, my pride. 
My heart is leaping, my arms are wide ! 
KoU up, roll up, you dull hillside, 

KoU up, and bring my Harry ! 

They nmy talk of glory over the sea. 

But Harry 's alive, and Harry 's for me. 

My love, my lad. my Harry ! 

Come spring, come winter, come sun, come snow. 

What cares Dolly, whether or no, 

While I can milk and marry ? 

Right or wrong, and wrong or right. 

Quarrel who quarrel, and fight who fight. 

But I '11 bring my pail home every night 

To love, aud home, and Harry ! 

AVe '11 drink our can, we '11 eat our cake. 

There 's beer in the barrel, there 's bread in the 

bake, 
The world may sleep, the world may wake. 
But I shall milk and marry. 
And marry, 

1 shall milk and marry. 



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AUF WIEDERSEHEN.* 

SUMMER. 

TuE little gate was reached at last, 
Half hid in lilacs down the lane ; 
She pushed it wide, and, as she past, 
A wistful look she backward cast, 
And said, " Auf wicderschen /" 

With hand on latch, a vision white 

Lingered reluctant, and again, 
Half doubting if she did aright. 
Soft as the dews that fell that niglit, 
She said, "Aufwiedcrsrheii:" 

Thi- lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair ; 

I linger in delicious pain ; 
Ah, in that chamber, whose i-ich air 
To breathe in thought 1 scarcely dare, 

Thinks she, " Auf viiedcrsehen I" 

'T is thirteen years : once more I press 

The turf that silences the lane ; 
I hear the rustle of her dress, 
1 smell the lilacs, and — ah yes, 
1 hear " Aiif wiulcrschcn ! " 

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art ! 

The English words had seemed too fain. 
But these — they drew us heai-t to lieart, 
Yet held us tenderly apart ; 

She said, "Auf wiedersehen ! " 

James Russell Lowe; 



SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES. 

I GREW assured, Ijefore I asked. 

That she 'd be mine without reserve, 
And in her unclaimed graces basked 

At leisure, till the time should serve, — 
With just enough of dread to thrill 

The hope, and make it trebly dear ; 
Thus loath to speak the word, to kill 

Either the hope or happy fear. 

Till once, through lanes returning late. 

Her laughing sisters lagged behind ; 
And ere we reached her father's gate. 

We paused with one presentient mind: 
And, in the dim and perfumed mist 

Their coming stayed, who, blithe and free. 
And very women, loved to assist 

A lover's opportunity. 

Twice rose, twice died, my trembling word ; 

To faint and frail cathedral chimes 
Spake time in music, and we heard 

The chafers rustling in the limes. 

• Till we meet again ; like au revotr in French. 



Her dress, that touched me where I stood ; 

The warmth of her confided arm ; 
Her bosom's gentle neighborhood ; 

Her pleasure in her power to charm ; 

Her look, her love, her form, her touch ! 

The least seemed most by blissful turn, 

Ulissful but that it pleased too much, 

And taught the wayward .soul to yearn. 
It was as if a harp with wires 

Was traversed by the breath I drew ; 
And 0, sweet meeting of desires ! 

She, answering, ownied that slie loved too. 

COVENTRY I'ATMORE. 

ZARA'S EAR-RINGS. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

'My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they 'vc dropt into 
the well. 

And what to say to Mu(;a, I cannot, cannot tell. " 

'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albu- 
harez' daughter, — 

"The well is deep, fardown they lie, beneath -he 
cold blue water. 

To me did Mucjagive them, when he sjiakc lii^ ,ad 
farewell, 

And what to say when he comes back, alas! 1 can- 
not tell. 

" Jly car-rings ! my ear-rings ! they were pearls 

in silver .set, 
Tliat wlieu my Moor was far away, I ne'er should 

him tbrget. 
That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smili^ 

on other's tale. 
But remember he my lips had kissed, piireas those 

ear-rings pale. 

When he comes back, andhears that lhavedropi)ed 
them in the well, 

0, what will Mu9athinkof me, I cannot, cannot tell. 

" My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! he '11 say tliey 
should have been, 
j Not of pearl and silver, but of gold and glittering 
i sheen, 

Of jasperandofonyx, andofdiamoiid.shiningclear, 
Changing to the changing light, with radiance 

insincere ; 
That changeful mind unchanging gems are not 

befitting well, — 
Thus will he think, — and what to say, alas ! I can- 
not tell. 

"He'll think when I to market went I loitered by 

the way ; 
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads 

might say ; 



-^ 



^- 



f^ 



V20 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



— *-tl 



U- 



Ho "11 lliink soiuo oUvov lovi>i''s liaiul, ;>mi>uj; my 
t\x\<sos iu»v<oil, 

Kwiu tlio rill's wluMV ho Usui jiltu'inl thorn iny rings 
of [wivl ui>KH>soii ; 

llo '11 think whon I was spoilinj; so Invsido this 
nnu'Wo woU. 

My jHHii'ls loll in, !«n>i what to Siiv, silasl 1 can- 
not toll. 

■■llo'lls)>y 1 rtiuawotnan, andwoaivall thos;nno; 
Ho "11 say 1 IovxhI whon ho was hoiv to whisi«>v of 

his lliinto, — 
Unt whon ho wont to Tunis niy vii'gin twtlt had 

hiMkon, 
And thoiij'ht no nioiv ot' Xlu\-a, an>l oaivil not fov 

his tokou. 
Mv ««--vi«^ ! jnv OiU'-riit^ ! 0. luokloss, Inokloss 

woU ! 
For what to say to Mu\'i>, tvks ! I oannot toll. 

" 1 '11 toll tho truth to Mnija, ami 1 hojH> ho will 

Miovo 
That 1 'vo thought of hint at tnorning. and 

thvxight of him at ovo ; 
That musing on my lovor, whon dowit tho sun w!«s 

gono. 
His <>j>r-rings in my hand I hold, hy the fountain 

all aloiu> ; 
.\ndthat my miudwits o'or tho sort, whon ftvm tuy 

hand thoy toll, 
Andthat doophis lovo lios in my h<\>rt, as thoy lio 

in tho woU. " 

,lonN i;n'.s\"»N lovkhakt. 



•O SWAILOW. SWALLOW, FLYINO SOirTH." 

l-K».VM " V»V. VRINv-KSS." 

" SwAi.i.OW, SwiUlow, Hying, living South, 
Fly to hor, and fall ujHUt hor jj'ldoil oaws. 
And toll hor, toll hov what 1 toll to tlioo. 

"ll toll hor. Sw)vllow, thou that knowx\<!t oaoli. 
That hright Mid liorvv and tioklo is tho South, 
And dark and true and tondor is tho North. 

"0 Swiilhw, Sw!illv>w, if I ivnld follow arid 
light 
I'jHMi hor lattivw 1 would jujw ami trill. 
And oluvp and twittor twonty million lo\"<>s, 

■•0 wor»> 1 thvm that sho might tako mo in. 
And lay mo on hor Kv<oin, and hor hoart 
Would r\H-k tho snowy oradlo till 1 dioil ! 

•• Why lingojioth sho to olotho hor hoart with 
lo>\>, 
IVlayiiig ,^s tho toiidor sish dolaj-s 
I'o olotho horsolf, whon all tho wovvls aro grxvn ? 



"0 toll hor, Swallow, that thy hivod is llowu. 
Say to hor, 1 do but wanton in tho South, 
Uut in tho North long siiioo my nost is mado. 

"l^ toll hor. hriof is lifo, hut lovo is long. 
And hriof tho sun of summor in tho Norlli, 
And hriof tho moon of Iwiuty in tho Snutli, 

" Swallow, Hying fiMiu tho goldon womls. 
Fly to hor, and iiipo and woo hor, and mako hrt 

mino. 
And toll hor, tell hor, that 1 I'oUow thoo." 

AU-Kltl> TKXNTOON. 



'ASK ME NO MORK." 



TKOM "TlIK I'RINOIISS-" 

Ask mo no moro : tho moon may ditiw tho so« ; 
Tho olond may stoop fivm hoavon and tako 

tho shaiH', 
With fold to told, of nuninlain or of oaju* ; 
Ihlt, Otoo I'ond ! whon havo I answoivvl thoo! 
Ask mo no moro. 

Ask mo no moiv : w hat auswor should I givo ) 
I lovo not hollow ohook or fadoil oyo ; 
Yot, my iVioud, I will not havo thoo dio ! 

Ask mo no moiv, lost 1 should hid llnv livi- ; 
Ask mo no moiv. 

Ask tno no moiv : thy fato and mino aiv sojiUhI : 
I strovo against tho stivtuu, tuid all in vain : 
l^'t tho giwit rivor tako mo to tho main : 
No moro, d«U' lovo, for at a tonoh 1 yiold ; 
Ask mo no moiw 

ALKRUO Tknnvson. 



ATHVl.F AXP irmu.fA. 

Atiivi.v. . . . Ai>jvai\>d 

Tho prinooss with that niorry ohild Trinoo l',uy 
Ho lovos mo woll, and mado hor stop and sit. 
And Silt nnon hor knoo, and it so ohaiKwl 
That in his \-;irious ohattor ho doniivd 
That 1 oould hold his hand within my own 
So olos»>ly as to hido it : this Iwing trio<l 
AVas piMvotl iigainst him ; ho insistwl thou 
I Ov^nld not hy his ivyal sistor's hand 
T>o likowiso. Starting at tho random woi\l. 
And dumh with tiv|>idatioii, thoiv 1 stivnl 
Sonio s<H.HMids as Ivwitohwl : thon I hnikwl ujv 
And in hor fai-o Ivhold an orient flnsh 
Of half-howilder»\l pleasure : from whieh tranet 
She with <ui instant oiiso ivsninwl herst>lf. 
And fmnkly, with a pletistuit laugh, hold out 
Her arrvwy hand. 

1 thought it tivinWeil as it lay in mine, 
Hut vet her Uvks were oh\>r, dirxx-t, and five. 



•4 



[&-- 



LOVE. 



121 



^ 



And said that ubc felt nothing. 

fillJliix:. And wJiat ff;lt'»t thou ? 

Atjici.f, a fiort of (iwarmiiig, curling, tremu- 

louB tumbling, 
As though ther<; were an ant-hill in my lx>«om. 
I Hnid I wafi aximJiifA. — SHroc, you smile, 
If at my folly, well ! But if you fcmile, 
Su^picioufi of a taint ujKin my Iwairt, 
Wide hi your error, and you never lovi^I. 

Hl;M<y TAVt/JR. 



h 



HETV'EN TIMES THEEE. 

i/r/E. 

1 LEAXKn out of window, I smelt the whit<; cbver, 
Dark, <iark was the garden, I i>aw not the gaVr ; 
"Xow, if there be f'xit«te[«, li* i-'juum, my one 
lover — 
Hujih, nightingale, hush ! sweet nightin- 
gale, wait 
Till I listen and hear 
If a (Step draweth near. 
For my love he in lat« ! 

"The skies in the darkness stAXip n'sirer and 
nearer, 

A ';lu*t«r of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, . 
The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : 

To what art thou listftniug, and what do*t thou 

I>;t the Ktar-duKtcrs glow, 
Let the «we«t waters (low, 
And cross (juickly to me. 

" You night-rnoths that hover where honey brims 
over 
From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; 
You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway dis- 
cover 
To him that cjmes darkling along the rough 
steep. 
Ah, my sailor, make has-te, 
For the time runs to wa*-te, 
And my love lieth deep, — 

"Too deep for swift telling ; and yet, my one lover, 
I 're cjnned thee an answer, it waits thee to- 
night." 
By the sycamore jiasse'i he, and through the white 
clover ; 
Then all the sweet speech I ha/1 fashioned took 
flight; 
But 1 '11 love him more, more 
Tlian e'er wife loved >>efore. 
Be the days dark or bright. 

JEAJC IKGELOW, 



FATIMA AXD EADCAK, 

FfcOM IHk. 6FAKISM. 



" Fausb diamond s":! in flint I liard h':«irt in 

liaughty breast ! 
Byasfjfter, warmer bosom the tigcr'scouch is prest. 
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as 

the win'l. 
And the restless ever-mounting (lame i* not more 

hard to bin<L 
If the tears I shcl were tongues, yet all to*/ few 

would 1/e 
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown 

t/t me. 
Oh ! I could chide theesharidy, — but every maiden 

knows 
Tliat she who chides her lover forgives him ere 

he goes. 

"Thou hast called me oft tlie flower of all Ora- 

naila's maids. 
Thou hast said that by the side of me the 6r?t and 

fairest fa/ies ; 
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it 

seemwl to every one 
TIjat wliat tiifiu d'ulst Ui win my h/ve, for love of 

me was done. 
Alas ; if they l>ut knew thee, as mine it is to know, 
Tliey well might see another mark to which thine 

arrows go ; 
But thou giv'st little hee*!, — for I si<eak to one 

who knows 
That she who chides her lover forgives him ere 

he goes. 

"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep 

and Vjear 
\S'hat fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my 

own with care. 
Tliou art leagued with those that hate me, and 

ah ! thou know'st I feel 
That cruel wopis as surely kill as sharpest bla/les 

of steel. 
'T was the doubt that thou wert false that wrung 

my heart with pain ; 
But, now I knowthy perfidy, I shall be well again. 
I would proclaim thee as thou art — but every 

maiden knows 
Tliat she who chides her lover forgives him ere 

he goes." 

Thus Fatima complain«<l to the valiant Eaduan, 

Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's foun- 
tains ran : 

The Moor was inly mo ve*!, and blameless as he was. 

He took her white hand in his own, and plea;le<l 
thus his cause : 



f 



122 



I'OE.VS OF LOVE. 



-a 



u 



" lady, dry thosu star-like eyes, — their dim- 
ness does me wrong ; 

If my heart be made of Hint, at least 't will keep 
thy image long ; 

Thou hast uttered cruel words, — but I grieve the 
less for those. 

Since she who chides hor lover forgives him ere 
he t;oes." 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 

Mkllow the moonlight to shine is beginning ; 
Close by the window young Eileen is spinning ; 
Bent o'er the tire, her blind grandmother, sitting. 
Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily kiut- 

ting, — 
" Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." 
"'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass 

flapping." 
" Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 
"'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer 

wind dying." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot 's 

stirring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 
Thrills tlie sweet voice of the voung maiden siug- 



" What 's that noise that I hoar at the window, 
I wonder ! " 

"'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush 
under. " 

" What makes you be shoving and moving your 
stool on, 

And singing all wrong that old song of 'The 
Coolun' ? " 

There's a fonn at the casement, — the form of 
her true-love, — 

And he whispers, with face bent, " I 'm waiting 
for you, love ; 

Get up on the stool, through the lattice step 
lightly, 

We '11 rove in the grove while the moon 's shin- 
ing brightly." 

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring. 

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot 's 
stirring ; 

Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 

Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden sing- 
ing. 

The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fin- 
gers. 

Steals np from her seat, — longs to go, and yet 
linsjers ; 



A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grand- 
mother, 

Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with 
the other. 

Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; 

Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound ; 

Noiseless and light to the lattice above her 

The maid steps, — then leaps to the arms of her 
lover. 

Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel 
swings ; 

Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ; 

Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and 
moving. 

Through the grove the young lovers by moon- 
light are roving. 

JOHN FRA.NCIS WALLLK. 



A SPINSTER'S STINT. 

Six skeins and three, six skeins and three ! 

Good mother, so you stinted me, 

And here they be, — ay, six and three ! 

Stop, busy wheel ! stop, noisy wheel ! 
Long shadows down my chamber steal. 
And warn me to make haste and reel. 

'T is done, — the spinning work complete ; 

heart of mine, what makes you beat 
So fa.st and sweet, so fast and sweet ? 

1 must have wheat and pinks, to stick 
My hat from brim to ribbon, thick, — 
Slow hands of mine, be quick, be quick ! 

One, two, three stars along the skies 
Begin to wink their golden eyes, — 
I '11 leave my thread all knots and ties. 

moon, so red ! moon, so red ! 
Sweetheart of night, go straight to bed ; 
Love's light will answer in your stead. 

A-tiptoe, beckoning me, he st.-mds, — 
Stop trembling, little foolish hands. 
And stop the bands, and stop the bands ! 



SOMEBODY. 

Somebody 's courting somebody 
Somewhere or other to-night ; 
Somebody 's whispering to somebody, 
Somebody 's listening to somebody. 
Under this clear moonlight. 



-J-. 



LOVE. 



— R-, 

123 



Near the bright river's flow, 
Kunning so still and slow, 
Talking so soft and low, 
She sits with somebody. 

Pacing the ocean's shore, 
Edged by the foaming roar, 
Words never used before 
Sound sweet to somebody. 

Under the maple-tree 
Deep though the shadow be, 
Plain enough they can see, 
Bright eyes has somebody. 

No one sits up to wait. 
Though she is out so late, 
All know she 's at the gate. 
Talking with somel>ody. 

Tijjtoe to parlor door, 
Two shadows on the floor, 
Moonlight, reveal no more, 
Susy and somebody. 

Two, sitting side by side, 
Tloat with the ebbing tide, 
" Thus, dearest, may we glide 
Through life," says somebody. 

Somewhere, somebody 
Makes love to somebody 
To-night. 

ANO.N"YMOfS. 

THE MISTRESS. 

If he 's capricious, she '11 be so ; 

But, if his duties constant are, 
She lets her loving favor glow 

As steady as a tropic star. 
Appears there naught for which to weep. 

She '11 weep for naught for his dear sake ; 
She cla.sps her sister in her sleep ; 

Her love in dreams is most awake. 
Her soul, that once with pleasure shook 

Did any eyes her beauty own. 
Now wonders how they dare to look 

On what belongs to him alone. 
The indignity of taking gifts 

E.'ihQarates her loving breast ; 
A rapture of submission lifts 

Her life into celestial rest. 
There 's nothing left of what she was, — 

Back to the babe the woman dies ; 
And all the wisdom that she has 

Is to love him for being wise. 
She 's confident because she fears ; 

And, though discreet when he 's away. 
If none but her dear despot hears, 

She '11 prattle like a child at play. 



Percliauce, when all her prai.se is said. 

He tells the news, — a battle won — 
On either side ten thousand dead, — 

Describing how the whole was done : 
She thinks, " He 's looking on my lace ! 

I am his joy ; whatc'er I do. 
He sees such time-contenting grace 

In that, he 'd have me always so ! " 
And, evermore, for cither's sake, 

To the sweet folly of the dove 
She joins the cunning of the snake, 

To rivet and exalt his love. 
Her mode of candor is deceit ; 

And what she thinks from what she '11 say 
(Although I '11 never call her cheat) 

Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. 
Without his knowledge he was won, 

Against his nature kept devout ; 
She '11 never tell him how 't was done. 

And he will never find it out. 
If, sudden, he suspects her wiles. 

And hears her forging chain and trap. 
And looks, — she sits in simple smiles. 

Her two hands lying in her lap : 
Her secret (privilege of the Bard, 

Whose fancy is of either sex) 
Is mine ; but let the darkness guard 

Mysteries that light would more perplex. 
Coventry I'atmore. 



BONNIE WEE THING. 

BoxxiE wee thing ! cannie wee thing ! 

Lovely wee thing ! wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 
Wishfully I look, and languish. 

In that lx>nnie face o' thine ; 
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit and grace, and love and beauty. 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee Is my duty. 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing. 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom. 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 

ROBERT BL'R.VS 



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEAKIKG 
YOrNG CHARMS. 

BELiEVEme, if all those endearing young charms. 
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day. 

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms. 
Like fair}--gifts fading away. 



-^ 



a- 



124 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



ft 



k 



'I'luHi u,.iiM.st, Hlill Ik' a.lomi, us Has niuMirnt llioii 
ml, 

Li'l lliy Iiivi^liiii'ss rude as it will, 
Ami liioiunl llir (luiir mill eiicli wisli of my lu'iirt 

WiuiKI I'Mlwiiu^ itsolf voi-iliilitly still. 

II is iiol wliilr hrauly and youth aro tliiiu^ own, 

Ami lliy ( lirckH uii|irolUiiod by a tear, 
riial I lir I.I v.T and liiilli of a soul may bo known, 

'I'u «liic li liiiic will but nuikc thee more dear! 
(I, the Ilea It lliat has truly loved never I'orgcts, 

Hut as truly loves on to the eloso, 
As the Nunllower turns to her f;od when he sets 

The same l(,oU which she turned wluMi lu' rose ! 



THE SLEEPING HEAUTY. 

I'KOM "TUU UAV DUltAM." 

\ \',,\\i after year unto licr feet, 

She lying on her eoueh alone, 
Across tlui imrple eoverlel. 

The nuiiden's jet-black hair has grown ; 
On either side her Iram-ed form 

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ; 
The shuiili'rous light is rich and warm, 

And moves iiol on Ihc n.nndcd curl. 

The silk slur-broidcrcd cvcrli.l 

Unto her limbs itscli ,l,.|li mould, 
Languidly ever ; niul imud 

Ib^r full black ringlels, downward rolled, 
(ilows forth each softly shiLdowed arm, 

Willi bracelets of Ihe diamond bright. 
Her constant bcauly dulli inform 

Stillness Willi love, and day wllh light. 

She sleeps | her breathings are not heard 

In palace ehanibors far apart. 
The fragrant tresses are not stirred 

That lie uiion her eharmed heart. 
She sleeps ; on either hand njiswells 

The golddVinged pillow lightly piest ; 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 

.\ iicrfecl form ill perfect rest. 



THE REVIVAL OF THE "SLEEPrNQ BEAUTY.' 

1 k(tM •••rilH OAV OKHAM." 

A ToiUMl, a kiss I (ho eharm was sna]it. 

There roao n noise of striking idocks ; 
And feet that ran, and doors that elapt, 

.\nd barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; 
A fuller light illumined alt ; 

.\ breeze through all the garden swept; 
A sudden hubbub shook the hall ; 

Ami sixty feet the fountain leapt. 



The hedge broke in, the banner Vilew, 

The butler drank, the steward serawlcil, 
The lire shot up, the martin Hew, 

The parrot .scii^amcd, the peacock s.padlcd ; 
The maid and page renewed their strife ; 

The palace banged, iind buzzed, ami <lackt; 
Ami all the long-pent stream of life 

Dashed clownward in a cataract. 

And last of all Ihc king awoke. 

And in his chair himself npreared. 
And yawned, and rubbed his face, ami spoke; 

" liy holy rood, a royal beard I 
How say you ( we have slejit, my lonls ; 

My beard has grown into my lap." 
'I'lic barons swore, with many words, 

'T was but an after-dinner's na]i. 

"I'ardy!" returned the king, " but still 

My joints are soniething stilf or so. 
My lord, ami shall we pass the bill 

I mentioned half an hour ago?" 
The chancellor, .sedate and vain. 

In courteous words retnrneil rejily ; 
lint dallied with his golden chain. 

And, smiling, jiut tlie question by. 

Al.l'KCD TaN.NVSON, 



Ami on her lover's arm she leant, 

.\iid louiid her waist she felt il fold ; 
And far acro.ss the hills they went 

In that new world which is the old. 
Across ihe hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
And di'c|i into the dying day, 

Tlu' happy princess folhiwc.l him. 

" 1 'd sleep another huudivd years, 

O love, for such another kiss !" 
"(), wake forever, love," she hears, 

" O love, 't was such as this and this." 
And o'er them many a sliding star, 

And many a merry wind was borne. 
And, streamed through many a golden bar, 

The twilight mdlcd into ninni. 

" O eyes long laid in laqipy sleep !" 

"(V happy sleep, that lightly lied!" 
"0 liajipy kiss, that woke thy .sleep!" 

"O love, thy kiss would wake the dead! 
And o'er them many a llowing range 

Of vapor buoyeil the crescent Iwrk ; 
And, rapt through many a rosy change, 

The twilight died into the dark. 



^ 



LOVE. 



125 



-a 



"A Imnilred sumiiiers! can it ha! 

And wIiillRT goc-st thou, tell me where !" 
" (», si'i-k my lUlhci's court with me, 

i'or IhiTi' arc greater woiidera there." 
And o'er the hills, and far away 

Uryond their utmost purple rim, 
IJcyonil the nif,'lit, aeross the day, 

Thr..u;^h all the worlil she followed him. 

ALIfRKD TENNYSON. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



St. Aoxes' Eve, —ah, bitti-i' .Ijill it was! 

I'lic owl, for all liis fcather.s, was a-eold ; 

'I'lie haro limpe<l trembling through the frozen 

grass, 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
Numb were the beadsman's lingers while lie told 
His rosary, and wliile his frosted breath. 
Like pious incense from a censer old, 
.Sccmeil taking llight for heaven witliout a death, 
I'ast the sweet virgin's pii;tur<', while his [Mayer 

hi, sailh. 

II. 
His prayer ho .saith, this patient, holy man ; 
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, 
And liai'k rcturneth, meagre, barefoot, wan. 
Along the chapel aisle by slow di'grees ; 
The sculptured dead, on eatdi side seemed tofreeze, 
Imprisoiicil in black, purgatorial rails; 
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orafrics. 
He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails 
Tolliinkhowtheyniayache in icyhoodsand mails. 



Northw.ard he turneth tlirough a little door. 
And scarce three steps, ere music's golden tongue 
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor ; 
But no, — already had his deatli-bell rung ; 
The joys of all his life were .said and sung ; 
His was harsh ponance on St. Agues' Kve ; 
Another way he went, and soon among 
Ivoiigh ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kept awake, for situujrs' sake to 
giieve. 

IV. 

Tliat ancient beadsman heard tin: prelude soft : 
And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, 
from hurry to and fro. Soon, uj) aloft. 
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide ; 
■fhe level chambers, ready with their pride. 
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests ; 
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed. 
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests. 
With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise 
on their breasts. 



At length burst in the argent revelry, 
With plume, tiara, and all rich array. 
Numerous as shadows haunting ('airily 
The brain, new-stu(fed, in youth, with triumphs 

gay 

Of old romance. The.se let us wish away ; 
And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady there. 
Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day. 
On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly care, 
As she had heard old dames full many limes de- 
clare. 

VI. 

They told her how, u]«m St. Agnes' Kve, 
Young virgins might have visions of delight. 
And soft adorings from their loves receive 
Upon the honeyed middle of the night, 
If ceremonies due they did aright ; 
As, supperless to bed they must retire. 
And couch supine their beauties, lily white ; 
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but rcc|uire 
Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they 
.Icsire. 

VII. 
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline ; 
The music, yearning like a god in pain. 
She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine, 
Fi.ved on the floor, saw many a swee|jing train 
Pass by, — she heeded not at all ; in vain 
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 
And back retired, not cooled by high disdain. 
But she saw not ; her heart was otherwhere ; 
She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the 



She danced along with vague, regardless eyes. 
Anxious her lips, her breathing ([uick and short ; 
The hallowed hour was near at hand ; she sighs 
.\mid the timbrels, and the thronged resort 
Of whi.sperers in anger, or in sport ; 
Hid looks of love, defiance, hate, and si;orn. 
Hoodwinked with fairy fancy ; all amort 
Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, 
.■Vuil all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. 



So, pui-jmsing each moment to retire, 
Slie lingered still. Meantime, across the moors. 
Had come young Porpliyro, with heart on fire 
I'Vjr .Madeline. Beside the portal doors, 
I'uttressed from moonlight, stands he, and im- 
plores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline ; 
But for one moment in the tcilious hours. 
That he might gaze and worship all unseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss, — in sooth 
such things have been. 



-ff 



126 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



--i^ 



He veutures in ; let no buzzed wliis|)ei- tell ; 
All eyes be iiiullled, or n hundred swords 
Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel ; 
For him, those chiunliiis lirl.i laibariun hordes, 
Hyena foemeu, and li^l liliH.d.d lords, 
Whoso very dogs would cxrcnitioMs howl 
Against his lineage ; not one breast allbrds 
Him any mercy, in that nuinsion foul, 
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. 



All, lia|i]iy chance ! the aged creature came, 
Sliullliiig along with ivory dicaded wand, 
To « liere he stood, hid from the torch's flame, 
Behind a broad hall-jiillar, far beyond 
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. 
He startled her ; but soon she knew his face. 
And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand, 
Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro ! hie thee from this 

,,lace ; 
They are all hero to-night, the whole bloodthirsty 



"Get hence ! get hence ! there 's dwarfish Hikie- 

braud ; 
He had a fever late, and in the fit 
He cursfed thee and thine, both house and land; 
Then there 's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit 
More tamo for his gray hairs — alas mo ! Hit ! 
Flit like a ghost away ! " — " Ah, gossip dear. 
We 're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair sit, 
And tell me how" — "Good saints, not here, not 

here ; 
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy 

bier." 

XIII. 

He followed through a lowly arched way, 
Hrushing the cobwebs with his lofty iilume : 
And as she muttered " Well-a — well-a-day ! " 
lie found him in a little moonlight room, 
I'nle, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
" Now tell me where is Madeline," said he; 
" O, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 
Whi(di none but secret sisterhood may see, 
Wlien they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously." 



" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve, — 
Yet men will nnn'der upon holy days ; 
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve. 
And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays, 
To venture so. It fills me with amaze 
To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' F,ve ! 
(!od's help ! my lady fair the conjurer jilays 
This very night ; good angels her deceive ! 
But let me laugh awhile, I ve mickle time to 



Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon. 

While Porphyro upon her face doth look, 

Like jiuzzled urchin on an aged crone 

Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book. 

As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. 

But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told 

His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could brook 

Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold. 

And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 



Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose. 

Flushing his brow, and in his jiained heart 

JIade purple riot ; then doth he propose 

A stratagem that makes the beldame start : 

" A cruel man and impious thou art ! 

Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream 

Alone with her good angels, far apart 

From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! 1 deem 

Tliou canst not surely be the same tluit thou didst 



" 1 will not harm her, by all saints I swear ! " 
Quoth Porphyro ; "0, may I ne'er find grace 
When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, 
1 f one of her soft ringlets I displace. 
Or look with rufiian passion in her face : 
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
Or I will, even in a moment's space. 
Awake, with homd shout, my foemen's ears. 
And beard them, though they be more fanged 
than wolves and bears." 



" Ah ! why wilt thou atfright a feeble soul ? 
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing, 
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll ; 
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening. 
Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth she 

bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ; 
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
AVhatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. 



Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy. 
Even to Madeline's chamber, and thei'e hide 
Him in a closet, of such privacy 
That he might see her beauty unespied. 
And win )Hili:ips tb;it niulit a peerless bride 
While lri:ioiiril liiiiirs pa. rd tlic coverlct. 
And \<a\r inrlMutiLiriit li.ld her sleepy-eyed. 
Never on such a night have lovers met. 
Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrou: 
debt. 



J 



0-- 



LOVE. 



127 



n 



" It shall be as thou wishest," said tlie dame ; 
"All cates and dainties shall be stored there 
Quickly on this feast-night ; by the tambour 

frame 
Her own lute thou wilt see ; no time to spare, 
For 1 am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in 

prayer 
The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed. 
Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." 



So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. 
The lover's endless minutes slowly passed : 
The dame returned, and whispered in his ear 
To follow her ; with aged eyes aghast 
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed and 

chaste ; 
Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her 

brain. 



Hfr faltering hand upon the balustrade, 
<>lil Angela was feeling for the stair, 
Wlifn iEadeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid. 
Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware ; 
With silver taper's light, and pious care. 
She turned, and down the aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare. 
Young Poi^phiTo, for gazing on that bed ! 
She comes, she comes again, like a ling-dove 
frayed and fled. 



Out went the taper as she hurried in ; 
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died ; 
She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide ; 
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide ! 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble. 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; 
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her 
dell. 



And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood ol 
queens and kings. 



Full on this ca.sement shone the wintry moon. 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair brea.st. 
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon ; 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest. 
And on her silver cross soft amethyst. 
And on her hair a glorj', like a saint ; 
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest. 
Save wings, for heaven. Porphyro grew faint : 
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal 
taint. 

XXVI. 

Anon his heart revives ; her vespers done. 
Of all its wTeathed pearls her hair she frees ; 
Unclasps her wanned jewels one by one ; 
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees ; 
Half hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed. 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed. 
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is 
fled. 

XXVII. 

Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest. 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay. 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; 
Flown like a thought, until the morrow-day ; 
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain ; 
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray ; 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain. 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. 



Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, 
PorphjTO gazed upon her empty dress. 
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; 
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless. 
And breathed him.self ; then from the closet crept, 
Noiseless as fear in a wide wildeme.ss. 
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept. 
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo! — how 
fast she slept. 



^- 



A casement high and triple-arched there was, 

.All garlanded mth can-en imageries 

Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 

.\nd diamonded with panes of quaint device. 

Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes. 

As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings ; 

And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries. 



Then by the bedside, where the faded moon 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 
A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet : — 
O for some drowsy Jlorphean amulet ! 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion. 
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet. 



-^ 



f 



128 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



t 



Affray his ears, though but in dying tone : — 
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. 



And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, 
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered ; 
While he from forth the closet brought a heap 
Of candied apple, ijuince, and plum, and gourd ; 
With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
And lucent syrops, tinut with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred 
From Fez ; and spicW dainties, every one, 
From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon. 



These delicates he heaped with glowing hand 

On golden dishes and in baskets bright 

Of wreathfed silver. Sumptuous they stand 

In the retired i^uiet of the night. 

Filling the chilly room with perfume light. — 

" And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! 

Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ; 

Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, 

Or I shall di'owse beside thee, .so my soul doth ache." 



Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the dusk curtains ; — 't was a midnight charm 
Impossible to melt as icM stream : 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam 
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies ; 
It seemed he never, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ; 
So mused awhile, entoiled in wooffed fantasies. 



Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
Tumxdtuous, — and, in chords that tendevest be. 
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, 
In Provence called "La belle dame sans mercy"; 
Close to her ear touching the melody ; — 
Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan ; 
He ceased — she panted ijuick — and suddenly 
Her blue afl'rayed eyes wide open shone ; 
Upon his knees he sank, pale assmooth-sculptured 
stone. 

XXXIV. 

Her eyes were open, but .she still beheld. 
Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep. 
There was a painful change, that nigh expelled 
The blisses of her dream so pure and deep ; 
At which fair Madeline began to weep. 
And moan forth witless words with many a sigh ; 
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep. 
Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, 
Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly . 



"Ah, Porphyro! " said she, " but even now 
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, 
Made tunable with every sweetest vow ; 
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear ; 
How changed thou art ! how pallid, chill, and 

drear ! 
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
Those looks immortal, those complainings dear ! 
0, leave me not in this eternal woe, 
For if thoudiest, my love, Iknownotwhere to go.' 



Beyond a mort.il man impassioned far 
At these voluptuous accents, he arose, 
Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star 
Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose ; 
Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blendeth its odor with the violet, — 
Solution sweet ; meantime the frost-wiud blows 
Like love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet 
Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath 
set. 

XXXVII. 

'T is dark ; quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet ; 
"This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 
'T is dark ; the iced gusts still rave and beat : 
" No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. — 
Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring ? 
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine. 
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing ; — 
Adove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned wing." 



' ' My Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovely bride ! 

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest ? 

Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil 

dyed ? 
Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 
After so many hours of toil and quest, 
A famished pilgrim, — saved by miracle. 
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest. 
Saving of thy sweet self ; if thou think'st well 
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 



They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall ! 
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide. 
Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
With a huge empty flagon by his side ; 
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, 
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ; 
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ; 
Tlie chains lie silent on the footworn stones ; 
The keytm-ns,and the door upon its hinges groans 



LOVE. 



129 



-Ph 



And they are gone ! ay, ages long ago 
These lovers fled away into the storm. 
That night the baron dreamt of many a woe, 
And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form 
Of witch, and demon, and large eotiin-worm. 
Were long be-nightniared. Angela the old 
Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform; 
The beadsman, after thousand aves told. 
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold. 
JOHN Keats. 



THE LITTLE MILLINER. 

My girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair, 

A soft hand, like a lady's, small and fair, 

A sweet face pouting in a white straw bonnet, 

A tiny foot, and little boot upon it ; 

And all her finely to charm beholders 

Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her shoulders. 

The plain stuff-gown and collar white as suow, 

And sweet red petticoat that peejis below. 

But gladly in the busy town goes she. 

Summer and winter, fearing nobodie ; 

She pats the pavement mth her fairy feet. 

With fearless eyes she charms the crowded street ; 

And in her pocket lie, iu lieu of gold, 

A lucky sixpence and a thimble old. 

We lodged in the same house a year ago 
.■-he on the topmost floor, I just below, — 
She, a poor milliner, content and wise, 
1. a poor citj' clerk, vrith hopes to rise ; 
And, long ere we were friends, I learnt to love 
The little angel on the floor above. 
For, every morn, ere from my bed I stirred. 
Her chamber door would open, and I heard, — 
And listened, blushing, to her coming down, 
And palpitated mth her rustling gown. 
And tingled while her foot went downward slow, 
Creaked like a cricket, passed, and died l)elow ; 
Then, peeping from the window, pleased and sly, 
1 saw the pretty shining face go by. 
Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber sweet, — 
A sunbeam in the quiet morning street. 

And every night, when in from work she tript. 
Red to the ears, I from my chamber slipt. 
That I might hear upon the narrow stair 
Her low "Good evening," as she passed me there. 
And when her door was closed, below sat I, 
And hearkened stilly as she stirred on high, — 
Watched the red firelight shadows in the room. 
Fashioned her face before me in the gloom. 
And heard her close the window, lock the door, 
MoWng about more lightly than before. 



And thought, " She is undressing now ! " and O, 

My cheeks were hot, my heart was in a glow ! 

And I made pictures of her, — standing bright 

Before the looking-glass in bed-gown white. 

Unbinding in a knot her yellow hair. 

Then kneeling timidly to say a prayer ; 

Till, last, the floor creaked softly overhead, 

'Neath bare feet tripping to the little bed, • — 

And all was hushed. Yet still I hearkened on. 

Till the faint sounds about the streets were gone ; 

And saw her slumbering with lips apart. 

One little hand upon her little heart, 

The other pillowing a face that smiled 

In slumber like the slumber of a child. 

The bright hair shining round the small white ear, 

The soft breath stealing visible and clear. 

And nii.\ing with the moon's, whose frosty gleam 

Made round her rest a vaporous light of dream. 

How free she wandered in the wicked place. 
Protected only by her gentle face ! 
She saw bad things, — how could she choose but 

see '! — 
She heard of wantonness and misery ; 
The city closed around her night an<l day, 
But lightly, happily, she went her way. 
Nothing of evil that she saw or heard 
Could touch a heart so innocently .stirred 
By simple hopes that cheered it through the storm. 
And little flutterings that kept it warm. 
No power had she to reason out her needs. 
To give the whence and wherefore of her deeds ; 
But she was good and pure amid the strife, 
By virtue of the joy that was her life. 
Here, where a thousand spirits daily fall. 
Where heart and soul and senses turn to gaTl , 
She floated, pure as innocent could be, 
Like a .small sea-bird on a stormy sea, 
A\Tiich breasts the billows, wafted to and fro. 
Fearless, uninjured, while the strong winds blow. 
While the clouds gather, and the waters roar. 
And mighty ships are broken on the shore. 

'T was when the spring was coming, when the 
snow 
Had melted, and fresh winds began to blow. 
And girls were selling violets in the town. 
That suddenly a fever struck me down. 
The world was changed, the sense of life was pained, 
And nothing but a shadow-land remained ; 
Death came in a dark mist and looked at me, 
I felt his breathing, though I could not see. 
But heavily I lay and did not stir, 
.\nd had strange images and dreams of her. 
Then came a vacancy : with feeble breath, 
I shivered under the cold touch of Death, 
And swooned among strange visions of the dead. 
When a voice called from heaven, and he fled ; 



-^ 



1 i:' 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



An.l su.l.l.Mily 1 wiil;,MM'.l, ms it s.vinca, 

Imuiu :i .1c.,'|.'s1,m'|. wlu'iviii 1 hii.l iiol iliviiuiod. 

Ami it Wiis iii^'l.t, lUi.l 1 .'"iiM srraii.l luMi-, 
Al.a 1 Wiisill 111.' n.i.l.l I llrM ;.n,l.':ll, 
A.I.I .iii,.w.iiv, sIivI.'L.mI ..lit 111.,. II my l.i'.l, 
1 h.'iiik,' I l'..r .1 l....lsl,'|. ..v.'iIh'ii.I. 

I'.iil all WHS IuisIhhI. 1 liu.Uo.l iiri.inul tlic room, 
An.l slowly iiiiiiU. oiil sliiiii.'s umi.l tlio gloom. 
'I'll.' Willi WHS iviUli'iK'il by a rosy light, 
A I'liiiil liiv llickcivil, iiiiil 1 kiii'W 't was iiiglit, 
lln'iiiisc lii'low (lu'i'c was a souml of I'l-ot 
Hying away along the iiuict stivi'l, 
When, tuniiiig my l>alo I'lu'o ami sighing low, 
I saw II vision in thi' .[iiii't gh.w : 
A lit 1 1.' Ii;,'iiiv. in !i .■otion gown, 

I Ml.:; ii|...n Ih.' lire an.l slooliiiig ilown, 

II. I si.lc I., mo, luT I'ufi' illnnu'il, sin. oyi-.l 
'I'w.. .'hostnuts Imniiug slowly, siilo liy siilo, — 
111 r lips aiiart, lior oU'iir eyes straini'il to sco, 
llcr litlli. hamls claspi'd tight aroniul lu'V Uno.', 
'I'll.' liroliglil gloaming on her gohli-n hi'iul, 
An.l tinting li.T whito neck to i-osy rc.i, 
II. T I'l'iitiiros bi-ighl, ami hoantil'nl, iin.l pnri'. 
With rhil.lish t'cav ami yoarning hall' ilomur.'. 
O swi'i'l. swi'i't: ilroani ! I thought, an.l strainoil 

Ki'aring to i.ivak Iho sp.'ll with wofils ami sighs. 

.■^ol'tly sho atoopod, hor tlear laco swut'tly fair, 
.\ml swept iM' sinco a light liko lovo was thoro, 
Hrighti'uing, watohiiig, moro ami moro olato, 
As Iho nuts glowoil togotlicr in the grato, 
Craokling with littlojots of iU'ry light, 
Till si.lo liy siilo thoy turiioil to ashes white, — 
'I'lieu np siie h'ai>t. her faee east olf its fear 
l''..i' rapture that itself was railianee elear, 
An.l w.mlil have elai.peil lier little hamls in glee, 
Kilt. pa\isiug, hit her lips ami peeped at nu-, 
.\n.l met the faee that yearned on Iter so whitely, 
An.l gave a ery ami trembled, blushing brightly, 
Wliil.'. raise.lon elbow, iis she turned to llee, 
•■ /'<.//(/ ,■" I .'lied. ami grew as red as she I 



It WM 

.le 



div 



for soon niv thoughts wen 



ttl 



An.l she ...uhl l.'ll in.' all. ami 1 .'onl.l hear ' 
II. .\v ill my siekness fri.'mlless 1 had lain ; 
I1..W the har.l jieoph' pitied not my pain ; 
II. .w. in .lespite of what ba.l people said, 
.sh.. l.'l't her labors, slopjH'd besi.le my be.l. 
An.l nursed me, tluid;ing sa.Uy 1 woul.l .lie ; 
lli.w, in the eml, the danger passeil me by : 
How she had .sought to steal away befoi-e 
The siekness pa.ssed, and 1 was strong om'ouiore. 
l!y tits .she told the story in lllin.' ear. 
And trembled all the telling with a fear 



Lest by my e.dd man's heart she shouhl 1 hid. 

Lest 1 shouhl think hor bold in wh.'it sh,' .li.l ; 

Hut, lying on my bed, I dared to say, 

ll..\v 1 had wntehod and loved her nuiiiy a day; 

How dear she was to me, and dearer still 

Kor that .strange kindness done wliile I \\!is ill ; 

Ami how 1 eouhl but think that lleav.n al.ov.' 

Had ilone it all to bind our lives in lov.'. 

And I'oUy eriod, turning her faee away. 

And seemed afraid, and answered "yea" nor 

"nay" ; 
Then stealing eloao, with little pants ami sighs. 
Looked on my pale thin fiu'e and earnest eyes, 
Ami .seemed ill net to lling her arms about 
My neek, then, blushing, paused, in llulteriug 

doubt. 
Last, s]>rang np..n i\iy h.'arl. sighing an.l sob- 
bing, — 
That 1 might feel how gladly hers was throbbing! 

Ah I ne'er shall 1 forget until 1 die 
How happily the dri'amy days went by. 
While 1 grew well, aml'lay with soft lieart-beat.s, 
lleiu'k'ningtlie pleasant murmur from the streets, 
.\u.l I'oUy by mo like a sunny beam, 
.Villi life all ehangod, and lovo a drowsy dr.'ani ,' 
'T was happiness enough to lie and see 
The little golden head bent droopiugly 
Over its sewing, while the still time Hew, 
.\nil my fmul eyes were dim with happy dew! 
.\nil thi'ii, when 1 was nearly well and strong, 
Ami she went baek to labor all day long. 
How sweet to lie alone with half-slnit eyes, 
And hear the distant niurnuus and the cries, 
And think how pure she was from pain and sin, — 
And how the sumnu'r days were eoming in ! 
Then, as the sunset faded from the room, 
To listen for her footstep in the gloom. 
To pant as it eame stealing up the stair. 
To feel my whole life brighten uiui«are 
When the soft tap eame to the door, and when 
The door was opened for her smile again ! 
liest, the long evenings ! — when, till late at night. 
She sat beside me in the ipiiet light, 
.\n.l happy things were said and kisses won. 
And serious gladness found its vent in fun. 
Sometiuu's I would draw elose her shining hea.l, 
.Ami poui' her bright hair out upon the be.l. 
Ami she would laugh, and blush, and try to .s.'ol.l, 
While "llei-e," 1 eried, "1 eount my wealth in 
gohl ! " 

Om-e, like a little sinner for tnmsgressiou. 
She blushed upon my brea.st. and madeeoufessiou ; 
How, when that night 1 woke and looked aroumi, 
1 foitud her busy with a eliarm profound, — 
tine ehestnut was herself, my girl eonfesjsod, 
The other was the person .she loved best, 



LOVE. 



131 



-a 



Anil ir ll/i-y Imriicd toffcUic-r M'lii liy m\i:, 
i\f Icivril Ihm, ai](l hIii; would Ijccimie lii.t briilo ; 
Ami burn inclewl they did, to hi:r ilclij;lit, — 
And had tin; pretty cliunii not |>rovr'ii ri^dit I 
Tliiis Tnucl], and more, with timorouH joy, alio 

Haid, 
While her (.oiifessor, too, grew rosy red, — 
And eloHO to(<ctljer |ire83cd two bliHsfnl I'accH, 
As I atisolved tlic »iiiiier, with eiubrai.CH. 

And hero is winter eome again, winds blow. 
The liouHes and the streets are white with snow ; 
And in the long and ]ileasant eventide, 
Why, what is I'olly making at my side? 
Wliat fait a silk gown, beautiful and grand, 
We bought together lately in the Strand ! 
What but a dress to go to ehureh in soon, 
And wear right queetily 'neatli a honey-moon ! 
And who shall mateh her with her new straw 

bonnet. 
Her tiny foot and little boot upon it, 
Krobroidered jiettieoat and silk gown new, 
And shawl she wears as lew fine lailies do f 
And she will keep, to cliaiin away all ill. 
The lueky sixpenee in her poeket still ; 
An<l we will turn, come fair or cloudy weather, 
To ashes, like the ehestnuts, close together ! 

KOSIiKT IJUCItANAN, 



TirE PAHSIONATE PILGKIM'H MONO. 

I-KOM "Tint IlklDHf.kOOM Ol' (JliAU'IV.' 

LiKK a tree beside the river 

Of her life that nins from me. 
Do I lean me, iiiiirnjuring ever 

In njy love's idolatry. 
1,0, I reach out hands of f>lessing ; 

IjO, I stretch out hands of prayer ; 
And, with passionate caressing, 

four my life upon the air, 
In my ears the siren river 

Hings, and smiles u[i in my face ; 
f'.ut forever, and forever, 

Ituns from my ernlirace. 

Spring fjy spring, tfje Iininelies duly 

Clothe themselves in tender flower ; 
And for her sweet sake as tnily 

All their fruit and fragrance shower. 
Ijiit the stream, with careless laught.er, 

liuns in merry beauty by. 
And it leaves me yearning after, 

I.om to droop and lone to die. 
In my ears the siren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face ; 
lint forever, and forever, 

liiius from njy embnice. 



I stand mazed in the moonlight. 

O'er its happy face to rfrcam ; 
I ain (larched in the moonligfjt 

liy that cool anil fjrimming stream ; 
I am dying liy the river 

Of her life that runs from me. 
And it sjiarkles by me ever, 

With its cool felicity. 
In my ears the siren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face ; 
IJut forever, and forever, 

liuns from my embrace. 

f;i:KAi.o MAssev. 



TllF, .lunc roses covered the hedges with blushes. 
And wooed with their perfume the murtnuiing 
bee ; 

And white were the cups of the odorous lilies. 
When fat<^ stole the joy of existence from me. 

With hands closely chwpeil, and withlijis prr'ssed 
together, 
One instant we stfiod, while the heart in my 
Ijrenst 
Leapt eager and wild, as the callow liirds flutter 
When the wing of th': mother sweeps over the 
nest. 

One st<ir is the tyjic of the glory of Iieavcn ; 
A shell from tin; biiudi whispers still of the 
sea ; 
To a rose all the sweetness of summer is giv(!n ; 
A kiss tells what living anil loving might \x;. 
Makv I.'. dish Krrres. 



•niE MILLKK'H DAUOilTEK, 

It is the miller's dauglitcr. 

And she is grown so dear, so dear, 

That I would Ijc- the jewel 
Tliat trenililes at her ear ; 

For, bid in ringlets day and night, 

I 'd lou'li her neck so warm and wldte. 

And f would be the girdle 

About her dainty, dainty waist. 

And her heart would beat against mc 
In .sfirrow and in rest ; 

And I should know if it beat right, 

I 'd clasp it round so close and tight. 

And I would be the necklace, 
And all day long Uy fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom 

With her laughter or her sighs ; 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasped at night. 

AM'Kf'.IJ TllNNV!,^; 



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132 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



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BLEST AS THE IMMORTAL GODS. 

Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee, 
And hears and sees thee all the while 
Softly speak, and sweetly smUe. 

'T was this deprived my soul of rest, 
And raised such tumults in my breast : 
For whOe I gazed, in transport tost. 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glowed; the subtle flame 
Ean iiuick through all my vital frame : 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled ; 
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled: 
My feeble pulse forgot to play — 
I fainted, sunk, and died away. 

From thf Grt-ek of SAPPHO 
by AMBROSE PHILLII 



THOSE EYES. 

Ah ! do not wanton with those eyes. 

Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
Nor cast them down, but let them rise. 

Lest shame destroy their being. 

Ah 1 be not angry with those fires, 
For then their threats will kill me ; 

Nor look too kind on my desires. 
For then my hopes will spill me. 

Ah ! do not steep them in thy tears. 

For so wiU sorrow slay me ; 
Nor spread them as distraught with fears, — 

Mine own enough betray me. 

Ben Jonson. 



She came along the little lane, 

Where all the bushes dripped with rain. 

And robins sung and sung again. 

As if with sudden, sheer delight, 
For such a world so fresh and bri^iht, 
To swing and sing in day and night. 

But, coming down the little lane. 
She did not heed the robin's strain. 
Nor feel the sunshine after rain. 

A little face with two brown eyes, 
A little form of slender size, 
A little head not very wise ; 



A little heart to match the head, 
A foolish little heart, that bled 
At every foolish word was said. 

So, coming down the little lane, — 
I see her now, my little Jane, — 
Her foolish heart with foolish pain 

Was aching, aching in her breast, 
And all her pretty golden crest 
Was drooping as if sore opprest. 

And something, too, of anger's trace 
Was on the flushed and frowning face. 
And in the footsteps' quickened pace. 

So swift she stept, so low she leant, 
Her pretty head on thought intent. 
She scarcely saw the way she went. 

Nor saw the long, slim shadow fall 

Across the little, low stone-wall, 

As some one rose up slim and tall, — 

Rose up, and came to meet her there; 
A youth, with something in his air 
That, at a glance, revealed his share 

In all this foolish, girlish pain. 
This grief and anger and disdain. 
That rent the heart of little Jane. 

With hastier steps than hers he came, 
And in a moment called her name ; 
And in a moment, red as flame 

She blushed, and blushed, and in her eyes 
A sudden, soft, and shy surprise 
Did suddenly and softly rise. 

"What, you?" she cried : "I thought — they 

said — " 
Then stopped, and blushed a deeper red, 
And lifted up her drooping head, 

Shook back her lovely falling hair. 
And arched her neck, and strove to wear 
A nonchalant and scornful air. 

A moment thus they held apart. 
With lovers' love and lovers' art ; 
Then swift he caught her to his lieart. 

What pleasure then was born of pain. 
What sunshine after cloud and rain. 
As they forgave and kissed again ! 

'T was April then ; he talked of May, 
And planned therein a wedding-day: 
She blushed, but scarcely said him nay. 



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LOVE. 



13 



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What pleasure now is mixed with pain, 
As, looking down the little lane, 
A graybeai-d grown, I see again. 

Through twenty Aprils' rain and mist. 
The little sweetheart that I kissed, 
The little bride my folly missed ! 

NORA Perry. 



PAN IN LOVE. 

Nay ! if you will not sit upon my knee, 
Lie on that bank, and listen while I play 
A sylvan song upon these reedy pipes. 
In the full moonrise as I lay last night 
Under the alders on Peneus' banks, 
Dabbling my hoofs in the cool stream that welled 
Wine-dark with gleamy ripples round their roots, 
I made the song the while I shaped the pipes. 
'T is all of you and love, as you shall hear. 
The drooping lilies, as I sang it, heaved 
Upon their broad green leaves, and underneath. 
Swift silvery fishes, poised on quivering fins. 
Hung motionless to listen ; in the grass 
The crickets ceased to shrill their tiny bells ; 
And even the nightingale, that all the eve. 
Hid in the grove's deep green, had throbbed and 

thrilled. 
Paused in his strain of love to list to mine. 
Bacchus is handsome, but such songs as this 
He cannot shape, and better loves the clash 
Of brazen cymbals than my reedy pipes. 
Fair as he is without, he 's coarse within, — 
Gross in his nature, loving noise and wine, 
And, tipsy, half the time goes reeling round 
Leaning on old Silenus' shoulders fat. 
But I have scores of songs that no one knows. 
Not even Apollo, no, nor Mercury, — 
Theirstrings can never sing like my sweet pipes, — 
Some, that will make fierce tigers rub their fur 
Against the oak tninks for delight, or stretch 
Their plump sides for my pillow on the sward. 
Some, that will make the satyrs' clattering hoofs 
Leap when they hear, and from their noonday 

dreams 
Start up to stamp a wild and frolic dance 
In the green shadows. Ay ! and better songs, 
Made for the delicate nice ears of nymphs, 
Which while I sing my pipes shall imitate 
The droning bass of honey-seeking bees. 
The tinkling tenor of clear pebbly streams. 
The breezy alto of the alder's sighs. 
And all the airy sounds that lull the grove 
When noon falls fast asleep among the hills. 
Nor only these, — for I can pipe to you 
Songs that will make the slippery vipers pause. 
And stay the stags to gaze with their great eyes ; 



Such songs — and you shall hear them if you 

will — 
That Bacchus' self would give his hide to hear. 
If you '11 but love me every day, I '11 bring 
The coyest flowers, such as you never saw. 
To deck you with. I know their secret nooks, — 
They cannot hide themselves away from Pan. 
And you shall have rare garlands ; ami your bed 
Of fragrant mosses shall be sprinkled o'er 
With violets like your eyes, — just for a kiss. 
Love me, and you shall do whate'er you like, 
And shall be tended wheresoe'er you go, 
And not a beast .shall hurt you, — not a toad 
But at your bidding give his jewel up. 
The speckled shining snakes shall never .sting. 
But twist like bracelets round your rosy arms, 
And keep your bosom cool in the hot noon. 
You shall have berries ripe of every kind. 
And luscious peaches, and wild nectarines. 
And sun-flecked ajiricots, and honeyed dates. 
And wine from bee-stuug grapes, drunk with the 

sun 
(Such wine as Bacchus never tasted yet). 
And not a ]ioisonous plant shall have the power 
To tetter your white flesh, if you '11 love Pan. 
And then I '11 tell you tales that no one knows ; 
Of what the pines talk in the summer nights. 
When far above you hear them murmuring. 
As they sway whispering to the lifting breeze ; 
And what the storm shrieksto the struggling oaks 
As it flies through them hurrying to the sea 
From mountain crags and c.lifls. Or, when 

you 're sad, 
I '11 tell you tales that solemn C)'presses 
Have whispered to me. There 's not anything 
Hid in the woods and dales and dark ravines. 
Shadowed in dripping caves, or by the shore. 
Slipping from sight, but I can tell to yon. 
Plump, dull-eared Bacchus, thinking of himself. 
Never can catch a syllable of this ; 
But with my shaggj' ear against the grass 
1 hear the secrets hidden underground. 
And know how in the inner forge of Earth, 
The ])ulse-like hammers of creation beat. 
Old Pan is ugly, rough, and rude to see, 
But no one knows such secrets as old Pan. 



COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. 

FROM "IRISH MELODIES." 

Come, rest in this bosom, mj' own stricken deer. 
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home 

is still here ; 
Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, 
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Oh ! wliut was lovo miulu lor, if 't is not the sftino 
Thi-ough joy and through torment, througli glory 

uiul shniuo I 
I know not, 1 iisk not, it'gnilt's in that lieart, 
I but know that I Uivo theo, whatcvi'r thou art. 

Tliou liast lalK'ii mo tliv Angol in moments of 

Mi^s. 
Aiul thy Angel 1 '11 be, mill the horrors of this, 
'I'lirougli the fnrnaee, unshrinking, thy steps to 

imrsiie. 
And shield thee, anil save thee, — or jierish there 



Thomas Mooki; 



BEDOUIN LOVE-SONG. 

From the Desert I <'ome to thee, 

On a stallion shod with tire ; 
.\nd the winds are left Iwhind 

In the sjieed of my desiiv. 
Under thy window I stand. 

And the midnight heai-s my ery : 
1 love thee, 1 love but thee ! 
With a love that shall not dio 
Till the sun ffrows cold, 
Jnd the stars are old, 
And llif h-aixs of the Judijmcnt 
Book unfold! 

Look from thy window, and soe 

My passion and n\y pain ! 
I lie on the sands below, 

.\nd 1 faint in thy disdain. 
Let the night-winds toueh tliy brow 
With the heat of my burning sigh. 
Anil nu'lt theo to hear the vow 
Of a lovo that slinll not dio 
'Till the sun <;roics cold, 
.tnd the stars are old. 
And the Icatvs of the Judijmcnt 
Book unfold ! 

My stejis are nightly driven, 
I5y the fever in my breast, 
To hear from thy laltiee breathed 

The wonl that shall give me ivst. 
Open the door of thy heart. 

And open thy ehamlier door. 
And my kisses sliall teaeli thy lips 
The lovo that shall fade no more 
TUX the sun yroiiw cold, 
And the stars are old. 
And the leaves o/th$ Judgment 
Book unfold/ 

BAVARD Taylor. 



WHEN YOUR BEAUTY APPEARS. 

" WiiKN your beauty appears. 

In its graees and ail's, 
All bright as an angel now droi>t from the skies. 

At distaneo 1 gaze, and am awed by my fears. 
So strangely you dazzle my eyes ! 

" Hut when without art 
Your kinil thoughts yon inijiart. 
When your love runs in blushes through every 
vi'in. 
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants 
at your heart. 
Then I know that you 're \von\an again." 

" There 's a passion and pride 

In our se.v," she roplied ; 
" And thus (might 1 gratify both) 1 would do, — 

Still an angel appear to eaeh lover beside, 
But still bo a womiui for you." 

Thomas I'ak.selu 



KISS ME SOFTLY. 

Ai "itAi Alil.i. — CAHU.1.US. 

Kiss mo softly and speak to mo low, — 

Maliee has ever a vigihuit ear ; 

What if Maliee were lurking near ? 
Kiss me, deiu- ! 
Kiss mo softJy and speak to me low. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low, — 
Knvy too has a watehful ear : 
What if Envy should ehanee to hear? 
Kiss me, dear ! 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low : 
Trust me, darling, the time is near 
When level's may love with never a fear, — 
Kiss me, dear I 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 

John Oodi-ruv Saxe. 



THE FIRST KISS. 

How delieious is the winning 
Of a kiss at love's Wginning, 
When two mutual hearts aro sighing 
For the knot there 's no untying. 

Yet ivmemlHM', midst your wooing. 
Love has bliss, but love has ruing ; 
Other smiles may make you liekle. 
Teal's for other charms mav trickle. 




THE FIRST KISS. 



" How delicious is the winning 
0/ a kiss at lore's beginnings 
When two tnutuai hearts are sighing 
For the knot there's no untying.'"' 



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135 



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Love he comes, and Love he tarries, 
Just as fate or fancy carries, — 
Longest stays when sorest chidden. 
Laughs and flies when pressed and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly. 
Bind its odor to the lily. 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, — 
Then bind Love to last forever ! 

Love 's a fire that needs renewal 

Of fresh beauty for its fuel ; 

Love's wing moults when caged and captured, — 

Only free he soars enraptured. 

Can you keep the bee from ranging, 
Or the ring-dove's neck from changing ? 
No ! nor fettered Love from dying 
In the knot there 's no untying. 

THOMAS Campbell. 



SLY THOUGHTS. 

" I SAW him kiss your cheek ! " — "'T is true." 
"0 Modesty!" — "'T was strictly kept : 

He thought me asleep ; at least, I knew 
He thought 1 thought he thought I slept." 

COVENTRY PATMORE. 



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THE KISS. 

1. Amoxg thy fancies tell me this : 
What is the thing we call a kiss ? — 

2. I shall resolve ye what it is : 

It is a creature born and bred 

Between the lips all cherry red. 

By love and warm desires i'eil ; 

Clior. And makes more soft the bridal bed. 

It is an active flame, that flies 
First to the babies of the eyes, 
And charms them there with lullabies ; 
Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries. 

Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear. 
It frisks and flies, — now here, now there ; 
'T is now far off, and then 't is near ; 
Chor. And here, and there, and everpvhere. 

1. Has it a speaking virtue ? — 2. Yes. 
1. How speaks it, say ? — 2. Do you but this : 
Part your joined lips, — then speaks your 
kiss ; 
Chor. And this love's sweetest language is. 



1. Has it a body? — 2. Ay, and wings. 
With a thousand rare encolorings ; 
And as it Hies it gently sings ; 
Chor. Love honey yields, but never stings. 
Robert herrk 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

So you call that a kiss, when, in token of parting. 
Your lips touched my own with such tremu- 
lous fear ; 
When haste took for wages the most of the 
honey 
And whispered that danger and peril were near. 

So you call that a kiss ! Let me paint for a 
minute. 
The home of my fancy, my castle of rest, 
Wliere — all the bright dreams of my life stored 
within it — 
I linger for hours with the frieuds I love best. 

The lamps shed a light like the soft glow of 
moonbeams. 
The air breathes warm odors of spice an I of 
balm. 
Not a sound breaks the hush, and the spirit, in 
rapture. 
Folds round it the mantle of heavenly calm. 

You are there in the stillness and some one 
beside you. 
We '11 say, for the dream's sake, the one you 
love best. 
She is kneeling beside you, your arms are arouml 
her. 
Her head on your shoulder is pillowed in rest. 

You smooth the soft tresses away from her fore- 
head. 
Her breath, sweet as summer, floats over your 
cheek. 
You tighten your clasp as you murmur, "My 
darling, 
I am weai-y and faint for the kisses I seek." 

She tui-ns her face toward you, her large eyes up- 
lifted. 
Dilated, and dark, vnXli a passionate fire : 
And her rich, dewy lips, in their innocent fond- 
ness. 
Fill up in fidl measure your cup of desire. 

moment ecstatic — renewed and repeated ! 

Alas ! weary world, with your burden of care. 
Your raptures are coldness, your kisses are fail- 
ures. 
When matched with the ones of my castle 
in air. 



Mary Louise Ritter. 



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136 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



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THE I'LAIDIE. 

Upon anc stormy Suiuiay, 

Coming iitloon llic lane, 
Were a score of lionnio lassies — 

And the sweetest 1 maintain 

Was Caddie, 

That I took unncath my plaidie, 

To shield her from the rain. 

She said that the daisies blushed 
For the kiss that 1 had ta'en ; 

1 wad na hao thought the lassie 

Wad sae of a kiss eomplain: 

" Now, laddie! 

1 winna stay umler your plaidie, 
If I gang liame in the rain ! " 

But, on an after Sunday, 
When cloud there was not ane, 

This selfsame winsome lassie 

(Wo clianccd to meet in the lane) 
Said, " Laddie, 

Why dinna yc wear your plaidie ? 
Wha kens but it may rain ?" 

CHARLES SIllLEV. 



& 



HISSING'S NO SIN. 

Some say that kissing 's a sin ; 

But 1 think it 's none ava. 
For kissing has wonn'd in this warld 

Since ever that there was twa. 

0, if it wasna lawfu' 

Lawyers wadna allow it ; 
If it wasna holy. 

Ministers wadna do it. 

If it wasna modest. 

Maidens wadna tak' it ; 
If it wasna plenty, 

Puir folk wadna get it. 



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

TiiF. fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with tlic ocean : 
The winds of heaven mix forever. 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle : — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See ! the mountains kiss high heaven. 
And the waves clasp one another ; 



No sister flower would be forgiven 
If it disdained its brother ; 

And the sunlight clasps the earth. 
And the moonbeams kiss the sea : 

What are all these kissings worth. 
If thou kiss not mo ? 

PERCY BVSSHE SH 



COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Comin' through the rye. 
Gin a body kiss a body. 

Need a body cry ? 
Every lassie has her laddie, — 

Ne'er a ane hae 1 ; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 
Anutnri the train there is a swain 

I dcarbj lo'e. miiscV ; 
But u-liaur his ?iamc, or what his name, 
I dinna can to tell. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Comin' frae the \ovra, 
Gin a body greet a body, 

Need a body frown ? 
Every lassie has her laddie, — 

Ne'er a ane hae 1 ; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 
Among the train there is a sirain 

I dearly lo'e myseV ; 
But u-haiir his hame. or what his name, 
I dinnii care to tell. 

Adapted by HirRNS. 



KITTY OF COLERAINE. 

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping 
Wit h a pitchcrof milk, from the fair of Coleraine, 

When she saw me she stumbled, the ]iitclier it 
tumbled, 
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the jilain. 

" 0, what sh.ill 1 do now ? — 't was lookingat you 
now ! 

Sure, sure, such a pitcher I '11 ne'er meet ;xgain! 
'T was the pride of my dairy: Barney M'Clcary! 

You 're sent as a plague to the girlsof Coleraine. " 

1 sat down beside her, and gently did chide her. 
That such a misfortune should give her such pain. 

A kiss then 1 gave her ; and ere I diil leave her, 
She vowed for such pleasureshe'd bre.^k it again 



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137 



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"T was hay-making season — I can't tell the rea- 
son — 

Misfortunes will never come single, 't is plain; 
For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster 

The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE MOTH'S KISS, FIRST. 

FROM •• IN A GONDOLA." 

The Moth's kiss, first ! 

Kiss me as if you made believe 

You were not sure, this eve, 

How my face, your flower, had pursed 

Its petals up ; so, here ami there 

You brush it, till I grow aware 

Who wants me, and wide open burst. 

The Bee's kiss, now ! 
Kiss me as if you entered gay 
My heart at some noonday, 
A bud that dared not disallow 
The claim, so all is rendered up, 
And passively its shattered cup 
Over your head to sleep I bow. 

ROBERT BROWNINC- 



THE LITTE-PLAYER. 

FROM " HASSAN BEN KHALED." 

" ' Music ! ' they shouted, echoing my demand, 
And answered with a beckon of his hand 
The gracious host, whereat a maiden, fair 
As the last star that leaves the morning air, 
Came down the leafy paths. Her veil revealed 
The beauty of her face, which, half concealed 
Behind its thin blue folds, showed like the moon 
Behind a cloud that will forsake it soon. 
Her hair was braided darkness, but the glance 
Of lightning eyes shot from her countenance, 
And showed her neck, that like an ivory tower 
Rose o'er the twin domes of her marble breast. 
Were all the beauty of this age compressed 
Into one form, she would transcend its power. 
Her step was lighter than the young gazelle's 
And as she walked, her anklet's golden bells 
Tiukled with pleasure, but were quickly mute 
With jealousy, as from a case she drew 
With snowy hands the pieces of her lute. 
And took her seat before me. As it grew 
To perfect shape, her lovely arms she bent 
Around the neck of the sweet instrument. 
Till from her soft caresses it awoke 
To consciousness, and thus its rapture spoke: 
' I was a tree within an Indian vale, 
When first I heard the love-sick nightingale 
Declare his passion ; every leaf was stirred 



With the melodious sorrow of the bird, 
And when he ceased, the song remained with me. 
Men came anon, and felled the harmless tree, 
But from the memory of the songs I heard, 
The spoiler saved me from the destiny 
Whereby my brethren perished. O'er the sea 
I came, and from its loud, tumultuous moan 
I caught a soft and solemn undertone ; 
And when 1 grew beneath the maker's hand 
To what thou seest, he sang (the while he planned) 
The mirthful measures of a careless heart, 
And of my soul his songs became a part. 
Now they have laid my head upon a breast 
Whiter than marble, I am wholly blest. 
The fair hands smite me, and my strings com- 
plain 
With such melodious cries, they smite again, 
Until, with passion and with sorrow swayed. 
My toi-ment moves the bosom of the maid, 
Wlio hears it speak her own. I am the voice 
Whereby the lovers languish or rejoice ; 
And they caress me, knowing that my strain 
Alone can speak the language of their pain.' 

" Here ceased the fingera of the maid to stray 
Over the strings ; the sweet song died away 
In mellow, drowsy murmurs, and the lute 
Leaned on her fairest bosom, and was mute. 
Better than wine that music was to mo ; 
Not the lute only felt her hands, but she 
Played on my heart-strings, till the sounds be- 
came 
Incarnate in the pulses of my frame. 
Speech left my tongue, and in my tears alone 
Found utterance. With stretched arms I im- 
plored 
Continuance, whereat her fingers poured 
A tenderer music, answering the tone 
Her parted lips released, the while her throat 
Throbbed, as a heavenly bird were fluttering 

there. 
And gave her voice the wonder of his note. 
'His brow,' she sang, 'is white beneath his 

hair ; 
The fertile beard is soft upon his chin. 
Shading the mouth that nestles warm within. 
As a rose nestles in its leaves ; I see 
His eyes, but cannot tell what hue they be. 
For the sharp eyelash, like a saber, speaks 
The martial law of Passion ; in bis cheeks 
The quick blood mounts, and then as quickly 

goes. 
Leaving a tint like marble when a rose 
Is held beside it ; — bid him veil his eyes. 
Lest all my soul should unto mine arise. 
And he behold it I ' As she sang, her glance 
Dwelt on my face ; her beauty, like a lance, 
Transfixed my heart. I melted into sighs, 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Slain by tlie arrows of lier lioauteous eyes. 

' Why is her bosom matle,' I cried, 'a snare ? 

Wliy does a single ringlet of her hair 

Hold my heart captive .' ' ' Would you know ? ' 

she said ; 
' It is that you are mad with love, and chains 
Were made for madmen.' Then she raised her 

head 
With answering love, that led to other strains. 
Until the lute, which shared with her the smart, 
Kocked as in storm upon her beating heart. 
Thus to its wires she made impassioned cries : 
' I swear it by the brightness of his eyes ; 
I swear it by the darkness of his hair ; 
By the warm bloom his limbs and bosom wear ; 
liy the fresh pearls his rosy lips enclose ; 
By the calm majesty of his repose ; 
By smiles I coveted, and frowns 1 feared. 
And by the shooting myrtles of his beard, — 
I swear it, that from him the morning drew 
Its freshness, and the moon her silvery hue. 
The sun his brightness, and the stars their fire. 
And musk and camphor all llieir odorous breath : 
And if he answer not my love's desire. 
Day will be night to me, and Life be Death ! ' " 
HAYAKD Taylor. 



y^- 



SUB SILENTIO. 

Husii ! the night is calm and quiet 
And the crescent moon hangs low ; 

Silence deep and wide bath power, 
And the south wind wanders slow — 

Through a casement where the curtain 
Faintly rustles to and fro. 

Like a spirit .softly sighing 

l'"lits it all the chamber round, 
"Where the dim lamp failing, dving, 

.lust dispels tbr ,i;ln,,lil ] il , .n.iind" ; 
Ibin;_'s al.ur Iwo iLippv .llr.in.ns, 
l!y love's pciii'rt iirdHiisi' rniwued. 

Even through the gates of slumber 
To the shadowy land of rest 

He still clasps his long-sought treasure 
Closely, closely to his breast. 

With the ardor of a passion 
Long denied and long repressed. 

With his lips still warm with kisses 
Close and clinging as his own, 

Sighing still iu happy dreaming 

For the joy his heart hath known — 

Sweetly, iieacefully, he sluniluMs, 
In the arms about him thrown. 

And she gazes at him, thinking — 
Not of all her dreary years — 



Only of this isle of glory, 

Reached with many doubts and fears, 
Over love's frail bridge of rainbows 

Fading in a mist of tears. 

Then she nestles still more closely 
To the heart so kind and dear. 

Whispering, " Love me, love me, darling 
All ujy hope and rest is hero, 

And without thee, earth is nothing 
But a desert cold and drear. 

" 0, that every night my slumbers 

Might be so supremely blest, 
Bounded by thy dear embraces. 

Kissed from jiassiou into rest ; 
1 would ask no better heaven 

Sheltered thus and thus caressed." 

Fan them gently, odorous south wind. 
And begone on pinions fleet ! 

Nothing in thy nightly journey 
Shall thy wandering vision greet, 

Half as perfect in fulfillment, 
Satisfying and complete. 

Mary Louise Ritteb 



CLEOPATRA. 

Here, Charmian, take my bracelets ; 

They bar with a purple stain 
My arms ; turn over my pillows, — 

They are hot where I have lain : 
Open the lattice wider, 

A gauze o'er my bosom throw, 
And let me inhale the odors 

That over the garden blow. 

I dreamed I was with my Antony 

And in his arms I lay ; 
Ah me ! the vision has vanished, — 

The music has died away. 
The flame and the perfume have perished — 

As this spiced aromatic pastille 
That wound the blue smoke of its odor. 

Is now but an ashy hill. 

Scatter upon me rose-leaves. 

They cool me after my sleep. 
And with sandal odors fan me 

Till into my veins they creep ; 
Rcacli down the lute, and jilay mo 

A nii'lancboly tune. 
To vliyuie witli the dream that has vanished, 

And tile slumbering afternoon. 



There, drowsing iu golden sunlight, 
Loiters the slow, smooth Nile, 



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LOVE. 



— a 

139 



Through slender [lapyri, that cover 

The ivary crocodile. 
The lotus lolls on the water, 

And opens its heart of gold, 
And over its broad leaf pavement 

Never a ripple is rolled. 

The twilight breeze is too lazy 

Those feathery palms to wave. 
And yon little cloud is as motionless 

As a stone above a grave. 

Ah me ! this lifeless nature 

Oppresses my heart and brain ! 
0, for a storm and thunder. 

For lightning and wild fierce rain ! 
Fling down that lute — I hate it ! 

Take rather his buckler and sword, 
And crash them and clash them together 

Till this sleeping world is stirred. 

Hark ! to my Indian beauty — 

My cockatoo, creamy white, 
Witli roses under his feathers — 

That flashes across the light. 
Look ! listen ! as backward and forward 

To his hoop of gold he clings. 
How he trembles, with crest uplifted, 

And shrieks as he madly swings ! 

cockatoo, shriek for Antony ! 

Cry, " Come, my love, come home ! " 
Shriek, " Antony ! Antony ! Antony ! " 

Till he hears you even in Rome. 

There — leave me, and take from my chamber 

That stupid little gazelle. 
With its bright black eyes so meaningless. 

And its silly tinkling bell ! 
Take him — my nei-ves he vexes — 

The thing without blood or brain. 
Or, by the body of I sis, 

I '11 snap his neck in twain ! 

Leave me to gaze at the landscape 

Mistily stretching away. 
Where the afternoon's opaline tremors 

O'er the mountains quivering play 
Till the fiercer splendor of sunset 

Pours from the west its fire. 
And melted, as in a crucible. 

Their earthly forms expire ; 

And the bald blear skull of the desert 
With glowing mountains is crowned. 

That, burning like molten jewels. 
Circle its temples round. 



I will lie and dream of the past time, 

.Flous of thought away, 
And through the jungle of memory 

Loosen my fancy to play ; 
When, a smooth and velvety tiger, 

Ribbed with yellow and black, 
Suiiple and cushion -footed, 

I wandered where never the track 
Of a liuman creature had rustled 

The silence of mighty woods. 
And, fierce in a tjTannous freedom, 

I knew but the law of my moods. 
The elephant, trumpeting, started 

When he heard my footstep near. 
And the spotted giraffes fled wildly 

In a yellow cloud of fear. 
I sucked in the noontide splendor 

Quivering along the glade. 
Or yawning, panting, and dreaming, 

Basked in the tamarisk shade. 
Till I heard my wild mate roaring. 

As tlie shadows of night came on 
To brood in tlie trees' thick branches. 

And the shadow of sleep was gone ; 
Then I roused and roared in answer. 

And unsheathed from my cushioned feet 
My curving claws, and stretched me 

And wandered my mate to greet. 
We toyiKl in the amber moonlight, 

Upon the wann flat sand. 
And struck at each other our ma,ssive anns — 

How powerful he was and grand ! 
His yellow eyes flashed fiercely 

As he crouched and gazed at me, 
And his quivering tail, like a serpent. 

Twitched curving nervously ; 
Then like a storm he seized me. 

With a wild, triumphant cry. 
And we met as two clouds in heaven 

WTien the thunders before them fly ; 
We grappled and struggled together. 

For his love, like his rage, was rude ; 
And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck 

At times, in our play, drew blood. 
Often another suitor — 

For 1 was flexile and fair — 
Fought for me in the moonlight. 

While I lay crouching there, 
Till his blood was drained by the desert ; 

And, ruffled with triumph and power. 
He licked me and lay beside me 

To breathe him a vast half-hour ; 
Then down to the fountain we loitered. 

Where the antelopes came to drink, — 
Like a bolt we sprang upon them, 

Ere they had time to shrink. 
AVe drank their blood and cruslied them. 

And tore them limb from limb, 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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And the hungriest lion doubted 
Ere he disjiuted with him. 

That was a life to live for ! 

Not this weak human life, 
With its frivolous, bloodless passions, 

Its poor and petty strife ! 
Come to my arms, my hero. 

The shadows of twilight grow, 
And the tiger's ancient fierceness 

In my veins begins to flow. 
Come not cringing to sue me ! 

Take me with triumph and power. 
As a warrior storms a fortress ! 

I will not shrink or cower. 
Come as you came in the desert, 

Ere we were women and men. 
When the tiger passions were in us. 

And love as you loved me then ! 

William w. STOR^■ 



SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME. 

Though, when other maids stand by, 
I may deign thee no reply, 
Turn not then away, and sigh, — 

Smile, and never heed me ! 
If our love, indeed, be such 
xVs must thrill at every touch, 
Why should others learn as much ? — 

Smile, and never heed me ! 

Even if, with maiden pride, 
I should bid thee ijuit my side. 
Take this lesson for thy guide, — 

Smile, and never heed me ! 
But when stars and twilight meet. 
And the dew is falling sweet. 
And thou hear'st my coming feet, — 

Then thou — then — mayst heed me ! 

CHARLES SWAIP 



I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE. 



I ARISE from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night. 
When the winds are breathing low. 

And the stars are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee. 

And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? — 

To thy chamber-window, sweet ! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream, — 

The champak odors fail 

Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 



The nightingale's complaint. 

It dies upon her heart. 
As 1 must die on thine, 

0, beloved as thou art ! 

0, lift me from the grass ! 

I die, I faint, I faU ! 
Let thy love in kisses I'ain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas ! 

My heart beats loud and fast : 
Oh ! press it close to thine again. 

Where it will break at last I 

PERCY BVSSHE SH 



SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGtTESE. 

Go from me. Yet I feel that I ehall stand 
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore, 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of individual life, I shall command 
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand 
Serenely in the sunshine as before. 
Without the sense of that which I forebore, . . ■ 
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land 
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine 
AVith pulses that beat double. What I do 
And what I dream include thee, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue 
God for myself, he hears that name of thine, 
And sees within my eyes the tears of two. 

The face of all the world is chauged, I think. 
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul 
.Move still, still, beside me, as they stole 
Betwi.xt me and the dreadful outer brink 
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink. 
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole 
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole 
God gave for baptism I am fain to drink. 
And praise its sweetness. Sweet, with thee anear. 
The names of country, heaven, are changed away 
For where thou art or shall be, there or here ; 
And this, this lute and song, loved yesterday 
(The singing angels know) are only dear. 
Because thy name moves right in what they say. 

Indeed, this very love which is my boast, 
And which, when rising up from breast to brow. 
Doth crowii me with a ruby large enow 
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost. 
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost, 
I should not love withal, unless that thou 
Hadst set me an example, shown me how. 
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were 
crossed, 



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141 r 



And love called love. And thus, 1 cannot 

ijieak 
Of love even, as a good thing of my own. 
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and 

weak, 
And placed it by thee on a golden throne, — 
And that I love yO soul, we must be meek !) 
Is by tliee only, whom I love alone. 

If thou must love me, let it be for naught 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say, 
' ' I love her for her smile, her look, her way 
Of speaking gently, — for a trick of thought 
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day." 
For these things in themselves. Beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 

wrought 
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, — 
A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 

1 NEVER gave a lock of hair away 

To a man. Dearest, e.xcept this to thee,- 

Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully 

I ring out to the full brown lengt-h and say, 

" Take it." My day of youth went yesterday; 

My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. 

Nor plant I It from rose or m)Ttle tree. 

As girls do, any more. It only may 

Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of 

tears. 
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside 
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral- 
shears 
Would take this first, but Love is justified, — 
Take it thou, finding pure, from all those years, 
The kiss my mother left here when she died. 

The soul's Riulto hath its merchandise ; 
I barter curl for curl upon that mart. 
And from my poet's forehead to my heart 
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies, — 
As purely black, as erst, to Pindar's eyes, 
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart 
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart. 
Thy bay-crown's shade. Beloved, I surmise, 
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black ! 
Thus, mth a fillet of smooth-kissing breath, 
1 tie the shadow safe from gliding back. 
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth. 
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack 
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death. 



Say over again, and yet once over again, 
That thou dost love me. Though the word re- 
peated 
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost 

treat it. 
Remember, never to the hill or plain. 
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, 
Comes the fresh spring in all her green completed. 
Beloved, 1, amid the darkness greeted 
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain 
Cry ; " Speak once more — thou lovest ! " Who 

can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll, — 
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the 

year ? 
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me, — toll 
The silver iterance ! — only minding, dear, 
To love me also in silence, with thy soul. 

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead, 
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ? 
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine. 
Because of grave-damps falling round my head ? 
I marveled, my Beloved, when I read 
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine — 
But ... so much to thee ? Can 1 pour thy wine 
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead 
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. 
Then, love me. Love ! look on me . . . breathe on 

me ! 
As brighter ladies do not count it strange, 
For love, to give up acres and degree, 
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange 
My near sweetviewof Heaven, for earth with thee I 

My letters ! all dead paper, mute and white ! — 
And yet they seem alive and quivering 
Against my tremulous handswhichloose thestring 
And let them drop down on my knee to-night. 
This said, he wished to have me in his sight 
Once, as a friend : this fixed a day in spring 
To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing. 
Yet 1 wept for it ! this . . . the paper 's light . . . 
Said, Dear, I love thee ; and I sank and quailed 
As if God's future thundered on my past. 
This said, / am thine, — and so its ink has jialed 
With lying at my heart that beat too fast. 
And this ... Love, thy words have ill availed. 
If what this said, I dared repeat at last ! 

I THINK of thee ! my thoughts do twine and bud 

About thee, as wild vines about a tree. 

Put out broad leaves, and soon there's naught to see 

Except the straggling green which hides the wood. 

Yet, my palm-tree, be it understood 

I will not have my thoughts instead of thee 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Who art dearer, better ! Rather instantly 
Renew thy presence. As a strong tree shouUI, 
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare, 
A nd let these bands of greenery which insphere thee 
Droj) heavily down, burst, shattered, every- 
where ! 
Dccause, in this deep joy to see and hear thee 
And breathe within thy shadow a new ail', 
1 do not think of thee, — 1 am too near thee. 

TiiK first time that the sun rose on thine oath 
To love me, 1 looked forward to the moon 
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon 
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth. 
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly 

loathe ; 
And, looking on myself, 1 seemed not one 
For such man's love ! — more like an out of tune 
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth 
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste 
Is laid down at the first iU-sounding note. 
I did not wrong myself so, but I placed 
A wrong on thcc. For perfect strains may float 
Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced, — 
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat. 

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ; 
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white. 
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its " list ! " 
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height 
The first.and soughttheforehead,and half missed. 
Half falling on the hair. 0, beyond meed ! 
That was the chrism of love, which love's own 

crown, 
AVith sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
The third upon my lips was folded down 
.In jierfcct, purple state ; since when, indeed, 
1 have been proud, and said, ' ' My love, my own ! " 

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day's 

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. 

1 love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. 

1 love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath. 

Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Barrett, browning. 



MY LITTLE SAINT. 

I c.iRE not, though it be 

By the preciser sort thought popery ; 

We poets can a license show 

For everything we do. 
Hear, then, my little saint ! I '11 pray to thee. 

If now thy happy mind. 

Amidst its various joys, can leisure find 

To attend to anything so low 

As what I say or do. 
Regard, aud be — what thou wast ever — kind. 

Let not the blest above 

Engross thee (juite, but sometimes hither rove : 

Fain would I thy sweet image see, 

And sit and talk with thee ; 
Nor is it curiosity, but love. 

Ah ! what delight 't would be, 
Wouldst thou sometimes by stealth converse with 
me ! 

How should I thy sweet commune prize. 

And other joys despise ] 
Come, then ! I ne'er was yet denied by thee. 

I would not long detain 

Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in pain ; 

Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know 

Of thy escape below : 
Before thou 'rt missed, thou .shouldst return again. 

Sure, heaven must needs thy love. 
As well as other qualities, improve : 

Come, then ! and recreate my sight 

With rays of thy pure light ; 
'T will cheer my eyes more than the lamps above. 

But if Fate 's so severe 

As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere 

(And by thy absence I shall know 

Whether thy state be so). 
Live happy, and be mindful of me there. 



WAITING FOR THE GRAPES. 

That I love thee, charming maid, I a thousand 
times have said. 
And a thousand times more I have sworn it, 
But 't is easy to be seen in the coldness of your 
mien 
That you doubt my afiection — or scorn it. 
Ah me ! 

Not a single grain of sense is in the whole of 
these pretenses 
For rejecting your lover's petitions ; 



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LOVE. 



143 



ra 



Had I windows in my bosom, 0, liow gladly, I 'd 
expose 'em ! 
To undo your fantastic suspicions. 

Ah me ! 

You repeat I 've known you long, and you hint 
I do you wrong, 
In beginning so late to pursue ye ; 
But 't is folly to look glum because people did 
not come 
Up the stairs of your nursery to woo ye. 

Ah me ! 

In a grapery one walks without looking at the 
stalks, 
While the bunches are green that they 're bear- 
ing : 
All the pretty little leaves that are dangling at the 
eaves 
Scarce attract e'en a moment of staring. 

Ah mo ! 

But when time has swelled the grapes to a richer 
style of shapes, 
And the sun has lent warmth to their blushes, 
Then to cheer us and to gladden, to enchant us 
and to madden. 
Is the ripe ruddy glory that rushes. 

Ah me ! 

0, 't is then that mortals pant while they gaze on 
Bacchus' plant, — 
0, 't is then, — will my simile .serve ye ? 
Should a damsel fair repine, though neglected like 
a vine ? 
Both erelong shall turn lu^ads topsy-turvy. 
Ah me ! 



B^- 



BLACK Airo BUTE EYES. 

The brilliant black eye 

May in triumph let fly 
All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 

But the soft eye of blue. 

Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em ! 
Dear Fanny ! 

The black eye may say, 

"Come and worship my ray ; 
By adoring, perhaps you may move me ! " 

But the blue eye, half hid. 

Says, from under its lid, 
" I love, and am yours, if you love me ! " 
Dear Faimy ! 



Then tell me, why, 
In that lovely blue eye. 
Not a charm of its tint I discover ; 
Or why should you wear 
The only blue p!Ur 
That ever said " No" to a lover ? 
Dear Fanny ! 

Thomas Mo 



ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. 

Do you a.sk what the birds say ? The sparrow, 

the dove. 
The linnet, and thrush say, " I love, and 1 love 1" 
In the winter they 're silent, the wind is so strong ; 
What it says I don't know, but it sings a louil 

song. 
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 

weather. 
And singing and loving, — all come back together. 
But the lark is so briml'ul of gladness and love. 
The green fielils below him, the blue sky above. 
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings ho, 
" I love my Love, and my Love loves me." 

SAMUEL Coleridge. 



THE LOVE-KNOT. 

Tvrxc. her bonnet under her chin, 
She tied her raven ringlets in. 
But not alone in the silken .snare 
Did she catch her lovely (loafing hair. 
For, tying her bonnet under her chin, 
She tied a young man's heart within. 

They were strolling together u]) the hill. 

Where the wind came blowing merry and chill ; 

And it blew the curls a frolicsome race. 

All over the happy peach-colored face. 

Till scolding and laughing, she tied them in. 

Under her beautiful, dimpled chin. 

Ami it blew a color, bright as the bloom 
Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume. 
All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl 
That ever imprisoned a romping curl. 
Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin. 
Tied a young man's heart within. 

Steeper and steeper grew the hill. 
Madder, merrier, chiller still. 
The western wind blew down, and played 
The wildest tricks with the little maid. 
As, tying her bonnet under her chin. 
She tied a young man's heart within. 



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rOEilS OF LOVE. 



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k 



wostcrn wind, do you think it wns lair 

To play snc-li tiiolvs witli luT lloatiiii; luiii ' 

To i;luilly, j;U'i'l'ully, do your bost 

To blow htn' nj;!iinst tho vounj; nuiii's brciist, 

\VluMt> ho lias'gladly folci.-d h'or in. 

And kissod her mouth and dinii'lod ohiu ? 

EUory Vnno, you Ulth' thoUf;lit, 
An hour ago, wlu'U you besought 
This country hiss to walk with you, 
Afti'V the sun had driod tho dow. 
What torribhi danger you M be in. 
As sho tied hor bonnet under her ehiu. 



A GOLDEN GIRL 

Ll'CY is a goldeu girl ; 

But a man, a man, shouhi woo her ! 
Thoy who seek her shrink alvick, 

Whon tliey shouM, likf storms, jnu'suo her. 

All hor smiles are hid in light ; 

All her hiiir is lost in s]4endor ; 
But she hath the eyes of Nifjlit 

And a hesu't that 's over-tender. 

Yet the foolish suitors fly 

(Is 't oxoess of dread or duty !) 
Fixim the starlight of her eye, 

Leaving to negleet her beauty ! 

Men by fifty seasons taught 

Leave her to a young beginner. 
Who, without a second thought, 

Whispers, woos, and straight must win her. 

Luey is a golden girl ! 

Toixst her in a goWot brimniing I 
May the man that wins her wear 

On his heart the Kose of Women ! 

UARKV CORNWALL. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 

Is the merry month of May, 
In a morn by break of day. 
With a tniop of damsels playing 
Forth 1 ivde, forsooth, a-numng. 
When anon by a woodside. 
Where as May was in his pride, 
1 espii-d, all Mono, 
PhiUida and Corydon. 

Much ado there was, Gml wot ! 
He would love and she would not : 



She said, " Never- man was true " : 
He says, " None was fal.se to you." 
lie said he had loved hor long : 
She says, " l.ove should have no WTOUg,' 

tVirydon he would kiss her then. 
She says, " Maids must kiss no men 
Till they do for good ami all." 
Then sho nnule the shepherd call 
All the heavens to witness, truth 
Never loved a truer youth. 

Thus, with many a pRHty oath, 
Yea and nay, and faith and troth, — 
Such as silly shephenls use 
When they will not lovo abuse, — 
Love, which had been long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
And riiillida, with garlands gay, 
Wivj made tho lady of the May, 



THE CHRONICLE. 

M.\K0ARITA tii-st possiessed. 
If 1 reniember well, my breast, 

Margjirita fii-st of all ; 
But when awhile tho wanton maid 
With my i-estless heart had played, 

Martha took tlie Hying ball. 

Martha soon did it resign 
To tho beauteous Catharine. 

Beauteous Catharine gave place 
(Though loath and angry she to purt 
With the possession of my heart) 

To Klisa's conquering face. 

Eliza till this hour might reign, 
Had she not evil counsels ta'en ; 

Fundamental laws she broke. 
And still new favorites she chose. 
Till up in arms my passions ix>se. 

And cast away her yoke. 

Mary then, and gentle Anne, 
Both to irign at once begjin ; 

Alternately they swayed ; 
And sometinu'S Mary was the fair, 
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear, 

And sometimes both 1 obeyed. 

Another Mai-y then arose. 
And did rigorous laws impose ; 

A mighty t\Tant she ! 
Long, alas ! should 1 have l>ecn 
Under that iron-sceptered queen. 

Had not Kebccca set me fn>e. 



-^ 



14S 



~r^. 



When fair Rebecca set me free, 

"1' was then a ;^o|iieii time with me : 

iiiit Hoon tiioHC [ileasureH lle<l ; 
Kor tlie jjraciou.s jirinccss diwl 
In lier youth and beauty'tt jiride, 

Ajid .Indith n^igncd in her stead. 

One iii'iritli, three days, and ijalf an hour, 
.Indith held the sovereign jKnver : 

Wondrous heautilul her lace I 
I'.ut so weak and small lier wit, 
That she to govern was unfit, 

And so Susanna took her jilace. 

Hut when Isatella cime, 
Armed with a resistless Hume, 

And the artillery of her eye. 
Whilst she proudly marched about, 
Greater concjuests to find out. 

She beat out Susan, by the by. 

liut in her place I then obeyed 
IJlack-eyed Bess, her viceroy-maid. 

To whom ensued a vacancy : 
Thousand worse passions then possessed 
The interregnum of my breast ; 

I'less me from such an anarchy ! 

Gentle Henrietta then, 

And a thinl Mary ne.tt began ; 

Then .loan and .Jane, and AndrL'i ; 
And then a pretty Thomasine, 
And then another Catharine, 

And then a long d cceltiru. 

liut I will briefer with them be, 
Sini:e few of them were long with me. 

An higher and a nobler strain 
My present emperess does claim, 
Heleonora, first of the name ; 

Whom God giant long to reign ! 

AllKAMAM COWLUV. 



OKKKN GROW TIfE RASHES O I 

GisKK.s grow the rashes 0, 

Green grow the rashes ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 

Are s[)ent amang the la-sses 0. 

There 's naught but care on cv'ry ban', 
In every hour that passes O ; 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An' 't were na for the hxsscs O ? 

The warly raf:e may riches cha.se. 
An' riches still may fly them O ; 



An' though at last they catch them l'a«t, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O. 

Gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearii: O, 

An' warly cares an' warly men 
May all gae tapsalt<«rie (J. 

I'or you «ae douce, ye sneer at this, 
Ye 're naught but senseless asses I 

The wisest niaij the warl' e'er saw 
He dearly lo'ed the lasses 0. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her nolilest work she idasses () : _ 

Her 'prentice ban' she tried on man. 
An' then she nuule the lasses O. 

KOIIP.KT nl.'ll^ 



AN APOLOGV FOR OfJINi; INTO TUB COONTkV. 

Cill/iK, w« must not always bo in heaven 
Forever toying, ogling, kissing, billing ; 

The joys for which I thousands woulil have given. 
Will presently bo scarcely woi'tli a shilling. 

Thy neck is fairer than the Alpine snows, 
And, sweetly swelling, beats the down ofiloves, 

Thy cheek of health, a rival to the rose ; 

Thy pouting lips, the throne of all the loves ; 

Yet, though thus beautiful beyond expression, 

That beauty fadeth by too much iiossession. 

Economy in love is peace to nature. 
Much like economy in worldly matter ; 
We should be prudent, never live loo fast ; 
Profusion will not, cannot always last. 

Lovers are really spendthrifts — 't is a shame — 
Nothing their thoughtless, wild career can tame. 

Till penury stares theni in the face ; 
And when they finil an enijity [iiirsc, 
'jrown calmer, wiser, how the fault they curse. 

And, limping, look with such a sneaking grace ! 
.Job's war-horse fierce, his neck with thun<lcr hung. 
Sunk to an humble hack that carries dung. 

.Smell to the f(ucen of flowers, the fragrant row; — 
.Smell twenty times — and then, my dear, thy nose 
Will tell thee Oiot so much for scent athirst) 
The twentieth <lrank less flavor than ihejiral. 

Love, doubtless, is the sweetest of all fellows ; 

Yet often should the little god retire — 
Abiicnc(f, dear Chloe, is a pair of Isdlows, 

That keeps alive the himtikI tin:. 

DR. W01.COT (I'HII'.R I'INIMR ) 



-.-g 



Itl--, 



I ll'> 



WJfAfN (»*' /.(»IK. 



•Ij, 



AN INUKl-nUN .\UA\N!iT \,vlUM. 



li^- 



.\\.\. Is not hmMo tlmt mIiIiu'IIi liiiulu li> sixwv, 
Not I'vii'i)' l>>m>v xxKiil, n.t Tuiiv lo >i>ilil, 
'Hio ilivjtivil MhiuuTO iilumn iliio I'lilimwl How, 
Ami MlMUfjiwI |ivi\»iii\n .irt (111' iHadiilolight, 

'Hio iilt>H!.i»\l Imilo ilolli hiilii llio liHi'ml'xU 

Auil 0>1j<i> >UH'oil oim loml « tVi<>iiill,v lnuko, 

l.i'V\i< Is tl\<> H^^l^l \vl»>«ti> OHtWKwl lu>\V (U(ll> H«**is 
\Vl\ivio livMl lH>j<lmiiiijft jjMixll^v ("WiuU" mi\k<> 
Of Hlii«>in\« fiiiw, uiiil hx'sli i\s Sidumi'i'n f;in»a<i, 
\V|iiv'l» iw'liliiH' a«i>mi> I'tiu niii\>lv mil' wiinl iim 

sl««ko i 
riiii nli.'ii ()>.' Kioiiia .'.lioiiM m llio lliv Ih' 

ui.lo. 
ri\i>}>\»Kl ix jj!\\u>>, tlu>>li\w»«> il»tl\ slilliiUUtv, 

lUviVWiUs ll»' lUxuv so IWI>, ."«> fiitiv, s<> >jn,Vi 
So s\vi»i>( (<> stiM'll, »> sol"! In liiuvli «»<1 trtst ; 
As si>o\«<^« U sliowld oinhwv l\v ii)5)il li«' uyxs 
At(>l «>'«<<(' \w with nn,v siwi'Hiii ilofosi i 

\\\\\ \\\w\\ il\o lv)U<l\il M>«il\<>>in> \vi»\il \loU> 

0<v«i> is \\w jjlvviy \\liio>> \\ m-sl viivl sUow, 

t,>w<> is tl\i> stixvjuMo, wUivso waufts so vs'vhuly rt»\v 
As \hIj{1i( i\>lti'<< u\<>\>'s «\i»ils (o \vtt>lo tl»invi» i 
\,o«>' is \\w i>oiso« »il\l \vitl> »>V)j«r siS 
As \i\ij;t>t •'> oHt\V!>i\l s\v<><M«i>»si> likii\j; \vi«, 

\\\\{ US llu> >i<>.'lvt> v^^H•|^^l^^ i\\,i< s(»\vs |\y ^»^^!lth 
Sw jvovSiWl >»«iV >>iV<'V«M \>l'i>\}<SvH^Vt«i«><> i><>i>ll\, 

>.>M\i> is \\w Mtx\ \vl>iv«' Irtslo tl\o rtsl> iltvoiiuvs, 
Awvl makivtthomswidUnv >lo\\\>ll>iH'li«kiii};)i>vko; 

\ .v>»0 is 1 1\<< l^\v-t' W I\IW1> fi»iv\\<>4S<' i\i<i»^x"\iu>)>l \\s>»ivs, 

A\ul »»«k<>s tlxH' ti'Hst !» I«lst> juivl l'i>iii>M loivki- ! 
U\>t rts ()>o t\.vko(hi- l\v\1isU tisK .loih kill. 
Sv> rt,'>t.t'vi>vsl»<»k<\s !)»<> >ovw'»Uf<>>l<MUs\\iU, 

AX\\N\Mv>V"S. 



I >)«iv>k)_\ slnvv>kl tlio wiUow \vi\'>v ; 
V\i» \\\>»lii I <\\sm', \\\it <no\\ s*j' 
\VI>i>» )»vo is tiisl l»o will awav ; 
'lM>o« ivU «vis \v>v<\ \v)ml sUaM \ (ivx 
'IV >'\\iv thtw IW\^ \vhivi\<''i>\' \ \v\v\x t 

Tl\»> fi>ii- >\w<> shi* 's » «>»vk h> *\k 
')M«> \\«\\\\n .xso)* >\\>.i ,iv\tU \o\vl\' (vMl, 

Tlvo \\l!>i'k V » )y\->vl i>\ fivir \\>i>u's oywv. 

rtii- >\v>it \\il\ stvH>j> »t swy iwirt' ! 

I'hi'H tx>U \»<s kms \vh«< slisU I i>v> 
'l\> v'vuv lhiv«T> tK'M-s, \vl><<«cVr I \v>w J 



WlStlTO K«\U TtlK St'l'I'OSKn MJSTKKSS, 

\YllO|{'li.l( sill' Iv. 

'I'llill Dol liii|i».>i»il>lo Slii> 

'I'liiil shuU oominmiil iii.v liwni auil iin' ; 

\Vlioi>t''i'V slu> lio, 

l..ii'Ko<l ii|\ ftMiii mnitiil i\vi< 

In sl\ii\lj' Imwiw oriU>,ili\i_v ; 

'IMlllliiit lipo Uirlh 

Olslu.li.ul Kiiti' stiuul I'oidi, 

Au.l l.i!n-li h.-r l\(li' sL-jis 1.1 .»ii .vulh ; 

'I'iU \\\M .llvi»o 

lil<>ii l.ik.' n sluiui> 

Or.'iyslrtl llissli, tlnM\ij;l\ wlii.-li t.> sliinc ; 

- MiH>t )'<«« 1\<>I', m,v Wish.w, 

\5««|H>i\k Ix'i" l.> m,v Idissus, 

A«il lio jii oidl.'.l, iu,v oKsciit kiss.w. 

I wish hi'V lH>f\»ty 

Thiit ow.-s \»iit nil its <l\\t,Y 

'IV )jrtu.l,v lios i>i' j{list'vti\n »l\.H>-ti« ; 

Sirtix'thii^j* («i>iv tlitm 
'1\>H<>I« ov liss\>o (NU>, 
Of \-;\iti)>iii\t l<>atK<>v, .>v iii'l\ f:m. 

A ftdv tlirtt 's Ixwt 

Hy its o\v<\ lH>«Ht\ ilwst, 

Au.l i-iiu rtlowo i~««n»iiml lln> wst ; 

A Tiuv uuul.' H\> 

iVit of u>> nllii'i' slu>i> 

'rU«« wluit NiU»ux''s wliilo Ivsu.l sivts o)).', 

Sy\l\u<»<u» Aliowxvrs 

I'll" swwt liis.vm's.-. whuso i><>\\ti-s 

l^Hi oivwii v>Ul Wiutoi-'s luvsil \vit1\ ll.iw.'rs. 

\VlH>t<<'0>~ lloH)«l«t 

l>a« «iak» .Inj's I'.uvIk^uI l<vij;l>t 
i^r jjivv .l.nvu to tho \viiij{s ot" uvjsht, 

s>>M\ silkon Uowx's, 

0))<iu sutis, slvrt.l;.- K»\\<'\-s ; 

'15.>v<> all, \)vMl>i\»jj \Yitliii\ tl\!>t lowoi-s, 

IVvs tl>»t «<Hsl Kinvw 

I«o l«vt of iht>i<- };^HH^ iHoviwv 

K»\MH a I.MVssjvut uijjlit ol~ svwvw ; 

I'^ys that, ill s)\ito 

OtMa»-k\>iy*s, l\v tl\o lijilit 

Ot'« >>liv!«r «>i>ui. atv' >la,v all >\i>;l>t, 

l.<tV that .laftw st-u.I 

A .>1»*1Umij;s> to l\is <>t».l. 

At>.l, \vl>o« it wwivs, say, " \V.-l,NMn,\ M.<u>i," 



I.OVK. 



147 



Of wortli /(«iy liatvi! )i';r jK/i/r 

Ol' wii«li<!ii ; itii'I I viMt wi mm':. 

Sow, iCi'llIU; k/l((W» 
'J'li/it llw wlii;)c: ni/li;iiit t/rowK 
W<!(»vi! tlii!j(i (t usirUiiiii <it my vawa ; 

Uw lliat <lai<M) Ix; 

VVluit lliBW! liii'X wluli t/j m-M : 

I )*(;<jk (Kj fiirtli<-.f, It. I» Hli«. 

"J' l« Hf)/:, (tfi/l lM;ri! 

/<<j ! I mi':loU)fc ami clear 

My winli';*' <:l'<i<<ly i:hnriu:U:t. 

Hiicli wr<rtl) ;« this i« 
Htiall CiJ! /riy (lyixK wislifto, 
Ali'l ili;U:rmilli: tlluHl t/< ki«W!», 

!,<:(, Jiiif full {(I'^ry, 

My hw.\i;H, fly Ixiforo yr: ; 

J^iiy*: my lU-Xioim, - l/iil licr nUiry, 



"'I'li'iy aay ]iiv nivnu au will ;w Uki.a ; 

liii). I 'ill u iiiiii|il>: ii/aji|irii, 
My iii'/t.liiir'x (imt. miilli; wli';ii nli". wak/!* 

1 iil.lll liavv miiH'ul aii'l |/iay':<l in, 

" I '/Illy know my iii'/llmr'ii lovi; 

Wlii'li n'r/iM all ami a«kii imlliiiin, 
Ali'l l.llis m;w I'/villX With I.Ik: ll,liKiV'; 

'I'm, iiiii'ili III'! v/ay 'd l'/alliiii;<, 

" l/'fl|l:)l«t Ik: ){iv<:lt III': all ill Itillilllli; 

I r»if<:it all lliiii({* liy liiiii : 
'I'll!! risk In UnrHAi: aii'l nliniij^i; 
I tri:iiilil<:, 'loiil/t., 'I<:iiy liiiii. 

" 111! '« >iWi«;U«t Irl'iii'l, '/I tiar<li:»t. fw, 
l{<«t aii((i:l, or wi/rut 'l<;vll ; 

I <:itl|l!l liaM; 1,1 ■ \l,Vl: llllll "i. 
I (Mlj't, Id; lli<;|i:ly civil I 

" Voii liiinl a y/iiiii:lii v/lm (nilc (V/d.li 
(l<;r \iii,iiMimi', tlii'k an nimiiicr'K '( 

Villi ttiiiik Ktii; <lri:aiii» v/lial liivn in wiil.li, 
Will/ cauls il ty; iicwm/liicrK < 



AMW, c.lUIKI.rV. 

FAdi Amy ol'tlic U-.n-.u-M ln/iiw, 

Aniiiil. iiic I/; Aiv.hV.r 
Wliy you v/lio woiiM not. Iiurt a uioiw, 

'>ii Uirtiirc WI your lover. 

You «ivi: your codec l/i tlic cat, 

Voii Kl.rokc till; do;/ for ijimiiif^, 
Ali'l all your IWrc ^(rowii kiii'lcr at, 

Tlic little \ir'iwii ix-Ji'n liiiiiiiiiiii;{. 

IJiit wliftii /«! Iiaiintu your 'lw;r, - the t'/wri 
MurkH e'imiiig ami marku ti,''*<'V,, 

Son w«;iii (.« Iiave ulilj.ln-A your ';yeli'|j) <lowri 
To tliat long (yic<* of Hi:wiuK ! 

Voii never give a look, not you, 
N'oi ilroj/ dim a "Oixxl morning," 

7'o kei:)! liin long 'lay warm and l<liic, 
Ho fietlcd tiy your w-z/rning. 

Hlie stio'ik )ier head ; " The nioiiw! ami W; 

Kor eriinih or (lower will linger; 
The dog in Uiififiy at my knee. 

The cat (iiKTis at my finger, 

" Hut /«! — Ui ki/iri., till! Ifcoiit thing given 
.Vl/a/m gri;at thingx at a 'liiitan'* ; 

lie wantK my wirld, my nun, my hcavc-n, 
Houl, U;dy, whole nxhUtruK, 



"Hiich love 'li a 'rov/nlii'- I/all t/, fling, 

A iiiomi:iit'ii I'ri-lty (/a'.time ; 
I give all me, if anything, 

'I'll'! fir.it tilii': aii'l tli'; l;u(t time. 

" liear neightior of tlie trelllwyl houw,, 
A man nhoiild murniiii never, 

Though U'liUA woiw: tlian 'log and nioun/: 
Till dol./:d on forever ! " 



7HK AHKl'llKhiyA HKHOhUIIOH. 

HllAl.l. I, wanting in <le«{>!iii, 
l;ie hw^auw! a v/oman 'ft fair ? 
(^n- niake //ale my chwkn with can- 
'Chiim another'* ro«y are ? 
I5<; iilie f:iirer than the 'lay. 
Or the flowery nieadis in May, 
If lilie Ix; no), w> to me, 
What care I how fair she U ? 

Hhall my f'/'diah h':art. U: (line'l 
''.'aiii»; J i'.'-.i: a wiiiiiuii kind ? 
Or a vii:\ii\i»\,iitiiA nature 
./oinwl with a lovely (miiirK ? 
J{« nhe iiitii:ki:t, kimler than 
'I'he turtle-dove or (xli'Mii, 
If ftlie Ix; m/t. a/i t/> ine, 
Wliat '.are I how kind nhe Ix^ f 



148 



I'UliMS OF LOVE. 



-^ 



Sliiill a \voniiin'.s vii'tmw niovn 
Ml' I.. |.urisli I'lM- li.'i- liivi' I 
Or, liiT wi'll-ilcwrviiiK-s known, 
Miiko mil ii»ilo I'lirj^i't mini' own ? 
liii slni Willi llml j{ooilnos.s lilcsl 
Wliicli niiiy nu'iit name of Imsl, 
If slio 1)11 nol s\ii'li to nn', 
What I'ai'o 1 liow gooil .sln' lie ? 

•Cans.' lii'i- loilnii,. socnis loo liifjli, 
Sliall 1 (.lay lllc Tool an, I ,li,' ' 
'I'lioso Unit, liiMU' a noM.' iiuial 
Wlu'iv they want nl li, Iivn IumI. 
'I'liinU wliat witli Ihrni thry wonlil do 
Tlial williont tlirni ilaiv to woo ; 

Anil iinlo.sN tlial, niinil 1 sw. 

What nuv 1 Low Kival sli,. 1.,. ( 

(iivat, or j;ooil, or Uinil, or lair, 
1 will no'or the nioro ilcspair; 
II' sli(> lovo nic, this boliovo, — 
1 will ilii' ore sho shall fjriovo. 
ll'sho slighl nu> when 1 woo, 
I ran siorn ami lot her v;o : 

For ir she \v nol lor in.'. 

What carr I for whom slio ho > 



UOSAT.lNll'S fOMPLAINT. 

I,i>VK. in my hosoni, liUo a hoo, 

Hotli sni'k his swoot ; 
Now with his winfjs ho plays with mo, 

Now with his foct; ; 
Within mini' oyos ho nnvki's his nost, 
His hoil aniitlst my tonih>r lux'nsl. 
My kissi's aro his ilaily fi'ast. 
Anil yt>t ho ixihs tuo of luy rest ; 

All! wanton, will vol" 

Anil if 1 slivp, thon poroholh ho 

With prwlty llijjht. 
Ami niakos his pillow of my knoe, 

'l"hi' livilon); nighf ; 
Strike 1 my Into, he tunes the string; 
He musie plays, if 1 hut sinsj; : 
He lemls mo every lovely thins;. 
Yet oruel, he my heart lUith sting : 

Whist ! wanton, still you I 

Klse 1 with roses every ilay 

Will whip you henoe. 
Anil himl you, when you lont; to play, 

Kor your otVense ; 
I '11 shut my oyoa to keep you in, 
1 '11 make von fust it for vour sin. 



I '11 eounl your power not worth a pin ; 
Alas I what liereliy shall 1 win 
If he gainsay me '( 

What if I heal the wanton hoy 

With numy a nul '. 
He will repay me with annoy, 

lieeause a j>oil ; 
'I'hen sit thou safely on my knee, 
Ami let thy hower my hosom he ; 
lank in mine eyes, 1 like of tlieo, 
tt Cnpiil 1 so Ihon |.ily nie, 

Spare mil, Inil piny lliee. 

TrioMAS Loncn. 



CUriD AND CAMPASrE. 

Crnn ami my I'ampaspe playeil 

At earils for kisses, - ("npiil paiil ; 

He slakes his ipiiver, how, ami arrows, 

His mother's iloves, ami team of sparrows, — 

Loses them too ; then ilown he throws 

The eoval of his lip, the rose 

Ci rowing on 's elieek (hut none knows how); 

With these the erystal on his brow, 

Ami then the ilimple of his eliin, — 

All these iliil my Campaspe win. 

At last he .set her both his eyes ; 

She won, ami I'npiil bliml iliil n.si<. 

(> l.ove : hath she done this to thee f 

What shall, alas ! hoeoine of mo t 

JOHN LVLV. 



DEATH AND CUPID. 

Au ' Mhii hut oft hath marveleil why 

The goils, who rule aliove, 
Shoulil e'er )H'rmit the young to ilie, 

The ohl to fall in lov'e ' 

Ah : why shoul.l haples.s human kiml 
He p\inisheil out of season '. — 

Tray listen, ami perhaps you '11 linil 
My rhyme may give the ivnson. 

Hi'slh. strolling out one summer's ilay, 
Mel Cnpiil, with his sparrows ; 

Anil, bantering in ii nierry way, 
I'roiioseii a ehangi" of arrows. 

'■ Agreed ! " O|uotli t^upiil. " I foresoo 
The queerest game of errors ; 

For you the King of Hearts will be. 
Anil I 11 be King of Terrors ! " 

Ami so 't was done ; — alas, the day 
That multiplied their arts ! — 



-^ 



LOVE. 



T4^ 



Kdi:)) from tlic other tioiu itwuy 
A portion of Ills ilartH. 

Am! that rjxpliiiiiH thi; rnaHori why, 

IJ(;H|.it(; lh(! godH aliovo, 
'I'ho yoiiiix arc often ilooiiicil U) die, 

riie ohl to fall in h)ve I 

JOirW (jODPUt'.Y SAXIi 



LKT NOT WOMAN KKK CCmi'LATH. 

1, 11 not woman e'er eomfjhiin 

Of ineonHtancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er eoinphiin 

Fiekle man in apt to rove ; 
IjOoIc abroiii! tlirongli Xatiire'H range, 
Nature'H miglity law i» change ; 
l,ailie», would it not be strange 

Man Khould thi^n a monHter prove? 

Mark the wiijifn, and mark the Hkie» ; 

Oeeiiii'H el)l) and oeean'» flow ; 
8nn and moon hut net to riHe, 

Kound and roun<l the HeaxoiiH go. 
Why then (oik of Hilly man, 
To oppow! gi-eat Nature'H plan 'I 
We 'II he eoriHtant wliile we ean, — 

You ean hi; no more, you know. 

RoiieuT nu( 



LOVK-I.KTTKItH MAiJE OF FI.OWEItH. 

An exquiHite invention thin. 

Worthy of Love's rnoxt honeyed kins, — 

This art of writing Hlld-duux 

III liiids, and odors, and bright hues! 

Ill Haying all one feels and thinks 

III r lever dalfodils and pinks ; 

In puns of tulips ; and in jihrases, 

''haniiing for tliiu'r tnitli, of daisies ; 

I.'ttering, a« well ;is silenee may, 

The sweetest words the sweetest way. 

How fit too for the lady's bosi^mi I 

The pla^ic where Inl/et-tJfjux repose 'em. 

What delight in some sweet spot 

''r;mbining hwc with ijiirdcn plot, 

At onee to cultivate one's flowers 

And one's ejiist^jlary [mwcrs ! 

f Growing one's own choice words and fancies 

In orange tubs, and fxjds of jKinsies ; 

One's sighs, and passionate ilcdarations. 

In odorous rhetoric of carnations ; 

Seeing how far one's stor;ks will rea^di, 

'I'aking due care one's flowers of spwjcli 

To gu.ard from blight as well (U) bathos, 

And wat<;ring every day one's jjathos I 

A letter comes, just gathcrwL We 

Dote on its tender brilliancy, 



Inhale its delicate expressions 

Of balm ami |iea, and its confessions 

Millie with as sweet a lanidtn' h libmh 

As evei' morn bedewed on bush : 

("V is in reply to one of ours, 

Miulc of the most convincing flowers.) 

Then, after we have kissed its wit, 

And heart, in wal4:r putting it 

(To keep its remarks fresh), go roiinil 

Oiir little eloipient plot of ground. 

And with enchant.ed hands compose 

Our answer, — all of lily and rose. 

Of tuberose and of violet, 

And lilllr, iliirliwj (mignonette) ; 

Of hiiik id iiu: and caUI wv to yiM 

(Words that, while they greet, go through you); 

(nthoHijIiIji, i,\Jl(mcH, fwij(:l..m<.-ni,l, 

HriikvMH, — in short, the whole blest lot 

Of vouchers for a lifelong kist, — 

And literally, breathing bliss ! 



TlIK OIIOOMKMAN 'I'O IlIH MIHTREHH. 

EvKKV wedding, says the |iroverb, 
Makes another, wion or lat<; ; 

Never yet wan any m/imagc 
KnUired in the hook of fat*:, 

T'ut the names were alw> written 
Of the patient [lair that wait. 

lilessings then upon the mondng 
When my friend, with fondest look, 

IJy the solemn rites' peniiission. 
To himsidf his mistress t/iok, 

And the destinies recorded 
Other two within their book. 

While the priest fulfilled his office, 
.Still the ground the lovers eyed, 

And the parents and the kinsmen 
Aimed their glances at the liride ; 

I5ut the groomsmen eyed the virgin* 
Who were waiting at her side. 

Three there were that stood Is'side her ; 

One was dark, and one was fair; 
But nor fair nor dark the other, 

.Save her Arab eyes and hair ; 
Neither dark nor fair I call her, 

Yet she wao the fairest there. 

While }ier groomsman — shall I own it ? 

Yes, (0 thee, and only thee - 
O.'ized njKjn this dark-eyed maiden 

Who wa« faii-i'st of the three, 
Thus he thought ; " How blest the bridal 

Where the bride were such a« she 



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150 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Tlu'ii I iiuiscd upon tlio ailnge, 
'I'ill my wisdom was pi'i'iilexeil. 

And 1 wondered, as the ehuivhmnu 
Puilt uixiii his holy text, 

Whiili of idl wlio lieai'd his lesson 
yhuuld ivnuire the service next. 

Whose will he the next oeeasiou 

I'Vn- the llowers, the feast, the wiuo ? 

Thine, perchance, my dearest lady ; 
Or, who knows? — it may be mine ; 

What if 't were— forgive the fancy — 
What if 't were — both mine and thine? 
THOMAS William Parsons. 



MYtEYESl HOW I LOVE YOU. 

My eyes ! how 1 love you, 
You sweet little dove you ! 
Tlieix' 's no one above you. 

Most beautiful Kitty. 

So glossy your hair is. 
Like a sylph's or a fairy's ; 
And your neck, I declare, is 
Exquisitely pretty ! 

Quite Grecian your nose is. 
And your cheeks are like roses, 
So delicious — Jloses ! 

Surpassingly sweet ! 

Xot the beauty of tulips. 
Nor the taste of mint-juleps. 
Can eomiiare with your two lips, 
Most beautiful Kate ! 

Not the black eyes of Juno, 
Nor Minerva's of blue, no, 
Nor Venus's, you know. 

Can equal your own ! 

0, how my licai-t prances. 
And frolics luid dances. 
When its I'adiant glances 

Upon me are thrown ! 

And now, dearest Kitty, 
It 's not very pretty, 
Indeed it 's a pity. 

To keep me in sorrow I 

So, if you "11 but chime in. 

We '11 have done with our rliymin'. 

Swap Cupid for Hjnucu, 

And be nituried to-morrow. 

.\NONVMOUS 



THE WHISTLE. 

"Yor have heard," said a youth to his sweet- 
heart, who stood. 
While ho sat on a corii-shcaf, at dnyliglit's 
decline, — 
" You have heard of the Diuiish boy's whistle of 
wood ■ 
I wish that that Danish boy's whistle were mine. " 

" Ami what would you do with it ? — tell me," 
she said, 
While an arch smile jdayed over her beautiful 
face. 
" I would blow it," he answered ; " and then my 
fair maid 
AVould tly to my side, and would here take her 
place." 

"Is that all you wish it for ? — That may be yours 
Without liny magic," the fair maiden cried ; 

" A favor so slight one's good-nature secures " ; 
And she playfully seated herself by his side. 

"I would blow it again," said the youth, " ami 

the charm 

Would work so, that not even Modesty's check 

Would be able to keep from my neck your line arm " : 

She smiled, — and she laid her lino arm round 

his neck. 

" Yet once more would 1 blow, and the music 
divine 
Would bring me the third time an exquisite 
bliss : 
■you would lay your (iur check to this brown one 
of mine. 
And your lips, stealing past it, would give me 
a kiss." 

The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee, — 
"What a fool of yourself with your whistle 
yovi 'd make ! 
For only consider, how silly 't would be. 
To sit there ami whistle for — what vou might 
take." 

KOEERT STORV. 



WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. 

' When the Sultan Shah-Zaman 

t\ies to the city Ispahan, 

Even before he gets so far 

As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, 

.\t the last of the tliirty palace-gates, 
I The Pet of the Harem, Hose in Bloom, 
1 Oixlers a feast in his favorite room, — 



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LOVE. 



151 



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Glittering scjuares of colored ice, 

Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice ; 

Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates ; 

Syrian apples, Othmanee (ininees, 

Limes, and citrons, and apricots ; 

And wines that are known to Eastern princes. 

Aiicl Nubian slaves, with smoking pots 

Of s])ieed meats, and costliest fish. 

And all tliat the curious palate could wish. 

Pass in and out of the cedam doors. 

Scattered over mosaic floors 
Aie anemones, myrtles, and violets ; 
And a musical fountain throws its jets 
( If !i hundred colors into the air. 
Tlie dark Sultana loosens her hair. 
And stains with the henna plant the tips 
Of her pearly nails, and bites her lijis 
Till they bloom again ; but alas, tlud rose 
Not for the Sultan buds and blows ! 
Not for the Sultan Shah-Zarn/in 
When he goes to the city Ispalian. 

Then at a wave of her sunny hand, 
The (lancing girls of Samarcand 
Float in like mists from Fairy-land ! 
And to the low voluptuous swoons 
Of music, lise and fall the moons 
or their full brown bosoms. Orient blood 
Kuns in their veins, shines in their eyes ; 
And there in this Eastern paradise. 
Filled with the fumes of sandal-wood. 
And Khoten musk, and aloes, and myrrh. 
Sits Hose in Bloorn on a silk divan. 
Sipping the wines of Astrakhan ; 
And her Arab lover sits with her. 

That 's v'Jicn tlie Sultan Sluih-ZaTnan 

Goes to the city Ispahan. 

Now, when I see an extra light 
Flaming, flickering on the night, 
From my neighbor's casement opposite, 
I know as well as I know to pray, 
I know as well as a tongue can say. 

That tlie innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman 

Has gone to the cily Ispahan. 

Thomas Bailey alurich. 



CtJPID SWALLOWED. 

T' OTllElt day, as I was twining 
Roses for a crown to dine in. 
What, of all things, midst the heap. 
Should I light on, fast asleep. 
But the little desperate elf. 
The tiny traitor, — Love himself ! 
By the wings I pinched him up 
Like a bee, and in a cup 



Of my wine I plunged and sank him ; 
And what d' ye think I flid ? — I drank him ! 
Faith, I thought him dead. Not he ! 
There he lives with tenfold glee ; 
And now, this moment, with his wings 
I feel hhu tickling my heart-strings. 

Laicii Hunt. 



THE YOUNG MAY MOON. 

The young May moon is beaming, love. 
The glow-wonn's lamp is gleaming, love, 

How sweet to rove 

Through Morna's grove. 
While the drowsy world Ls dreaming, love ! 
Then awake ! — the heavens look blight, my dear ! 
'T is never too late for delight, my dear ! 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear ! 

Now all the world is sleeping, love. 

But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love, 

And I, whose star. 

More glorious far. 
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till ri.sc of sun, my dear, 
The sage's glass we 'U shun, my dear. 

Or, in watching the flight 

Of bodies of light, 
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear ! 
Thomas Moork. 



AH, SWEET KITTY NEIL I 

"Ah, sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your wheel, 
Your neat little foot will be weary from spin- 
ning ; 
Come, trip down with me to the sycamore-tree ; 
Half the palish is there, and the dance is be- 
ginning. 
The sun Is gone down ; but the full harvest moon 
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened 
valley ; 
While all the air rings with the soft, lovingthings 
Each little bird sings in the green shadc<l alley." 

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the 
while. 
Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, 
glancing ; 
'T is hard to refuse when a young lover sues. 
So she could n't but choose to — go ofl" to the 
dancing. 
And now on the green the glad groups are seen, — 
Kach gay-hearted lad with the lass of his 
choosing ; 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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And Pal, without I'liil, Ic^uls out swi-ft lutly 
Neil, — 
Somehow, when he asked, slic ne'er tliou^ht of 
refusing. 

Now Kelix Magee ]mts liis \npofi to liin kneo, 
And, witli Ikiurish so IVee, sets eaeh eou|ile in 
motion ; 
Willi a clieer anil a bound, the lads ]iatter the 
ground, 
The maids move around just like swans on the 
ocean. 
Cheeks bright as the rose, — feet light as the Joe'.s, 

Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing ; 
Search the world all around from Die sky to the 
ground. 
No siu-h siglit can be I'ouml as an Irish lass 
daiu'ing ! 

Sweet Kate ! who could view your bright eyes 
of deep blue. 
Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so 
mildly, 
Your fail-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded 
I'orm, 
Nor feel his heart warm, and his )hi1si« throb 
wildly ? 
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart, 
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet 
love ; 
The siglit loave.s his eye as he cries with a sigh, 
"Dance light, for my heart it lies under your 
feet, love ! " 

Dl-NIS FLORRNCE MACCARTHV. 



DUNCAN GRAY CAM' HERE TO WOO. 

Pt;NC.\N (luAY cam' here to woo — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 
Oil blytlie Yule night when wo were fou- 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 
Maggio coost her head fu' Iiigh, 
Looked asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigli — 
Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! " 

Duncan lleeclied and Ihinean prayed — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 
Duncan sighed baith out and in, 
Grat his ecu baith bleer't and blin', 
Spak o' lowjiin o'er a linn — 

11a, ha ! the wooing o't ! 

Time and chance arc but a tide — 
Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 

g-. : 



Slighted love is .snir In bide — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 

Shall 1, like a fool, iiuoth he, 

I'lir a haughty hizzie dee ? 

Shc^ may gae to— France for mo ! 
Ha, ha ! the wooing o't 1 

How it comes let doctors tell — ■ 

Ha, ha I the wooing o't ! 

Meg grew sick as lie grew heal — 
Ha, ha ! the wooing o't I 

Something in her bosom w-rings, — 

For relief a sigh she brings ; 

And t), her een they si)eak sic things ! 
Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 

Duncan was a lail o' grace — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't I 

Maggie's was a ])iteous case • — 

Ha, ha ! the wooing o't ! 

Duncan could na be her death : 

Swelling pity smoored liis wrath. 

Now they 're eronse and canty liaith, 
lla, ha ! th.' wo.iiiig o't ! 



RORY O'MORE; 

OR. GOOD OMF.NS. 

YdiiNf! Dory O'More courted Kalhlei'ii Hawii ; 
Hewas bold as the hawk, and she soft as the dawn ; 
Ho wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please. 
And he thought the best way to do that was to 

tease. 
" Now, Kory, be aisy,"swcet Kathleen would cry. 
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in hrr eye ; 
"With your tricks, I don't know, in llinilh, what 

I 'm about ; 
Faith you've toazcd till 1 've put on my cloak 

inside out." 
" Och ! jewel," says Kory, " that saiiie is the way 
You 've thrated my heart for this many a day ; 
And 't is phized that 1 am, and why not, to lie sure ? 
For 't is all for good luck," .says bold Kory O'More. 

"Indeed, then," .savs Kathleen, "don't think of 

the like. 
For I half gave a promise to soothering Jlike ; 
The ground that I walk on he lo\-,.s, 1 '11 be 

bound " — 
" Faith ! " says Eory, " 1 'd rather love you than 

the ground. " 
"Now, Uory, 1 'U cry if j'ou don't let me go : 
Sure 1 dream ev'ry night that 1 'm hating you 

so ! " 
"Och!" says Kory, "that same I'm delighted 

to hear. 
For dhrames alwavs go bv coiithraiies, luv dear. 



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153 



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Och ! jnwel, kfcp dliramiiig tli.-it saine till you 

liio, 
And bright raorniug will give dirty iiiglit tlio 

black lie ! 
And 't is jilazed that I am, and why not, to lie 

sure ? 
Shire 'tis all for good luck," says bold llory 

O'More. 

"Arrah, Kathleen, my darliiit, you've teazed 

me enough ; 
Sure, 1 've thrashed, for your sake, Diuny Orinies 

and Jim Duff ; 
And I 've made myself, drinking your health, 

([uite a baste. 
So 1 think, after that, I may talk to the priest." 
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her 

neck, 
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck ; 
And he lookeil in her eyes, that were beaming 

with light, 
And ho kissed her sweet lips — Don't you think 

he was right ? 
"Now, llory, leave off, sir — you '11 hug me no 

more, — 
That 's eight times to-day you have kissed me 

before." 
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make 

sure. 

For there's luck in odd lunnbers," .says Rory 

O'More. 

SAMuiiL Lover. 



THE CATALOGUE. 

0, THAT 's what you mean now, a bit of a song, 
Arrah, faith, tlien here goes, you sha'n't bother 

me long ; 
I require no teazing, no praying, nor slulf. 
By my soul, if you wish it, I 'ni ready enough 
To give you no end ; you shall have a beginning. 

And, troth, though the music is not over fine, 
'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing 

Just to set us a-going and season the wine. 

0, I once was a lover, like some of you here. 
And could feed a whole night on a sigh or a tear. 
No sunshine I knew but from Kitty's black eye. 
And the world was a desert when she was n't by ; 
But the devil knows how, 1 got fond of Miss 
Betty, 

And Kitty slipt out of this bosom of mine. 
'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing 

Just to set us a-going and season the wine. 

Now Betty had eyes soft and blue as the sky, 
And the lily was black when her bosom was nigh ; 
0, I vowed and I swore if she 'd not a kind eye 



1 'd give up the whole world and in banishment 

die ; 
But Nancy camo by, a round plump little crea- 
ture. 
And li.ved in my heart quite another design. 
'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing 
Just to sot us a-going and season the wine. 

Little Nance, like a Hebe, was buxom and gay. 
Had a bloom like the rose and was fresher tliau 

May ; 
0, 1 felt if she fro\vned 1 would die by a rope, 
And my bosom would burst if she slighted my 

hope ; 
But the slim, taper, elegant Fanny looked at me, 
And, troth, I no longer for Nancy could pine. 
'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing 
Just to set us a-going and season the wine. 

Now Fanny's light frame was so slender and line 
That she skimmed in the air like a shadow divine. 
Her motion bewitched, and to :ny loving eye 
'T was an angel soft gliding 'twi.\t earth anil the 

sky. 
'T was all mighty well till I saw her fat sistci-, 

And tlinl gave a turn I could never define. 
'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing 

Just to set us a-going and season the wine. 

0, SI) I go on, ever constantly blest. 
For 1 find I 've a great stock of love in my breast ; 
And it never grows less, for whenever 1 try 
To get one in my heart, I get t>m in my eye. 
To all kinds of beauty 1 bow with devotion. 

And all kinds of liquor by turns I make mine ; 
So I '11 finish the thing that another may sing. 

Just to keep us a-going and season the wine. 



THE AGE OF WISDOM. 

Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 
That never has known the barber's shear. 

All your wish is woman to wdn ; 

This is the way that boys begin, — 
Wait till you come to foi-ty year. 

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ; 

Billing and cooing is all your cheer, — 
Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, 
Under Bonnybell's window-panes, — 

Wait tUl you come to forty year. 

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ; 

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ; 
Then you know a boy is an a.ss, 
Tlien you know the worth of a lass, — 

Once you have come to forty year. 

• A boon companion of George. Prince Regent 



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POEMS OF LOVE. 



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Pledge me round ; I bid ye declare, 

All good fellows whose beards are gray, — 

Did not the fairest of the fair 

Common grow and wearisome ere 
Ever a month was past away ? 

The reddest lips that ever have kissed, 

The brightest eyes that ever have shone, 
May pray and whisper and we not list, 
Or look away and never be missed, — 
Ere yet ever a month is gone. 

Gillian' s dead ! God rest her bier, — 
How I loved her twenty years syne ! 

Marian' s married ; but 1 sit here. 

Alone and merry at forty year, 

Dipping my nose in the (!ascon wine. 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 



U-- 



THE LOW-BACKED CAR. 

When first I saw sweet Peggy, 

'T was on a market-day : 
A low-backed car she drove, and sat 

Upon a truss of hay ; 
But when that hay was blooming grass. 

And decked with flowers of spring, 

No flower was there that could compare 
With the blooming girl I sing. 

As she sat in the low-backed car, 
The man at the turnpike bar 
Never asked for the toll. 
But just rubbed his ould poll, 
And looked after the low-backed car. 

In battle's wild commotion, 

Tlio proud and mighty Mars 
With hostile scythes demands his tithes 

Of death in warlike cars ; 
While Peggy, peaceful goddess, 

lias darts in her bright eye, 
Tluit knock men down in the market-town. 

As right and left they fly ; 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 
Thau battle more dangerous far, — 
For the doctor's art 
Cannot cure the heart 
That is hit from that low-backed car. 

Swi'ot Peggy round her car, sir. 

Has strings of ducks .and geese. 
But the scores of hearts she slaughters 

By far outnumber these ; 
While she among her poultry sits, 

Just like a turtle-dove. 
Well worth the cage, I do engage. 

Of the blooming god of Love ! 



While she sits in her low-backed car, 
The lovers come, near and far. 

And envy the chicken 

That Peggy is pickin'. 
As she sits in her low-backed car. 

I 'd rather own that car, sir. 

With Peggy by my siilc, 
Than a coach and four, and gold galore, 

And a lady for my bride ; 
For the lady would sit foniinst me. 

On a cushion made with taste, 
While Peggy would sit beside me, 
With my arm around her waist, 
While we drove in the low-backed car. 
To be married by Father Mahar ; 
0, my heart would beat high 
At her glance and her sigh, — 
Though it beat in a low-backed car ! 

Samuel Lovi 



SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 

Of all the girls that are so smart, 

There 's none like pretty Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 
There 's ne'er a lady in the land 

That 's half so sweet as Sallj' ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets, 

And through the streets does cry 'em ; 
Her mother she sells laces long 

To such as please to bu)' 'em ; 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

When she is by I leave my work, 

I love her so sincerely ; 
My master comes like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely. 
But let him bang his bellyful, — 

I '11 bear it all for Sally ; 
For she 's the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

Of all the days that 's in the week 

I dearly love but one day, 
And that 's the day that comes betwi.xt 

A Saturday and Monday ; 
For then 1 'm drest all in my best 

To walk abroad with Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 



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155 



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My master caixies me to church, 

And often am I blamfed 
Because I leave him in the lurch 

As soon as text is named : 
I leave the clmrch in sermon-time, 

And slink away to Sally, — 
SIic is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

When Christmas comes about again, 

0, then I shall have money ! 
I '11 hoard it up, and, box and all, 

I '11 give it to my honey ; 
And would it were ten thousand pound ! 

I 'd give it all to Sally ; 
For she 's the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master and the neighbors all 

Make game of me and Sally, 
And but for she I 'd better be 

A slave, and row a galley ; 
But when my seven long years are out, 

0, then I '11 many Sally ! 
0, then we '11 wed, and then we '11 bed, — 

But not in our alley ! 

HENRY Carey, 



y-^- 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 

LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it 's you I love the 

best ! 
If fifty girls were round you, I 'd hardly see the 

rest ; 
Be what it may the time of day, the place be 

where it will. 
Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before 

me still. 

Her eyes like mountain water that 's flowing on 

a rock. 
How clear they are ! how dark they are ! and 

they give me many a shock ; 
Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with 

a shower. 
Could ne'er express the charming lip that has 

me in its power. 

Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows 

lifted up, 
Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like 

a china cup ; 
Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and 

so fine, — 
It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered 

in a twine. 



The dance o' last Wliit-Monday night exceeded 

all before ; 
No pretty girl for miles around was missing from 

the floor ; 
But Mary kept the belt of love, and 0, but she 

was gay ; 
She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took my 

heart away ! 

When she stood up for dancing, her steps were 

so complete. 
The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her 

feet ; 
The fiddler mouniod his blindness, he heard her 

so much praised, 
But blessed himself he was n't deaf, when once 

her voice she raised. 

And evennore I 'm whistling or lilting what you 

sung ; 
Your smile is always in my heart, your nanu- upon 

my tongue ; 
But you 've as many .sweetliearts as you 'd count 

on both your hands, 
And for my.sclf there's not a thumb or little 

finger stands. 

O, you 're the flower of womankind, in country 

or in town ; 
The higlier I exalt you, the lower I 'm cast down. 
If some great lord .should conu! this way and see 

your beauty bright, 
And you to be his lady, I 'd own it was but rigid. 

O, might wo live together in lofty palace hall, 

Where joyful music rises, an<l where scarlet cur- 
tains fall ; 

0, might we live together in a cottage mean and 
small. 

With sods of grass the only roof, and muil the 
only wall ! 

(-) lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty 's my dis- 
tress ; 

It 's far too glorious to be mine, but 1 '11 never 
wish it less ; 

The proudest place would fit your face, and I am 
poor and low. 

But blessings he about you, dear, wherever you 
may go ! 



THE FAITHFUL LOVERS. 

I'd been away from her three years, — about that, 
And I returned to find my Mary true ; 

And though I 'd question her, I diduot doulit that 
It was unnecessary so to do. 



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I'UEMS OF LOVE. 



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'T was liy the I'himnoy-i'onior wo were sitting : 
" Miiry," said 1, "have you boon always tnio ?" 

"Frankly," says sho.just iiausiiigiii luMkiiilting, 
" 1 don't think I 've uuraithl'ul been to yon : 

But for the three yoare past I '11 tell you what 

I 've done ; theu say if 1 've been true or not. 

'• Wlien first youleft my grief was uncoutrollablo ; 

Alone 1 nionrned my miserable lot ; 
And all wlio saw me thought me inconsolable. 

Till I'aiitain t'lillord eanie from Aldershott. 
To IliK with him anmsed me while 't was new : 
1 don't eount that unfaithfulness — do you ? 

"The next — 0! let me see — wasFrankierhimis; 

1 met him at my uncle's, Christnnis-tide. 
And 'neath the mistletoe, where lips meet lips, 

llegave me his first kiss — " And here shesiglied. 
"We stayed six weeks at uncle's — how time Hew 1 
I don't count that unfaithfulness — do yon ? 

" I.onl Cecil Fossmore — only twenty-one — 
Lent, me his horse. I1, how we rode and r.n'cd 1 

Wo scoured the downs — we rode to hounds - 
sneh fun ! 
And often was his arm about my waist, — 

That was to lift me up and down. But who 

Would call just that imfaithfulness > Would you ? 

" IVi you know Iveggy Verc ? Ah. how he sings ! 

Wemet, — 't wiisat a picnic. 0, such weather 1 
He ,g!U-e me, look, the fii-st of these two rings 

When wo were lost in Cliefdeu woods togetlier. 
All, what a happy tiuu> we spent, — we two ! 
1 don't count that unfaithfidiu'ss to you. 

" 1 've yet another ring from him ; d' ye see 
The plain gold eiix-let that is shining here ? " 

I took lier hand : "0 Mary ! eau it be 
That you — "Quoth she, "that I amMrs.A'ere. 

I don't call that uufaithfuliu»ss — do you ? " 

"No," I replied, "for I am married too." 

.\NONVMOUS. 



WIDOW MACHREE. 

Winow maehree, it 's no wonder you frown, — 

Och hone ! widow nnichree : 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that siune dirty black 
gviwn, — 
Oeh hone ! widow machit^e. 
How altered your air. 
With that close cap you wear, — 
'T is destroying your hair. 

Which should bo thiwing free : 
Be no longi'r a churl 
Of its black silken curl, — 
Oeh hone ! widow maehree ! 



Widow maehree, now the summer is come, — 

Och hone ! widow maehree. 
When everything smiles, should a beauty look 
glum > 
Och hone ! widow nuichroo I 
See the birds go in pairs, 
.\nd the rabbits and hares ; 
Why, even the bears 

Now in couples agree ; 
And the mute little lish. 
Though they can't spake, they wish, — 
Och hone ! widow maehree ! 

Widow maehree, and when winter comes in, — 

t)ch hone ! widow maehree, . — 
To be poking the tiro all alone is a sin, 
Och hone ! widow maclu'oe ! 
Sure the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs. 
And the kettle sings songs 

Fiill of family glee ; 
While alone with your cup 
Like a hermit you sup, 
Oeh hone ! widow maehree ! 

And how do von know, with the comforts 1 've 
to'wld, — 
Och hone ! widow maelueo, — 
lUit von 're keeping some poor fellow out in the 
eowld ? 
Och hone ! widow maehree ! 
With such sins on your head, 
Sure your peace would be Hod ; 
Could yon sleeji in your bod 

Without thinking to see 
Sonu' ghost or some sprite. 
That would wake you each night. 

Crying "Och bono ! widow maehree I " 

Then t.nke my advice, darling widow machiee, — 

Och hone ! widow maehree, — 
And with my advice, faith,! wish you 'd take me, 
Oeh hone ! widow maehree ! 
Yo\i 'd have me to desire 
Then to stir up the fire ; 
And sure hope is no liar 

In whispering to mo 
That the ghosts would depart 
When yon "d me near your heart, — 
Oeh hone ! widow maehree ! 

Samcel Lover. 



THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN. 

The lairvl o' Coekpon lie 's prond and he 's great. 
His mind is ta'en \\\> with the things o' the state ; 
He wanted a wife his bn\w house to keep. 
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek. 



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LOVK. 



15 



ra 



Down liy the dike-side a la<ly did dwell, 
At his taWe-liead he thought she 'd look well ; 
M'Lisli's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee, 
A i«uiiiil(as lass wi' a lang pedigree. 

His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new; 
Mis waistcoat was white, his coat it w'as blue ; 
He put on a ring, a sword, and eocked liat. 
And wlia eould refuse the Laird wi' a' that ? 

Ill; took the gray mare, and rade canidly — 
And rapjjcd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Leo : 
" 'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben, 
She 's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen." 

Mistress Jean was makin' the cdder-flower wine : 
" Anrl what brings the Laird at sic a like time *" 
Slie put atr her apron, and on her silk gown, 
Hir iMUteh wi' red ribbons, and gae<l awa' down. 

And when she cam' ben, lie bowed fu' low. 
And what was his errand he soon let her know; 
.'Vniazed was the Laird when the lady said " Xa" ; 
.And wi' a laigh curtsey she turned awa'. 

Dunibfouudered he was — nae sigli did he gio ; 
He mounted his mare — he rade cannily ; 
Aiid aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen, 
"She 's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." 

And now that the Laird his exit had made, 
Mistress .Jean she rellected on what she had said ; 
"Oh ! for ane 1 '11 get better, it 's waur I '11 get ten, 
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." 

Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen, 
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the 

green. 
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen — 
Hut as yet there 's nae chickens appeared at Cock- 
pen. 

Carolina, liARoNiiss Nairn. 



UNSATISFACTORY. 

" Have other lovers — say, my love — 

Loved thus before to-day ? " 
"They may have, yes, they may, my love ; 

Not long ago they may." 

" P.iit, though they worshiped thee, my love, 

Thy maiden heart was free ? " 
" Don't ask too much of me, my love ; 

Don't ask too much of me." 

" Vet, now 't is you and I, my love, 
Love's wings no more will fly ?" 



' If love could never die, my love. 
Out love should never die." 

' For shame ! and is this so, my love, 

And Love and 1 must go ?" 
' Indeed, I do not know, my love. 

My life, I do not know." 

' You will, you must bo true, my love, — 

Not look and love anew ! " 
' I '11 see what I can do, my love, 

I '11 see what 1 can do. " 



COOKING AND COURTING. 

FROM TOM TO NEIJ. 

Deak Ned, no doubt you'll be surjiriseil. 

When you receive and read this letter. 
I 've railed against the marriage state ; 

But then, you see, I knew no better. 
I 've met a lovely girl out here ; 

Her manner is — well — very winning : 
Wo 're soon to be — well, Ned, my dear, 

I '11 tell you all, from the beginning. 

I went to ask her out to ride 

Last Wednesday — it wa.s perfect weather. 
She saiil she could n't possibly : 

The servants had gone olf together 
(Hibernians always nish away. 

At cousins' lunerals to be looking) ; 
Pics must be made, and she must stay. 

She said, to do that branch of cooking. 

"0, let me help you," tlicn I cried : 

" I '11 be a cooker too — how jolly 1 " 
She laughed, and answered, with a smile, 

" All right ! but you '11 repent your folly : 
For I shall be a tyrant, .sir, 

And good hard work you '11 liavc to grapple 
So sit down there, and don't you stir, 

liut take this knife, and pare that afiiile." 

She rolled her sleeve above her arm, — 

That lovely arm, so plump and rounded ; 
Outside, the morning sun shone bright ; 

Inside, the dough she deftly pounded. 
Her little fingers sprinkled flour, 

And rolled the pie-crust up in masses : 
I passed the most delightful hour 

Mid butter, sugar, and molasses. 

With deep reflection her sweet eyes 
Gazed on each pot and pan and kettle : 

She .sliced the apples, filled her pies. 
And then the upjwr crust did settle. 



& 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



■-a 



llii iiii|iling wavoH (irftciMrii Imir 

III .1111. urml i-iiil wi'iv tiglilly Iwisli.,! ; 

Bill l,..-ki w,.ul.l l.iViiU il, ii.T,.' 1111.1 Ih.'iv, 
Aii.l .url iil...iil wli.M.M.i llii.y lislr.l. 

Aii.l llu'ii li.T sl.vv,. .■Mill.. .L.ttii, :iii.l 1 

K;iMl.Mi,..l it ii|. h.'i hmi.U «.'i(. ,I.Mi-liy; 
O. il cli.l tali.. 111.. Idii^'.'sl liiiu. I 

llov mill, Ni.il, WMN Nil iimiul mul siinwy. 
Sli,. l.lusli,.,!, iiii.l livnil.U'.l, ami Unikwl sl'iv ; 

S,.iii..lu>\v tliiit iiiM.U. nil. nil til.' I...l<l.'i". ' 
ll.'niivli lips l.iok...l so ml tlial I 

W.'ll loiuul luT liwul iii»iii my ,sli,.uUU.r. 

W,. 'iv I.. I... luMni.'.l, No.l, m-xl mmilli ; 

C.MllO 1111.1 nil.. 11.1 llu. Wl'll.lillg IVV.'Is. 

I iviilly lliiiik Uiiil liiu'lielors 

All. Ilio most iiiisi'iiiMi. ili'vils ! 
Von M Lrtlor go r.ir soiii.. niil's Imml ; 

Anil if yon iiic iiiu'i.rtniii wtn'lhiT 
\'..i. .Inn. lo iiuvUi. n iliio lU'iimii.l, 

Wliy, jiisl try cooking pii's logollior. 



POSSESSION. 

A roiri' lovml u Star, 

Anil lo il wliisiH'ivil nightly, 

" lii'ing so lair, wliy ni't tlion, lov.', so I'nr / 

(If vvliy so rolilly sliino, who shiucat so Iniglil 

II Hi.iinty woooil ami iinpossost ! 

(1, might 1 to tlii.s beating lii'nisl 

Itul i-lasii thi'i. oin-c, ami thru ilio Must ! " 

'I'lial .Star hrr Pout's lov.., 

.So wihlly warm, inaih. Inimnii ; 

.\ii.l leaving, tor his siiko, lirr hi'a\ ill nliovi.. 

His Star stoopml ..artliwar.l, iiml hciuii 

Woman. 
'•Tlioii who hasi woocil ami hast imssi'st. 
My lovi.r, answer : Which was licsl, 
'I'lui Star's hiiani or the Woman's hreast /" 
" 1 miss I'roni heaven," the iniin reiiliod, 
■•A light that .Irew my spirit to it." 
Ami to the iiiiiii the woman sighe.l, 
" 1 miss IVoui earth a poet." 



e^- 



rOEMS OF HOME. 



MARRIAGE 



-a 



'I'lriJil'. nn^ wlio miy IIm' Iovit'h lii'iirt 

Im in 111.' lovr.l , •;, luiiyiii ; 

O, iK'Vcf liy I(iv(i'k iiwji wiinii iirt 

St) colli a ploa wiiH n^nd 1 
Nil ! — liiiarU llml, lovii lial.li crowiioil or croHHod 

l.uvr roiiilly kiiilH l.i)f;(iUier ; 
r.iit lint, a lliiiiif^lil 1)1' liui! Ih loHt 

Tliiil niiiili: a |>arl. iil' I'iUiiw'. 

II. JHan ilMiilil lali. Ilial. tills 

III' "liuai'lH ]>y lovi) iiiaili; iiiiii"; 
III- niowH who iiwir aiKiUicr'H iIwdIIh 

Moro coiiKriiiiiH iiC liJH own ; 
In I'ai'li »|irin({ iiji ni:w tliouj^hlH ami powcrH 

'I'liat,, mill lovd't) wai'iri, clnar wiiatlier, 
'I'liKi'lliiM' l.nnil liko rlimliiiif^ IIowci'h, 

y\iii|, Iniiiiiig, f^i'inv togiillior. 

■Siiili lictions Mink Iovi^'h lii'Ucr jiart, 

Vii'lil u|iil.H liairon.liMS; 
'I'lm wi'IIh all) ill l.liii niiiglibor hoart, 

Will II llii'i'ii JM tliirHl. ill tliiH : 
'I'll! II- liiiili-lli lovo Uic ]iaHKion-llowcr» 

On wliii-li it. liiai-iiH to tlirivi), 
Miiki-s liiiiiiiy in anotlii-i-'H lioworn, 

Hut liriiif^H it homo to liivii. 

I.ovd's lifu i« in itH own i-ciilinn, — 

'IV, (iiicli low lifat; it lii-atH, 
HniildH liiick the mnlliM, Hi((liH back tlin iiiKlm, 

And ovp.ry tlii'oli ivi|)('ntH. 
'I'lii'ii, Kiiico oiKi loving heart Htill throwH 

Two hIiiiiIowh in Iovii'h mm, 
How hIioiiIiI two loviiin li(iari,H coinpimi' 

Ami iniiiKh) into ono ? 



TirOIJ HAKT HWOUN IIV Til V flOl), MV .IHANIK, 

Tiloi; haHt sworn 1)y thy floil, my .loaiiii-, 
Hy tliat pretty wliitu hainl o' thine, 

Anil liy a' tin- lowiiif^ Htai'H in hnavi-n, 
Tliai, thou wail ayo Im mine ! 



Ami I liai- Hworii hy iiiy (ioil, my Jeanic, 

Ami hy lliut kinil heart o' thine, 
liy a' the HtarH Howii tliiek owre heaven, 

That thou Hlialt aye hi- mine I 

Then toul hi' the ImmlH that wad loiwe »ii- hamlH, 

Anil the heart that wad part sic luve ! 
lint there 'h line hand eaii looMe my hand, 

Mut the linger o' Mini almve. 
Though the wee, wee eot maun he my hii-ld. 

Ami my elaithing ne'er wie mean, 
I wad lap me up rieh i' the I'auldH o' luve, — 

Jleaven'H arinrir o' my Jean. 

Her white arm wad lu! a jiiUow for me, 

Fu' Halter than the down ; 
And I.uve wad winnow owre uh IiIn kind, kind 
wingH, 

And Hweetly I 'd hleep, and noun'. 
Come hei-e to me, thou 1««h o' my luve I 

I'ome hei-e and kneel wi' me ! 
The morn in fu' o' the preHenee o' God, 

And I lanna pray without thee. 

The morn wind in Kweet 'inarig the liedn o' new 
llowei-H, 

The wee hirdn Hing kindlie and hie ; 
flur giidernan leaiiK owre IiIh kiile-yard dike, 

And a hlytheanld lioilie i;, he. 
The I'.eiik maun he tii'en whan the r.-nle i-onieH 
liame, 

Wi' the lioly imalmodie ; 
And thou maun speak o' me to thy Hod, 

And I will K|jeak o' thee. 



UNTIL DKATII. 

Makk me no vowh of eoiiHtaney, dear friend. 

To love me, though I die, thy whole life long. 
And love no other till thy ilayH shall end, — 
Nay, it were rash and wrong. 

ir lli.iu i-anst love another, he it ao ; 

I would not n-ai-h out of njy ipiiet grave 



-JS:. 



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160 



POEMS OF HOME. 



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u 



To bind tby lieart, if it should cliooso to go ; — 
Love sliould not be a slave. 

My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene 

In (Jearer light than gilds thusr earthly morns. 
Above the jealousies and envies keen 

Which sow this life with tlioms. 

Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy earess. 

If, after death, my soul should linger here; 
Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness. 
Love's presence, warm and near. 

It would not make me sleep more peacefully 
'I'luU tliou wcrt wasting aU thy life in woe 
For my poor sake ; what love thou hast for me. 
Bestow it ere I go ! 

Carve not upon a stone when 1 am dead 

The praises which remorseful mourners give 
To women's graves, — a tardy reconipense, — 
But speak them while I live. 

Heap not the heavy marble on my head 

To shut away the sunshine and the dew ; 
Let small blooms grow there, and let grasses 
wave. 
And raiu-drops filter through. 

Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay 

Than I ; but, trust me, thou canst never find 
One who will love and servo tlue night and day 
With a more single mind. 

Forget me when I die ! The violets 

Above my rest will blossom just as blue. 
Nor miss thy tears ; e'en Nature's self forgets; — 
But while 1 live, bo true ! 

ANOiNVMOUS. 



Alice was a chieftain's daughter. 
And though many suitors sought her, 
She so loved Glengaritf's water 

That she let her lovers pine. 

Her eye was beauty's palace, 
And her cheek an ivory chalice. 
Through which the blood of Alice 

Gleamed soft as rosiest wine. 

And her lips like lusmoro blossoms which the 
fairies intertwine, — 

And her heart a golden mine. 

She was gentler and shyer 

Than the light fawn which stood by her. 

And her eyes emit a fire 



Soft and teniler as her soul ; 

Love's dewy light doth drown her. 
And the braided locks that crown her 
Than autumn's trees are browner, 

Wlieu the golden shadows roll 

Through the forests in the evening, when cathe- 
dral turrets toll. 

And the purple sun advanceth to its goal. 

Her cottage was a dwelling 

All regal homes excelling. 

But, ah ! beyond the telling 
Was the beauty round it spread, — 

The wave and sunshine playing, 

Like sisters each arraying, 

Far down the sea-plants swaying 
Upon their coral-bed, 
And laugniil as the tresses on a sleeping maiden's 

head. 
When the summer breeze is dead. 

Need we say that Maurice loved her. 
And that no blush reproved her. 
When her throbbing bosom moved her 

To give the heart she gave I 

That by dawn-light and by twilight. 
And, blessed moon, by thy light, — 
When the twinkling stars on high light 

The wanderer o'er the wave, — 

His steps unconscious led him where Glengaritf's 
waters lave 

Each mossy bank and cave. 

The sun his gold is flinging. 

The happy birds are singing, 

And bells are gayly ringing 
Along Glengaritf's sea ; 

Anil crowds in many a galley 

To the happy marriage rally 

Of the maiden of the valley 
And the youth of Ceim-an-eich ; 
Old eyes with joy are weeping, as all ask on 

bended knee, 
A blessing, gentle Alice, upon thee. 

DF.NIS FLOKE.^CE MACCAKTHV. 



NTTPTIAIS OF ADAM AND EVE. 

Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell 
Of fancy, my intenial sight, by which 
Abstract, as in a trance, methought I saw. 
Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape 
Still glorious before whom awake I stood ; 
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took 
From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, 
And life-blood streaming fresh ; wide was the 
wound, 



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f 



MARRIAGE. 



161 



n 



But suddenly witli flesh filled up and healed : 
The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands ; 
Under his forming hands a creature grew, 
Manlike, but ditierent sex, so lovely fair, 
That what seemed fair in all the world seemed 

now 
Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained 
And in her looks, which from that time infused 
Sweetness into my lieart, unfelt belbre, 
And into all things from her air inspired 
The spirit of love and amorous delight. 
She disappeared, and left me dark ; I waked 
To find hei', or forever to deplore 
Her loss, and other pleasuies all abjure : 
When out of hope, behold her, not far off, 
Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned 
With what all earth or Heaven could bestow 
To make her amiable. On she came, 
Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen, 
And guided by his voice, nor uninformed 
Of nuptial sanctity and maniage rites ; 
Grace was in all her steps. Heaven in her eye, 
lu every gesture dignity and love. 
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud : 

"Tins turn hath made amends; thou hast 

fulfilled 
Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, 
Giver of all things fair, but fairest this 
Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see 
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself 
Before me ; W'oman is her name, of man 
Extracted : for this cause he shall forego 
Father and mother, and to his wife adhere ; 
And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one 

souh" 
She heard me thus, and though divinely 

brought. 
Yet innocenci! and virgm modesty. 
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth. 
That would be wooed, and not unsought be won. 
Not obvious, not obtinjsive; but retired, 
The more desirable ; or, to say all, 
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought, 
Wrouglit in her so, that, seeing me, she turned : 
I followed her ; she what was honor knew. 
And with obsequious majesty approved 
My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower 
1 led her blushing like the morn : all Heaven, 
And happy constellations on that hour 
Shed their selectest influence ; the earth 
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; 
Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs 
Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings 
Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy .shrub. 
Disporting, till the amorous bird of night 
Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star 
On his hill-to]i, to light the bridal lamp. 



B-.- 



MY COTTAGE. 

Herk have I found at last a home of peace 
To hide me from the woild ; far from its noise. 
To feed that spirit, which, though sprung from 

earth. 
And linked to human beings by the bond 
Of earthly love, hath yet a loftier aim 
Than perishable joy, and through the calm 
That sleeps amid the mountain solitude. 
Can hear the billows of eternity. 
And hear delighted. . . . 

There are thoughts 
That slumber in the soul, like sweetest sounils 
Amid the harji'sloosestrings, till airs from Heaven 
On earth, at dewy nightfall, visitant, 
Awake the sleeping melody I Such thoughts, 
My gentle Mary, 1 have owed to thee. 
And if thy voice e'er melt into my soul 
With a dear home-toned whisper, — if thy face 
E'er brighten in the unsteady gleams of light 
From our own cottage-hearth, — Mary ! then 
My overpowered spirit shall recline 
Upon thy inmost heart, till it become. 
Thou sinless seraph, almost worthy thee ! 

John Wilson. 



I TO A LADY BEFORE MARRIAGE. 

0, FORMED by Nature, and refined by Art, 
With charms to win, and sense to fix the licart 1 
By thousands sought, ClotUda, canst thou free 
Thy crowd of captives and descend to me. 
Content in shades obscure to waste thy life, 
A hidden beauty and a country wife ? 
0, listen while thy summers are my theme ! 
Ah ! soothe thy partner ui his waking dream ! 
In some small hamlet on the lonely plain, 
Where Thames through meadows rolls his mazy 

train. 
Or where high Windsor, thick with greens ar- 
rayed, 
Waves his old oaks, and spreads his ample shade, 
Fancy has figured out our calm retreat ; 
Already round the visionary seat 
Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to sjjiing. 
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing. 
Wliere dost thou lie, thou thinly peopled green. 
Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen. 
Where sons, contented with their native ground. 
Ne'er traveled farthei than ten furlongs round. 
And the tanned peasant and his ruddy bride 
Were born together, and togetner died, 
AVhere early larks best tell the morning light, 
And only Philomel disturbs the night ' 
Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise. 
With sweets sun'ounded of ten tliousand dyes ; 



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IGli 



roEMS OF HUME. 



■a 



All siivagt> whero th' embrouU>TO(l giiiduns ouil, 
Tho hiumt of cclioes, sliall my womU iisioml ; 
Ami 0, it' Ht'iivon th' iimlntious tlumjtht iip- 

provo, 
A rill shiiU wiirblo 'fivas tlio gloomy grove, — 
A liltKi rill, o'or (lolilily bnls convi'Voil, 
IJiish down tho stoep, iiiul glitter tlu-ough tho 

glmlu. 
Whiit (.'lu'criiig scouts thoso boiiU'ring banks 

oxlmlo ! 
How lovul that lioifor lows fi-om yondor valo ! 
'I"h:it thrash how shrill ! his note so oloar, so high, 
llo (livwns oiu'h feiitlioriHl iiiinstii'l of tJio sky. 
lUiv let me tittee beneiith the (mrpled mom 
The ileep-montheil beiigle nnil tlie sprightly horn, 
t1r luiv the trout with well-dissembleil tlios, 
th' feteh the lluttering (oirtriiige fiviu the skies. 
Nor shiill thy hand disdain to erop the vine, 
Tho downy peach or tlavored neetarine : 
Or rob the beehive of its golden hoanl. 
And bear the unbo\ight luxiirianee to thy Ixmiil. 
Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours, 
While fixiu> thy needln rise tho silken llowere, 
.\nd thou, by turns, to easo my foeblo sight, 
Kesumo tho vobune, and deceive tho night. 
O, when 1 mark thy twinkling eyes oppivst. 
Soft whispering, lei me warn my love to ivst ; 
Thenwateh thee, oharmed, while sleep locks every 

sense. 
And to sweot Heaven commend thy innocence. 
Tims ivigned our fathei-s o'er the ruml fold. 
Wise, hale, and honest, in the days of old : 
Till courts arose, wheiv snl>stnnce )i)>ys for show. 
And specious joys aiv bo\ight with wal woo. 

Thomas Tickklu 



THK KriTH.VLAMlON, 

W.vKK now, my love, awake ; for it is time; 
The ixwy ilorn long since left Titht^u's Ivd, 
All ivady to her silver coach to climb ; 
And rhivbus 'gins to show his glorious head. 
Hark ! now the cheerful biixls do chant their lays. 
And eaivl of Love's pmise. 
The merry lark her matins sings aloft ; 
The thrush ivplies ; the mavis descant plays ; 
The ouzel shrills : the ruddock warbles soft ; 
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. 
To this day's merriment. 

.\h ! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long. 
When nn-eter weiv Uiat you sliould now awake, 
T' await the coming of your joyous nnike,* 
.Vnd hearken to the bills' love-leariii'd song. 
The dewy leaves among ! 
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing. 
That all the wooila tliem luiswor, luid their echo 
ring. 



6- 



My love is now awake out i€ hor dream. 
And her fair eyes like stai-s that dimmed wei-e 
With darksome cloud, now show their goodly 

beams 
Mow bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. 
Come now, ye ilamsels, daughters of delight. 
Help ipiiekly hor to dight ; 
Uut liret oonie, yo fair Hours, which wore begot. 
In .love's sweot iwradise, of Day ami Night ; 
Which do the seasons of the year allot, 
.\iul all. that ever in this world is fair, 
I'o make and still repair ; 
And ye thive handmaids of the fyprian Queon, 
The which do still adorn her beauties' pride. 
Help to adorn my heautil'idest bride ; 
And, as yo hor array, still throw between 
Some graces to be seen ; 
And, as yo use to Venus, to her sing, 
Tho whiles tho woods slinll answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Now is my love all ready forth to come : 
I Let all the virgins therefore well await ; 

.\nd ye, fix'sli boys, that tend upon her gi-oom, 
I l>t»|>aiv yoni-selves, for he is coming stl-aight, 
] Set all your things in seemly good array, 
j Fit for so joyful day, — 

The joyful'st day that over sun did see. 

Fair Sun ! show forth thy favorable ray. 

And let thy lifeful heat not forvont be, 
I For fear of burning her sunshiny face, 

Her beauty to disgrace. 

faiivst I'll vims ! father of the Muse ! 
I If ever 1 did honor thee aright, 
I Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight, 
I Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse. 

But let this day, let this one day be mine : 

Let all the rest be thine. 

Then 1 thy sovereign praises lond will sing, 

That all tho woods shall answer, and tdieir eolis 
ring. 

Lo ! whero slio comes along with portly jiace. 
Like Phft^be, fixim her chamber of the east. 
Arising fortJi to run her n\ight.v race. 
Clad all in white, that seems a virjjin U'st, 
So well it her beseems, that ye wonhl ween 
Some angel idie had Iwen. 
Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wiiv. 
Sprinkled with ]M>arl, and petirling tlowers atween, 
Do like a golden mantle her attiro ; 
And, being crownM with a garland green. 
Seem like some maiden f|neon. 
Her modest eyes, abaslu''d to Iwhold 
So many gazera as on her do .staiv. 
Upon the lowly ground allix^d aro ; 
Ne daiv lift up her eountemuue too bold 
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, 



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MA mil AGE. 



103 



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So far fioiii being proud. 
Niitliloss do y<; .still loud her prui.scB sing, 
'I'iiat all the wood» may an.swcr, and your echo 
ring. 

Tell nie, yo inercliante' daugliter.s, did ye .sue 

So lair a creature in your town Ijei'ore f 

So Hweet, so lovely, and so mild as slie. 

Adorned with beauty's grace, and virtue's store ; 

lli'r goodly eyes like sapiihires shining bright, 

Her loicliead ivory whiti-, 

Jlcr rdieeks like- apiil.-t whieh the «un hath 

riMded, 
Her liiw like cherries chiirming men to liite, 
Her breast like to a bowl of cream unciudded. 

Why stand yc still, ye virgins, in arnaze, 
(J|jon her so to gaze, 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing. 
To which the woods di<l answer, and your echo 
ring ? 

l!ut if ye saw tliat which no eyes can Bee, 
'I'll!' inward beauty of her lively sprite, 
(i:irriished with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
M iirli more then would yc wonder at tliat sight, 
And stand astonished like to those which red * 
Mwiusa's niazeful head. 

There <lwells sweet Love, and constatit Chastity, 
Uiisjiotted Faith, and comely Womanhood, 
Regard of Honor, and mild Modesty ; 
Thi'rc Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne. 
And givcth laws alone, 
TIji' which the base atrections do obey. 
And yield their services unto her will ; 
Ne tlionght of things uncomely ever may 
Thereto approach to temjrt her mind to ill. 
Had yi! once seen these her celestial treasures. 
And unrcvealfcd pleasures, 
Tlicn would ye wonder and her praises sing, 
Tliat all the woods should answer, and your echo 
ring. 

flpi-n llie temple gates unto my love, 

(i|uii iImiij wide that she may enter in, 

And all lie- |iosts adorn as doth behove, 

And all the pillars deck with garlands I rim, 

For to receive this saint with honor ilne, 

Tliat Cometh in to you. 

With trembling ste|is, and humble reverence, 

She Cometh in, before the Almighty's view : 

Of hiT, ye virgins, learn oljedience. 

When so ye come into those holy ]ilaees, 

To humble your proud faces : 

Uring her up to the high altar, that she may 

The sacred ceremonies there jiartiike. 

The which do endless matrimony make ; 

And let the roaring organs loudly jilay 



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The praises of the l^ord in lively not<;s; 
'I'he whiles, with hollow throats, 
The chori.stei-s the joyous anthem sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and their echo 
ring. 

liehold, while slie before the altar stands. 
Hearing the holy priest that to her s])eak«. 
And blessetli her with his two happy haiiils, 
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks. 
And the pure snow with goodly vermeil slain, 
Like crimson dyed in grain ; 
That even the angels, which continually 
About the sacred altar do remain, 
Forget their service and aljout her (ly. 
Oft peeping in her face, that sci'ms more fair, 
The more they on it stare. 
liut her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground. 
Are governed with goodly modesty, 
'J'liat suH'ers not a look to glance awry. 
Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
Why blush you, love, to give to mi' your hand. 
The pledge of all our band ? 
Sing, ye sweet angels. Alleluia sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your echo 
ring. 



LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT. 

It 's we two, it 's we two for aye, 
Alltheworld, and wetwo, and Heaven be our stay 1 
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! 
All the world was Adam once, with Kve by liis 
side. 

What 's the world, my lass, my love ! — what can 

it do ? 
I am thine, and thou art mine ; life is sweet and 

new. 
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by ; 
For wo two have gotten leave, and once more will 

try. 

Like a laverock in the lilt, smg, O bonny bild.- ! 
It's we two, it 's we two, happy side by side. 
Take a kiss from me, thy man ; now the song 

begins : 
"All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart 

wins." 

When the darker ilays come, and no sun will 

.shine. 
Thou shalt dry my tears. Loss, and I '11 dry thine. 
It 's we two, it 's we two, while the worid 's away. 
Sitting by the golden sheaves on onrwedding day. 

Jl AN I.'J 



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104 



I'OEMa OF HOME. 



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MAIBE BHAN ASTOR.* 

In a valloy far away 

With my ilaim blian astor, 
Short would be the sumiuei-day, 

Ever loving nioro and mow ; 
Winter days would all grow long, 

With the light her heni't would [lour, 
With her kisses and her soug, 
And hor loving niait go le6r. 
Fond is Maire blian ast6r, 
Fair is Maire bhan astiSr, 
Sweet as ripple on the sliore, 
Sings my Maire bhan astor. 

0, hor sire is very proud, 

And hor mother cold as stono ; 
But hor brother bravely vowed 

She should be my bride alone ; 
For lie knew 1 lovoil her well. 

And he knew she loved mo too. 
So he sought their pride to iiuoll. 
But 't was all in vain to sue. 
True is Maire bhnn astor, 
Tried is Maire bhan astor. 
Had I wings 1 'd never soar 
From my Maire bhan astor. 

There are lands where manly toil 

Surely reaps the erop it sows. 
Glorious woods anil teeming soil, 

Where the broad Missouri flows ; 
Through the trees tlio smoke shall rise. 

From our hearth with mait go leor. 
There shall shine the happy eyes 
or my Maire bhan astor. 

Mild is Maire bhan astor. 
Mine is Mairo bhan astor, 
Saints will watch about the door 
Of my Maire bhan astur. 

THOMAS DAVl 



THE BRIDE. 



The maid, and thereby hangs n tale. 
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale 

Could ever yet produce : 
No grape that 's kindly ripe could be 
So round, so plump, .so soft as she. 

Nor half so full of juice. 

Her finger was so small, the ring 
Would not stay on v.'iiich tuey did bring, 
1 1 was too wide a pock ; 



O- 



And, to say truth, —for out it nnist, — 

It looked like the great collar — just — 

About our young colt's nock. 

Iter feet beneath her petticoat. 
Like little mice, stole in and out. 

As if they feared the light ; 
But 0, she dances such a way ! 
No sun upon an Easter-day 

Is half so fine a sight. 

Her chocks so rare a white was on. 
No dai.sy nuikes comparison ; 

Who sees them is undone ; 
For streaks of red were mingled there. 
Such as are on a Oath'rine piair. 

The side that 's next the sun. 

Her lips were red ; and one was thin, 
Compareil to that was next her chin. 

Some bee had stung it newly ; 
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, 
I durst no niurc upon them gaze, 

Than on the sun in July. 

Her mouth so small, when she does speak. 
Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break. 

That they might jiassage get ; 
But she so handled still the matter, 
They came as good as ours, or better. 

And arc nut spent a whit. 

siK John Suckling. 



HEBREW WEDDING. 

To the sound of timbrels sweet 
Jloving slow our solemn feet. 
We have boiue thee on the road 
To the virgin's blest abode ; 
With thy yellow torches gleaming. 
And thy scarlet mantle streaming. 
And the canopy above 
Swaying as we slowly move. 

Thou hast left the joyous feast, 
And the mirth and wine have ceased 
And now wo sot thee down before 
The jealously unclosing door. 
That tlic favored youth admits 
'Where the \'oil{id virgin sits 
In the bliss of maiden fear. 
Waiting our soft tread to hear. 
And the music's brisker din 
At the bridegroom's entering in, 
Entering in, a welcome guest. 
To the chamber of his rest. 



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MARRIAGE. 



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CHoiius OF maidi;ns. 
Now the jocund song is thine, 
Bride of David's kingly line ; 
How thy dove-like bosom trenililetli, 
And thy shrouded eye rescnibleth 
Violets, when the dews of eve 
A luoist and tremulous glitter leave ! 

On the bashful sealed lid. 
Close within the bride-veil hid. 
Motionless thou sitt'st and mute ; 
Save that at the soft salute 
Of ea(di entering maiden friend, 
Thou dost rise and softly bend. 

Hark ! a brisker, merrier glee ! 
The door unfolds, — 't is he ! 't is he ! 
Thus we lilt our lamjis to meet him. 
Thus we touch our lutes to greet him. 
Thou shalt give a fonder meeting, 
Thou shalt give a tenderer greeting. 

IIBNKV Hart Milm 



MARRIAGE. 

rRf)M " HUMAN I.lFIi,' 

Thkn Ijcfore All they stand, — the holy vow 
And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, 
liind her as his. Across the tlireshold led. 
And every teai- kissed olf as soon as shed. 
His house she enters, — there to lie a light, 
Shining within, when all without is niglit ; 
A guaidian angel o'er his life presiding. 
Doubling his pleasures and his cares diviiling. 
Winning him back when mingling in the throng 
Hack from a woi-ld we love, alas ! too long. 
To fireside happiness, to hours of ease, 
fSlcst with that chami, the certainty to jilease. 
How oft her eyes read liis ; her gentle mind 
To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined ; 
Still subject, — ever on the watch to boiTow 
Mirth of his miilh and .sorrow of his sorrow ! 
The soul of music .slumbers in the shell. 
Till waked and kindled by the master's .spell. 
And feeling hearts — touch them but rightly — 

A thousand iiieludies unheard before ! 

SAMUHi. Rogers. 

SEVEN TIMES SIX. 



To bear, to nurse, to rear. 
To watch, and then to lose : 

To see my briglit ones disappear, 
Drawn up like morning dews ; • 

To bear, to nurse, to rear. 
To watch, and then to lose : 



This have I done when God drew near 
Among his own to choose. 

To hear, to heed, to wed, 

And with thy lord depart 
In tears that he, as soon as shed. 

Will let no longer smart. — 
To hear, to heed, to wed. 

This while thou didst 1 smiled. 
For now it was not God who said, 

" Mother, give ME thy child." 

fond, O fool, and blind. 

To God I gave with tears ; 
But when a man like grace would find, 

My soul put by her fears. 
foiid, fool, and blind, 

God guards in happier s|)heres ; 
That man will guard where he did biml 

Is hope for unknown years. 

To hear, to heed, to wed. 

Fair lot that maidens choose, 
Thy mother's tendcrest wonls are said. 

Thy face no more she views ; 
Thy mother's lot, my dear, 

She doth in naught accuse ; 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To love — and then to lose. 



THE BANKS OF THE LEE. 

O, THK banks of the Lee, the banks of tlie I,ec, 
And love in a cottage for Mary and nie ! 
There 's not in the laud a lovelier tide. 
And I'msurethat there 'snooncsofairasmy bride. 

She 's modest and meek. 

There 's a down on her cheek, 

And her skin is as sleek 
As a butterfly's wing ; 

Then her step would scarce show 

On the fresh-fallen snow, 

And her whisper is low, 

But as clear a.s the spring. 
0, the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, 
And love in a cottage for Mary and me ! 
I know not how love is happy el.scwhere, 
I know not how any but lovers are there. 

0, so green is the grass, so clear is the stream, 
So mild is the mist and so rich is the beam. 
That beauty sliould never to other lands roam. 
But make on the banks of our river its home ! 

Wlien, dripping with dew, 

The roses peep through, 

'T is to look in at vou 



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rOEMS OF HOMK. 



Thoy im« growing so fiist ; 
Wliil.' ll\o soiMit of (lu> llowois 
Musi ln> luvii\loil lV>r liom-s, 
"r is |uiinvil in siii'h sliowors 

Whi-n my Mary jjoi's (Mst. 



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0, till' luinks of tlm Loo, tlio Imuka of tlio Loo, 
Anil lovo in i\ oottivgo for Mmy luul nio ! 
0, Miu'v for nio, Mury for mo. 
Ana 't is litHo I W sij-li for tlio banks of llio l.o. 



HOME. 



VVUK.S A WINSOMK WKK I'lUNll 

SuK is a winsouio woo Uiinj;, 
Sho is a lianilsonio woo tiling, 
Slio is a Inmnio woo tJiinj;, 
'I'his swoot woo wifo o' niino, 

1 novor SiW a faiixu', 

1 novov lo'od a iloiuw. 

Anil noisl n>y hoart I 'U woar liov. 

For foar my jowol lino. 

Sho is a winsomo woo thing, 
Slio is a hanilson\o woo tiling, 
Sho is a iHMiiiio woo thing, 
'I'liis swoot woo wifo o' u>ino. 

'ri\o warUi's wmok wo sliaiv o't, 
'riio wai-stlo and tlio oaiv o't : 
\Vi"lior I'll hlytholy hoar it. 
And think n\Y lot divino. 

KoliKRV lU'RNS 



My l.ovo, 1 Un\ii i\o foar that thou shouldst dio: 
Allvit I ask no faiivr lifo than this. 
Whoso nu\nlHMiug-cliH-k is still thy gx-ntlo kiss, 
Whilo 'Hnioaud roaoowithhrtuds«nlooki>d llv,— 
Yot oaiv 1 not whoiv in Ktornity 
Wo livo and lovo, wvll knowing that thoiv is 
No Iwokwuixl stop for tlu>so who fool Iho bliss 
t^f Faith as thoir nuwt lofty yoarnings high : 
l.ovo hath so (Miriliod my Wing's ooi-o, 
Mosoonis I soaiYoly should 1h> starllod, ovon, 
To lind, somo n\orn, that thon hadst giino lH>fon> ; 
Siiioo, with thy lovo. this knowloilgo too wa.« 

jrixi'ti. 
M'hioh iv>oh oaliu day doth stituigthou inoiv and 

nxoiv. 
That thoy who lovo aiv but ono stop fivm lloavon. 

I iWNNOT think that tlion sluwldst pjiss aw-.iy. 
Whoso lifo to niino is au otornal law. 



A piooo of natnro that oan liavo no (law, 
.\ now and oorlaiu snnriso ovory day ; 
lint, if thou art to 1h> anothor ray 
.VlKiut tho Sun of l.ifo. and art to livo 
I'V'O fnnn all of thoo that was fugitivo. 
Tho dobt of l.ovo I will inoiv fully imy. 
Not downoa.st with tho thought of thoo so high, 
r>nt mthor iiiisoil to bo a noblor man. 
And mow divino in my humanity. 
As knowing that tho waiting oyos whioli soan 
My lifo aiv liglitod by a pm\>r boing, 
.\nd ask n>ook, oalni-bixnvod doods, with it agroo- 
ing. 

I THot'ollT our lovo (it full, but I did orr ; 
.Toy's wroiith droopod o'or niino oyos ; 1 oonUl not 

soo 
That sorrow in our happy world nuist Ih> 
l.ovo's dooiH'st spokivsman and intorpivtor. 
Ii\it. as a nuilhor fools lior ohild lirst stir 
Vndor hor hoart. so folt 1 instantly 
Poop in my soul anothor bond to thoo 
Thrill with that lifo wo ssiw doiwrt fron\ hor : 

II mothor of our an,gt>l ohihl I twioo doar ! 
Uoath knits as woll as piivts, and still. 1 wis, 
llor tondor nidianoo shall infold ns horo, 
F.von as tho light, borno up by inwaiil bliss. 
Thivads tho void glooms of sjiaoo without a foiu\ 
To print on fartliost stars hov pitying ki.ss. 

lAMUS Kl'SSliLL l.iVU.l 1., 



ADAM TO EVK. 

l") KAir.Ksr of orivition, last and In'st 
llf all (IihI's works, oivaturo in whon> oxoollod 
Whatovor oan to sight or thought Iv formod. 
Holy, divino. g<wd. amiablo, or swoi>t ! 
Uow art thon last, how on a suddon lost. 
Uofaoixl. dolloworx'd. and now to doatli dovoto ! 
Kathor. how hast thou yioldol to transgivss 
Tho stviot I'orbividanoo. how to violate 
Tho saoivd fruit forbiddou ! Somo oursW fraud 



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HOME. 



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Of enemy hatli >x;giiilei] tlioe, y';t unknown, 
Ami idi: wild tine liatli i-uim:'!, lor with tli';0 
Ceitiiiii rrjy inKolijtion i» to die. 
Ilow ean 1 live without tliee, liow I'oref/o 
'I'liy KWeet eoiiverw;, ari'l love lo ileaily joitie'I, 
To live again in thew: wiM woiAh lor loin ( 
.SlioiiM Owl creati: another Kve, ari'l 1 
Another lih alfonl, yet Iohk of thee 
Would never from niy heart ; no, no, I feel 
The link of nature draw nre ; lleKh of llech, 
lione of nry Ikjiii; thou art,tand from thy «tat« 
Mine never >iliall Ije parKA, hlinit or v/tK. 

However, I with th'je have i'lXcA rny lot, 
Ci;rtain to uniler(^o like d'wni ; if death 
Contort with thee, death in Ui nie a« life ; 
So forcible within my heart 1 feel 
The Ijond of nature draw me Ui my owrr. 
My own in thee, for what thou art i.t mine ; 
Oui' BUtft cannot fj*; f«:vered, we are one, 
<>ii(: (leiih ; U> him Did: were to loic.' jiiywdf 



LOKD WALTEK'M WIFE. 

" Iir;i why do you go?" «aid the lady, while Ujth 

sate under the yew, 
And her eye« were alive in their depth, a« the 

kniken beneath the wa-blue. 

" lieearwe I fear you," he anHwered ; — " Ix^eauac 

you are far Utn fair. 
And able U) Btrangle my wjuI in a inesth of your 

gold-Cjlor'^l hair." 

"0 that," she mwl, "in no retiwm ! Hiieh knots 

are fjrjiekly undone. 
And too rnueh ln.aiity, I re/;kon, in nothing; but 

t<jo mueh Hun. " 

"Vet farewell ivt," he answered; — "the uun- 
stroke '» fat.;d at timex, 

1 value your hiixlxind. Lord Walt^jr, whose gal- 
lop ringo Btill from the limen." 

"O, that," she Haid, "in no reason. Vou >:mell 
a rotte through a fence ; 

If two should Hmell it, wljat matter? who grum- 
bles, and where 's the j/retenw; ? " 

"But I," he replied, "have promijc^d .-mother, 

when love was fr-e<;, 
To love lier alone, alone, who alone and afar loves 

me." 



["But you," he i.|,ii<'i, - ii.ive :i oautditcr, a 
young little child, who wao laid 
In your lap to \x: pure ; Hti I hsive you : the 
angels would make me afraid." 

"O, that," she said, "is no r<ason. The angels 

ki;*;p out of the way ; 
And Oora, the child, olwervirs nothing, although 

you should pleawj me and stay." 

At which he nrnt up in his anger, — "Why, now, 

you no longer are fair ! 
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and 

liatiiful, I swear." 

At which she laughwl out in her scorn, — " Tlrese 

men ! 0, these men ovenii'X;, 
Who are shoekcl if a wjlor not virtuous is frankly 

put on by a vi/;c." 

Her ey<-s bhi»!d ufK^n hirn — "And ;/'/«/ Vou 

bring us your vices mi near 
That we t>mell them ! you think in our prewn'Mi 

a thought 't would defame us to hear ! 

"What ri::mm ha/l you, and what right, I p- 
[Ksil to your K^iiil from my life, — 

To find nre t'<o fair as a wonrarr ? Why, sir, I anr 
pure, and a wifir, 

" Is the day-star tvi fair up aJ/ove you? It biinis 

you not. Dare you im|ily 
I brushed you more ch/W: than the star do<»t, 

when Walt'ir- lia/1 w:t /ne as high ? 

" If a man fin'ls a woman Uxi fair, he means sim- 
ply iulapt.'-d too nruch 

To us'js irnlawful and fatal. The praise I — shall 
I thank you for such ? 

"To<)fair? — irot unlesi you misrus/; un 1 and surely 

if, once in a whih-, 
You attain t/i it, straightway you call us no longer 

t/Ki fair, but Umj vile. 

" A moment, — I pray your att/.-ntion ! — I have 

a fKtor word in rny head 
I must utter, though womanly custom would vt 

it down V>f;tt/;r unsaid, 

" Vou grew, sir, pale U> imfK;rtinence, one; when 
I showwl you a ring. 

You kissed my fan wh'-rr I dropjx;'! it. No mat- 
ter ! I Ve Woken the thing. 



"Why, that," she said, "is no reason. I^ove '« "You did me the honor, ffcrhaps, to be rnrivA 
always frc<;, I anr told, at my side now and then 

Will you vow to h<: safe from the hea/lache on In the seriwis, — a vice, I have heard, which ix 
Tae«<Iay, and think it will hold ?" common to beajstJi and some men, 

la — 



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168 



POEMS OF HOME. 



" Love 's a virtue for heroes ! — as white as the 
snow on high hills, 

And immortal as every great soul is that strug- 
gles, endures, and fulfills. 

' ' I love my Walter profoundly, — you, Maude, 

though you faltered a week, 
For the sake of . . . what was it ? an eyebrow ? 

or, less still, a mole on a cheek ? 

" And since, when all 's said, you 're too noble to 

stoop to the frivolous cant 
About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, 

betray, and supplant, 

" I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er 

you might dream or avow 
By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me 

than you have now. 

"There! Look me full in the face! — in the 

face. Understand, if you can, 
That the eyes of such women as I am are clean as 

the palm of a man. 

"Drop Ms hand, you insult him. Avoid us for 
fear we should cost you a scar, — 

You take us for harlots, I tell you, and not for 
the women we are. 

"You wronged me : but then I considered . . . 

there 's Walter ! And so at the end, 
I vowed that he should not be nmlcted, by me, 

in the hand of a friend. 

" Have I hurt you indeed ? We are quits then. 

Nay, friend of my Walter, be mine ! 
Come, Dora, my darling, my angel, and help me 

to ask him to dine." 

ELiz.\BETH Barrett browning. 



C0NKT7BIAL LITE. 



FROM •* THE SEASONS." 



V,VT happy they, the happiest of their kind, 
Wliom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings 

blend. 
'T is not the coarser tie of human laws, 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind. 
That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 
Attuning all their passions into love ; 
Wliere friendship full-exerts her softest power. 
Perfect esteem enlivened by desire 
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; 
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing 



With boundless confidence : for naught but lova 
Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 
And mingles both their graces. By degrees, 
The human blossom blows ; and every day, 
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 
The father's lustre and the mother's bloom. 
Then infant reason gi'ows apace, and calls 
For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 
Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought. 
To teach the young idea how to shoot, 
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 
0, speak the joy ! ye whom the sudden tear 
Surprises often, while you look around, 
And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, 
All various Nature pressing on the heart ; 
An elegant sufficiency, content. 
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
Ease and alternate labor, useful life, 
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. 
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ; 
And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, 
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 
Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 
Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ; 
When, after the long vernal day of life, 
Enamored more, a.s more remembrance swells 
With many a proof of recollected love, 
Together down they sink in social sleep ; 
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 
James Thomson. 



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will, 



POSSESSION. 

" It was our wedding-day 

A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say. 

If months, or years, or ages since have passed, 

I know not : I have ceased to question Time. 

I only know that once there pealed a chime 

Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast, 

And all stood back, and none my right denied. 

And forth we walked : the world was free and wide 

Before us. Since that day 

1 count my life : the Past is washed away. 

It was no dream, that vow : 

It was the voice that woke me from a dream, — 

A happy dream, I think : but 1 am waking now, 

And drink the splendor of a sun supreme 

That turns the mist of former tears to gold. 

Within these arms I hold 

The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain : 

Ah, weary bird ! thou wilt not fly again : 



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Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more de- 
part, — 
Thy nest is huilded in my heart ! 

I was the crescent ; thou 

Tlie silver phantom of the perfect sjihere. 

Held in its bosom : in one glory now 

Our lives united shine, and many a year — 

Not the sweet moon of bridal only — we 

One luster, ever at the full, shall be : 

One pure and rounded light, one planet whole. 

One life developed, one completed soul ! 

For I in thee, and thou in me. 

Unite our cloven halves of destiny. 

God knew his chosen time. 
He bade me slowly ripen to my prime. 
And from my boughs withheld the promised fruit. 
Till storm and sun gave vigor to the root. 
Secure, Love ! secure 

Thy blessing is : 1 have thee day and night : 
Thou art become my blood, my life, my light : 
God's mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure. 
Bayard Taylor. 



h 



THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. 

The day returns, my bosom burns. 

The blissful day we twa did meet ; 
Though winter wild in tempest toiled, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads tlie tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line, — 
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes. 

Heaven gave me more ; it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, — 
"Wliile joys above my mind can move. 

For thee and thee alone I live ; 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part. 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss, — it lireaks ray heart. 
Robert Burns. 



THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 

0, MY love 's like the steadfast sun. 
Or streams that deepen as they run ; 
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, 
Nor moments between sighs and tears. 
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, 
Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain. 
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that tiows 
To sober joys and soften woes. 
Can make my heart or fancy flee. 
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. 



Even while I muse, I see thee sit 

In maiden bloom and matron wit ; 

Fair, gentle as when first 1 sued. 

Ye seem, but of sedater mood ; 

Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee 

As when, beneath Arbigland tree. 

We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon 

Set on the sea an hour too soon ; 

Or lingered mid the falling dew, 

When looks were fond and words were' few. 

Though I see smiling at thy feet 
Five sons, and ae fair daughter sweet, 
And time, and care, and birthtime woes 
Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy ro.se. 
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong 
Whate'er charms me in tale or song. 
When words descend like dcw.s, unsought, 
With gleams of deep, enthusiast thouglit. 
And fancy in her heaven flies free. 
They come, my love, they come from thee. 

0, when more thought we gave, of old, 
To silver, than some give to gold, 
'T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er 
How we should deck our humble bower ; 
'T was sweet to pull, in hope, witli thee, 
The. golden fruit of fortune's tree ; 
And sweeter still to choose and twine 
A garland for that brow of thine, — 
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, 
While rivers flow, and woods glow gieen. 

At times there come, as come there ought. 
Grave moments of sedater thouglit. 
When fortune frowns, nor lends oiu- night 
One gleam of her inconstant light ; 
And hope, that decks the peasant's bower, 
Shines like a rainbow through the shower. 
0, then I see, while seated nigh, 
A mother's heart shine in thine eye, 
And proud resolve, and purpose meek. 
Speak of thee more than words can speak. 
1 think this wedded wife of mine. 
The best of aU that 's not divine. 

Allan Cunn: 



AN ANGEL'S VISIT. 

She stood in the harvest-field at noon. 
And sang aloud for the joy of living. 

She said : "'T is the sun that I drink like wine, 
To my heart this gladness giving." 

Rank upon rank the wheat fell slain ; 

The reapers ceased. " 'T is sure the splendor 
Of sloping sunset light that thrills 

JIv breast with a bliss so tender. " 



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Up and up the blazing lulls 

Climbed the night from the misty meadows. 
" Can they be stars, or living eyes 

That bond on me from the shadows ? " 

" Greeting ! " " And may you speak, indeed ? " 
All in the dark her sense grew clearer ; 

Slir knew that she had, fur coiiiiKiiiy, 
All day an angel near Iut. 

" M;iy you toll us of the life divine, 
To us unknown, to angels given ? " 

"Ciiunt me your earthly joys, and I 
May teach you those of heaven. " 

" They say the pleasures of earth are vain ; 

Delusions all, to lure from duty ; 
liut while Cod hangs his bow in the rain, 

Can 1 helji my joy in beauty ? 

" .\iid while he (luickens the air with song. 
My breaths witli aeeiit, my fruits with Uavor, 

Will he, ilear angel, count as sin 
My life in smmd and savor '! 

"See, at our feet the glow-worm shines, 

Lo ! in the east a star arises ; 
Aiul thought may climb fi'oni worm to world 

Forever through fresh surprises : 

"And thought is joy. . . . And, hark! in the 
vale 

Music, and merry stc]is pursuing ; 
They leap in the dance, — a suul in my blood 

( 'ricvs out. Awake, bo doing ! 

" Action is joy ; or power at play. 
Or power at work in world or emprises : 

Action is life ; part from the deed. 
More from the doing rises." 

" And arc these all ? " She Hushed in the dark. 

"These are not all. I have a lover ; 
At sound of his voice, .at touch of his hand, 

Tlie cup of my life runs over. 

" Cncc, unknowing, we looked and neared. 
And doubted, and noared, and rested never, 

Till life seized life, as flame meets flame, 
To escape no more forever. 

" Lover and husband ; then was love 
The wine of my life, all life enhancing : 

Now 't is my bread, too needful and sweet 
To be kept for feast-day chancing. 

" I have a child." .She seemed to change ; 
The deep content of some brooding creature 



Looked from her eyes. "0, sweet and strange! 
Angel, be thou my teacher : 

" When He made us one in a babe, 

Was it for joy, or sorest proving? 
For now 1 fear no heaven could win 

Our hearts from earthly loving. 

" I have a friend. Ilowso 1 err, 

I see her uplifting love bend o'er me ; 

Howso 1 climb to my best, 1 know 
Her foot will be there before mo. 

"Howso parted, wo must bo nigh, 
Held by old years of every weather ; 

The best new love would be less than ours 
Who have lived our lives together. 

' ' Now, lest forever I fail to see 

Right skies, through clouds so bright and ten- 
der. 
Show me true joy." The angel's smile 

Lit all the night with splendor. 

" Save that to Love and Learn and Do 
In wondrous measure to us is given ; 

Save that we see the face of God, 

You have named the joys of heaven." 

ULI2A SPROAT TUK.NER. 



WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. 

WiiKN the black-lettered list to the gods was pre- 
sented 
(The list of what fate for each mortal intends). 
At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, 
Andslippcdiu three blessings, — \vife, children, 
and friends. 

In v.ain surly Pluto maintained he was cheated, 
For justiae divine could not compass its enils. 

Thosehemcofman'spenanco he swore wasdi'featcil. 
For earth becomes heaven with — wife, children, 
and friends. 

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested. 
The fmul, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends ; 

But the heart issues bills which are lu'vcrprotestcil. 
When drawn on the firm of — wife, children, 
and friends. 

The day-springof youth, still unclouded by sorrow. 
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends ; 

But drear is the twilight of age if it borrow 
No warmth from the smile of — wife, children, 
and friends. 



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THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE. 

ilow many summers, lovi>, 

Have I been tliiiie < 
How many days, tliou dove, 

Hast thou been mine ? 
Time, like the winf^eil wind 

When 't bends the flowers, 
Hath left no mark behind, 

To count the hours ! 

Some weight of thought, though loath. 

On thee he leaves ; 
Some lines of care I'ound both 

Perhaps he weaves ; 
Some fears, — a soft regret 

For joys scarce known ; 
Sweet looks we half forget ; — 

All else is tlown ! 

Ah ! — With what thankless heart 

I mourn and sing ! 
Look, where our children start, 

Like sudden spring ! 
With tongues all sweet and low 

Like pleasant rhyme, 
They tell how much I owe 

To thee and time ! 



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IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE. 

If tliou wert by my side, my love. 
How fast would evening fail 

In green Bengala's palmy grove. 
Listening the nightingale ! 

If thou, my love, wert by my side. 

My babies at my knee, 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 

I miss thee at the dawning gray. 
When, on our deck reclined, 

In careless ease my limbs I lay 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide, 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam 

I miss thee from my side. 

I spread my books, my pencil tr)', 
The lingering noon to cheer. 

But miss thy kind, approving eye. 
Thy meek, attentive ear. 



But when at mom and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far, 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on ! then on ! where duty leads. 

My course be onward still. 
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads. 

O'er bleak Almorah's hill. 

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates 

Nor mild Malwah detain ; 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, 

Across the dark blue sea ; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay 

As then shall meet in thee ! 

Reginald IIciiBR. 



TROTH-PUGHT. 

FOR THE GOLDEN WEDDINr, OF A HUSBAND THIRTY-SEVEN 
YEARS BLIND. 

I nnoroilT her home, my bonny bride, 

Just fifty years ago ; 
Her eyes were bright. 
Her step was light, 

Her voice was .sweet and low. 

In April was our wedding-day — 

The maiden month, you know. 

Of tears and smiles, 

And willful wiles. 

And flowers that spring from snow. 

My love cast down her dear, dark eyes, 
As if she fain would hide 

From my fond sight 

Her own delight. 

Half shy, yet happy, bride. 

But blushes told the tale, instead, 

As plain as words could speak. 

In dainty red, 

That overspread 

My darling's dainty cheek. 

For twice six years and more I watched 
Her fairer grow each day ; 

My babes were blest 

LTpon her breast. 

And she was pure as they. 



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And then an angel touched my eyes, 
And turned my day to night, 

That fading charms 

Or time's alarms 

Might never vex my sight. 

Thus sitting in the dark 1 see 

My darling as of yore, — 

AVith blushing face 

And winsome grace. 

Unchanged, forevermore. 

Full fifty years of young and fair ! 

To her I pledge my vow 
Whose spring-time grace 
And April face 

Have lasted until now. 

Louise Chandler moulton. 



O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR I 

0, LAY thy hand in mine, dear ! 

We 're growing old ; 
But Time hath brought no sign, dear, 

That hearts gi'ow cold. 
'T is long, long since our new love 

JIade life divine ; 
But age enricheth true love. 

Like noble wine. 

And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, 

And take thy rest ; 
Mine arms around thee twine, dear. 

And make thy nest. 
A many cares are pressing 

On this dear head ; 
But Sorrow's hands in blessing 

Are surely laid. 

0, lean thy life on mine, dear ! 

'T will shelter thee. 
Thon wert a winsome vine, dear. 

On my young tree : 
And so, till boughs are leafless. 

And songbirds flown. 
We '11 twine, then lay us, griefless. 

Together down. 

Gerald massev. 



THE WORN WEDDING-RING. 

Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife ; ah, 

summers not a few, 
Since I put it on your finger first, have passed 

o'er me and you ; 



And, love, what changes we have seen, — what 

cares and pleasures, too, — 
Since you became my own dear wife, when this 

old ring was new ! 

0, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of 

my life. 
When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes" 

made you my loving wife ! 
Your heart will say the same, I know ; that 

day 's as dear to you, — 
That day that made me yours, dear wife, when 

this old ring was new. 

How well do I remember now your yoimg sweet 

face that day ! 
How fair you were, how dear you were, my 

tongue could hardly say ; 
Nor how I doated on you ; 0, how proud 1 was 

of you ! 
But did I love you more than now, when this 

old ring was new ? 

No — no ! no fairer were you then than at this 

hour to me ; 
And, dear as life to me this day, how could you 

dearer be ? 
As sweet your face might be that day as now it 

is, 't is true ; 
But did I know your heart as well when this ol<l 

ring was new ? 

partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what 

grief is there 
For me you would not bravely face, with me 

you would not share ? 
0, what a weary want had every day, if wanting 

you. 
Wanting the love that God made mine when 

this old ring was new ! 

Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, — young 

voices that are here ; 
Young faces round our fire that make their 

mother's yet more dear ; 
Young loving hearts your care each day makes 

yet more like to you. 
More like the loving heart made mine when this 

old ring was new. 

And, blessed be God ! all he has given are with 

us yet ; around 
Our table every precious life lent to us still is 

found. 
Though cares we 'vc known, with hopeful hearts 

the worst we 've struggled through ; 
Blessed be his name for all his lore since this 

old ring was new ! 



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The past is dear, its sweetness still our memo- 
ries treasure yet ; 

The griefs we 've borne, together borne, we would 
not now forget. 

Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto 
heart stUl tnie, 

"We '11 share as we have shared all else since this 
old ring was new. 

And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daugh- 
ters to grow old. 

We know his goodness will not let your heart 
or mine gi'ow cold. 

Your aged eyes will see in mine all tliey 've still 
shown to you, 

And mine in yours all they have seen since this 
old ling was new. 

And 0, when death shall come at last to bid me 

to my rest, 
Jlay 1 die looking in those eyes, and re.sting on 

that breast ; 
0, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear 

sight of you. 
Of those fond eyes, — fond as they were when 

this old ling was new ! 

William Co.v Bennett. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

John Ander.son, my jo, John, 

When we were first acijuent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We 've had wi' ane anither. 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But band in hand we '11 go : 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

ROIiEKT I 



FILIAi LOVE. 

There is a dungeon in whose dim drear light 
What do I gaze on ' Nothing : look again ! 
Two forms are slowly shadowed on my sight, — 
Two insulated phantoms of the brain : 
It is not so ; I see them full and plain, — 



An old man and a female young and fair. 
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 
The blood is nectar : but what doth she there. 
With her unmantled neck, and bo.som white and 
bare ? 

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young 1 itV. 
Where mi the heart and from the heart we took 
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 
Blest into mother, in the innocent look, 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — 
What may the fruit be yet ' 1 know not — I'ain 
w'as Eve's. 

But here youth offers to old age the food. 
The milk of his own gift : it is her sire 
To whom she renders back the debt of blood 
Born with her birth. No ! he sliall not expire 
While in those warm and lovely veins the lire 
Of health and holy feeling can provide 
Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises 

higher 
Than Egypt's river ; — from that gentle side 
Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm 
holds no such tide. 

The starry fable of the milky-way 

Has not thy stoiy's purity ; it is 

A constellation of a sweeter ray. 

And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 

Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 

Where sparkle distant worlds : — 0, holiest 

nurse ! 
No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source 
With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. 
Lord Byron. 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 

Backward, turn backward, Time, in you 

flight. 
Make me a child again just for to-night ! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore. 
Take me again to your heart as of yore ; 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care. 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep : — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Backward, flow backward, tide of the years ! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears, — 
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — 
Take tliem, and give me my childhood again '. 



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I have grown weary of dust and decay, — 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away ; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap ; — 
Eock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. 
Mother, mother, my heart calls for you ! 
Many a summer the grass has gi'own gi'een. 
Blossomed, and faded our faces between, 
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain 
Long I to-night for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so lon^ and so deep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, • — rock me to sleep ! 

Over my heart, in the days that are flown. 
No love like mother-love ever has shone ; 
No other worship abides and endures, — 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours : 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep ; — 
Eock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted \vith gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old ; 
Let it drop over my forehead to-night. 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; — 
Eock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song : 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face. 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — I'oek me to sleep ! 

ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN 

(FLOKtNcE Percy). 
TO ATTGITSTA. 

HIS SISTER. AUGUSTA LEIGH. 

My sister ! my sweet sister ! if a name 
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine. 

Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim 
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine : 

Go where 1 will, to me thou art the same, — 
A loved regret which I would not resign. 

There yet are two things in my destiny, — 

A world to roam through, and a home with thee. 

The first were nothing, — had I still the last. 
It were the haven of my happiness ; 

But other claims and other ties thou hast. 
And mine is not the wish to make them less. 



A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past 

Recalling, as it lies beyond redress ; 
Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore, — 
He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. 

If my inheritanoe of storms hath been 
In other elements, and on the rocks 

Of perils, overlooked or unforeseen, 

I have sustained my share of worldly shocks. 

The fault was mine ; nor do I seek to screen 
My errors with defensive paradox ; 

I have been cunning in mine overthrow. 

The careful pilot of my proper woe. 

Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. 

My whole life was a contest, since the day 
That gave me being gave me that which marred 

The gift, — a fate, or will, that walked astray : 
And I at times have found the struggle hard. 

And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay : 
But now I fain would for a time sui-vivc. 
If but to see what next can well aiiive. 

Kingdoms and empires in my little day 
I have outlived, and yet 1 am not old ; 

And when I look on this, the petty spray 

Of my own years of trouble, which have rolled 

Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away : 
Something — I know not what — docs still up- 
hold 

A spirit of slight patience ; — not in vain, 

Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. 

Perhaps the workings of defiance stir 

Within me, — or perhaps of cold despair. 

Brought on when ills habitually i-ecur, — 
Perhaps a kinder clime, or pui-er air, 

(For even to this may change of soul refer. 
And with light ai-mor we may learn to bear, ) 

Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not 

The chief companion of a calmer lot. 

I feel almost at times as I have felt 

In happy childhood ; trees, and flowers, and 
brooks. 
Which do remember me of where I dw'elt 

Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books. 
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt 

My heart w-ith recognition of their looks ; 
And even at moments 1 could think 1 see 
Some living thing to love, — but none like thee. 



Here are the Alpine landscapes which create 
A fund for contemplation ; — to admu'e 

Is a brief feeling of a trivial date ; 

But something worthier do such scenes inspire. 

Here to be lonely is not desolate. 
For much I view which I could most desire. 



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Anil, above all, a lake I can behold 
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. 

that thou wert but with me ! — but I grow 
The fool of my own wishes, and forget 

The solitude which I have vaunted so 
Has lost its praise in this but one regret ; 

There may be others which I less may show ; 
I am not of the plaintivi; mood, and yet 

1 feel an ebb in my philosophy. 

And the tide rising in my altered eye. 

I did remind thee of our own dear Lake, 

By the old Hall which may be mine no more. 

Leman's is fair ? but think not I forsake 
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore ; 

Sad havoc Time must with my memory make, 
Ere thai or thnu, can fade these eyes before ; 

Though, like all things which I have loved, they 
are 

Resigned forever, or divided far. 

The world is all before me ; I but ask 

Of Nature that with which she will comply, — 

It is but in her summer's sun to bask, 
To mingle with the i|uiet of her sky. 

To see her gentle face without a mask, 
Ami never gaze on it with apathy. 

She was my early friend, and now shall be 

My sister, — till I look again on thee. 

1 can reduce all feelings but this one ; 

.\nd that I woidd not ; for at length I see 
Such scenes as those wheri^in my life begun. 

The earliest, — even the only paths for me, — 
Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, 

I had been better than I now can he ; 
The passions which have toi-n me would have 

slept : 
/ had not suffered, and </j«ii hadst not wept. 

With false Ambition what had I to do ? 

Little with Love, and least of all with Fame ; 
And yet they came unsought, and with me grew, 

And made me all which they can make, — aname. 
Yet this was not the end I did pursue ; 

Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. 
But all is over ; I am one the more 
To baffled millions which have gone before. 

And for the future, this world's future may 
From me demand but little of my care ; 

I h.Tve outlived myself by many a day : 

Having survived so many things that were ; 

My years have been no slumber, but the prey 
Of ceaseless vigils ; for 1 liad the share 

Of life which might Iiave tilh-d a century, 

Before its fourth in time had passed me by. 



And for the remnant which may be to come, 
I nm content ; and for the past I feel 

Not thankleas, — for within the crowded sum 
Of straggles, happine,ss at times would !steal, 

And for the present, I would not benumb 
My feelings farther. — Nor shall I conceal 

That with all this I still can look around, 

And worship Nature with a thought profound. 

For tliee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart 
1 know myself secure, as thou in mine : 

We were and are — I am, even as thou art — 
Beings who ne'er each other can resign ; 

It is the .same, together or apart, 
From life's commencement to its slow decline 

We are intwined, — let death come slow or fast. 

The tie which bound the first endures the last ! 



Ci.iN<; to thy home ! if there the meanest .shed 
Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head. 
And some poor plot, with vegetables stored. 
Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy board, — 
I'nsavory bread, and herbs that scattered grow 
Wild on the river brink or mountain brow, 
Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide 
More heart's repose tlian all the world beside. 

From the (Jrtck of I.F.OMUAS. 

by KoUliRT ULANO. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 

FROM THE OPERA OF " CLAHl, THE MAID OF MILAN." 

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. 
Be it ever so humble there 's no place like home ! 
A charm from the skies .seems to hallow us thi^re, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with 
elsewhere. 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! 

There 's no place like home ! 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain : 
O, give me my lowly thatched cottsige again ! 
The liirds singing gayly that came at my call ; — 
Give me them, ^and the peace of mind dearer 
than all ! 
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! 
There 's no place like home ! 

JOHN Howard Payne. 



Mine he a cot beside the hill ; 
A beehive's hum shall soothe my car ; 
A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
With many a fall shall linger near. 



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The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch. 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my iyied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village-church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage- vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

Samuel Rogers. 



THE QUIET LIFE. 

Haity the man, whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 
In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
Whose flocks supply him with attire : 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade. 
In winter, fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
Hours, days, and years slide soft away 
In health of body, peace of mind. 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
Together mixed ; sweet recreation. 
And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; 
Thus mdamented let me die ; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 

Ale.va.nder Pope. 



A SONG FOR THE HEARTH AJfD HOME. 

Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily 

Rushes the wind like the waves of the sea : 
Little care I, as here I sit cheerily. 

Wife at my side and my baby on knee. 
King, king, crown me the king : 
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the kin^ 

Flashes the firelight upon the dear faces. 
Dearer and dearer as onward we go, 

Forces the shadow behind us, and places 

Brightness around us with warmth in tlie glov 



King, king, crown me the king : 

Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king ! 

Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory. 
Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the 
soul. 
Telling of trust and content the sweet story, 
Lifting the shadows that over us roll. 
King, king, crown me the king : 
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king ! 

Richer than miser with perishing treasure, 

Served with a service no conquest could bring ; 
Happy with fortune that words cannot measure. 
Light-hearted I on the liearthstone can sing. 
King, king, crown me the king : 
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the king. 
William Rankin Dur^ea. 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 

What is it fades and flickers in the fire. 

Mutters and sighs, and yields reluctant breath, 

As if in the red embers some desire. 

Some word prophetic burned, defjing death ? 

Lords of the forest, stalwart oak and pine. 
Lie down for us in flames of martjTdom : 

A human, household warmth, their death- fires 
shine ; 
Yet fragrant with high memories they come. 

Bringing the mountain-winds that in their boughs 
Sang of the torrent, and the plashy edge 

Of storm-swept lakes ; anil echoes that arouse 
The eagles from a splintered eyrie ledge ; 

And breath of violets sweet about their roots ; 

And earthy odors of the moss and fern ; 
And hum of rivulets ; smell of ripening fruits ; 

And green leaves that to gold andcrimson turn. 

What clear Septembers fade out in a spark ! 

^Vhat rare Octobers drop with every coal ! 
Within these costly ashes, dumb and dark, 

Are hid spring's budding hope, and summer's 
sold. 

Pictures far lovelier smoulder in the fire, 

Visions of friends who walked among these trees, 

Whose presence, like the free air, could inspire 
A winged life and boundless sympathies. 

Eyes with a glow like that in the brown beech. 
When sunset through its autumn beauty shines ; 

Or the blue gentian's look of silent speech. 
To heaven appealing as earth's light declines 



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Voices and steps forever fled away 

From the familiar glens, the haunted hills, — 
Most pitiful and strange it is to stay 

Without you in a world your lost love fills. 

Do you forget us, — under Eden trees, 
Or iu full sunshine on the hills of God, — 

Who miss you from the shadow and the breeze, 
And tints and perfumes of the woodland sod ? 

Dear for your sake the fireside where we sit 
Watching these sad, bright pictures come and 
go ; 

That waning years are with your memory lit, 
Is the one lonely comfort that we know. 

Is it all memory ? Lo, these forest-boughs 
Burst on the hearth into fresh leaf and liloom ; 

Wait a vague, far-off sweetness through the house. 
And give close walls the hillside's breathing- 



A second life, more spiritual than the first. 
They fin<l, — a life won only out of death. 

sainted souls, within you still is nursed 
For us a flame not fed by mortal breath ! 

Unseen, ye bring to us, who love and wait, 

Wafts from the heavenly hills, immortal air ; 
No flood can quench your hearts' wannth, or 
abate ; 
Ye are our gladness, liere and everywhere. 

Lccv larcom. 



A SHEPHERD'S LIFE. 

Kixo Henry. God ! methinks, it were a 
happy life. 
To be no better than a homely swain ; 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now. 
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point. 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run ; 
How many make the hour full complete ; 
How many hours bring about the day ; 
How many days wUl finish up the year ; 
How many years a mortal man may live. 
When this is known, then to divide the times, — 
So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
So many hours must I take my rest ; 
So many hours must I contemplate ; 
So many hours must I sport myself ; 
So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
Sominutes, hours, days, weeks, months, andyears. 
Passed over to the end they were created. 
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 



Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep. 
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy 
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ? 

SHAKESPEARE. 



THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 

Martial, the things that do attain 
The happy life be these, I find, ■ — 

The riches left, not got with pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind. 

The equal friend ; no gnidge, no strife ; 

No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life ; 

The household of continuance ; 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with sirapleness ; 
The night discharged of all care. 

Where wine the wit may not oppress ; 

The faithful wife, without debate ; 

Such .sleeps as may beguile the night ; 
Contented with thine own estate, 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. 

Lord Surrey. 



THE FIRESIDE. 

Dear Chloe, whUe the bu.sy crowd. 
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud. 

In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be called our choice, we '11 step aside. 

Nor join the giddy dance. 

From the gay world we '11 oft retire 
To our own family and fire. 

Where love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbor enters here. 
No intermeddling stranger near, 

To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness we prize. 
Within our breast this jewel liec, 

And they are fools who roam ; 
The world hath nothing to bestow, — 
From our own selves our bliss must flow. 

And that dear hut, our home. 

Our portion is not large, indeed ; 
But then how little do we need. 

For nature's calls are few ; 
In this the art of living lies, 
To want no more than may suffice. 

And make that little do. 



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We '11 therefore relish with content 
Whate'er kind Providence has sent, 

Nor aim beyond our power ; 
For, if our stocli be very small, 
'T is prudence to enjoy it all, 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To be resigned when ills betide. 
Patient when favors are denied, 

And pleased with favors given, — 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, 
This is that incense of tlie heart, 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

NATHANIEL COTTON. 



AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 

GOOD painter, tell me true, 

Has your hand the cunning to draw 
Shapes of things that you never saw ? 

Ay ? Well, here is an order for you. 

Woods and cornfields, a little brown, — 
Tlie picture must not be over-bright, — 
Yet all in the golden and gracious light 

Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down. 

Alway and alway, night and morn. 

Woods upon woods, with fields of corn 
Lying between them, not quite sere, 
And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom. 
When the wind can hardly find breathing-room 

Under their tassels, — cattle near. 
Biting shorter the short green grass. 
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras. 
With bluebirds twittering all around, — 
(Ah, good painter, you can't paint sound !) — 

These, and the house where I was born. 
Low and little, and black and old. 
With children, many as it can hold, 
All at the windows, open wide, — 
Heads and shoulders clear outside. 
And fair young faces all ablush : 

Perhaps you may have seen, some day, 

Koses crowding the selfsame way. 
Out of a wilding, wayside bush. 

Listen closer. When you have done 

With woods and cornfields and grazing herds, 
A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 

Looked down upon, you must paint for me ; 

0, if I only could make you see 

Tlie clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 

Tlie sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace. 

The woman's soul, and the angel's face. 
That are beaming on me all the while ! — 
I need not speak these foolish words : 
Yet one word tells you all I would say, — 



She is my mother : you will agree 

That all the rest may be thrown away. 

Two little urchins at her knee 
You must paiut, sir : one like me, — 
The other with a clearer brow, 

And the light of his adventurous eyes 

Flashing with boldest enterprise : 
At ten years old he went to sea, — 

God knoweth if he be living now, — 

He sailed in the good ship Commodore, — 
Nobody ever crossed her track 
To bring us news, and she never came back. 

Ah, 't is twenty long years and more 
Since that old ship went out of the bay 

Witli my great-hearted brother on her deck ; 

I watched him till he shrank to a speck. 
And his face was toward me all the way. 

Bright his luiir was, a golden brown. 

The time we stood at our mother's knee : 

That beauteous head, if it did go down. 
Carried sunshine into the sea ! 

Out in the fields one summer night 

We were together, half afraid 

Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade 
Of the high hills, stretching so stillandfar, — 
Loitering till after the low little light 

Of the candle shone through the open door. 
And over the haystack's pointed top. 
All of a tremMe, and ready to drop. 

The first half-hour, the great yellow star, 

Tliat we, with staring, ignorant eyes. 
Had often and often watched to see 

Propped and held in its place in the skies 
By the fork of a tall red mulberry-tree. 

Which close in the edgeof our flax-field grew, — 
I Dead at the top, — just one branch full 
! Of leaves, notched round, and lined with wool, 
' From which it tenderly shook the dew 
Over our heads, when we came to play 
In its handbreadth of sliadow, day after day : — 

Afraid to go home, sir ; for one of us bore 
A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs, — 
The other, a bird, held fast by the legs. 
Not so big as a straw of wheat : 
The berries we gave her she would n't cat. 
But cried and cried, till we held her bill. 
So slim and shining, to keep her still. 

At last we stood at our mother's knee. 

Do you think, sir, if you try. 

You can paint the look of a lie ? 

If you can, pray have the grace 

To put it solely in the face 
Of the urchin that is likest me : 

I think 't was solely mine, indeed : 



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But that 's no matter, — paint it so ; 

The eyes of our mother — take good heed — 
Looking not on the nestl'ul of eggs, 
Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs. 
But straight through our faces down to our lies. 
And 0, with such injured, reproachful surprise ! 
I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, 

as though 
A shai-p blade struck through it. 

You, sir, know. 
That you on the canvas are to repeat 
Things that are fairest, things most sweet, — 
Woods and cornfields and mulberry-tree, — 
The mother, — the lads, with their bird, at her 
kuee : 
But, 0, that look of reproachful woe ! 
High as the heavens your name I 'II shout, 
If you paint me the picture, and leave that out. 



A WINTERS EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE. 

THOU of home the guardian Lar, 

And when our earth hath wandered far 

Into the cold, and deep snow covers 

The walks of our New England lovers. 

Their sweet secluded evening-star ! 

'T was with thy rays the English Muse 

Ripened her mild domestic hues ; 

'T was by thy flicker that she conned 

The fireside wisdom that enrings 

With light from heaven familiar things ; 

By thee she found the homely faith 

In whose mild eyes thy comfort stay'th, 

When Death, extinguishing his torch, 

('hopes for the latch-string in the porch ; 

The love that wanders not beyond 

His earliest nest, but sits and sings 

While children smooth his patient wings. 

Therefore with thee I love to read 

( lur brave old poets ; at thy touch how stirs 

Life in the withered words ! how swdft recede 

Time's shadows ! and how glows again 

Tlirough its dead mass the incandescent verse. 

As when upon the anvils of the brain 

It glittering lay, cyclopically wrought 

By the fast-throbbing hammers of the [loet's 

thought ! 
Thou murmurest, too, divinely stirred, 
The aspirations unattained. 
The rhythms so rathe and delicate, 
Thej' bent and strained 
And broke, beneath the sombre weight 
Of any airiest mortal word. 

As who would say, " 'T is those, I ween, 
Whom lifelong armor-chafe makes lean 
That win the laurel " ; 



While the gay snow-storm, held aloof. 

To softest outline rounds the roof. 

Or the rude North with baflled strain 

Shoulders the frost-starred window-pane ! 

Now the kind nymph to Bacchus borne 

By Morpheus' daughter, she that seems 

Gifted upon her natal morn 

By him with fire, by her with dreams, 

Nicotia, dearer to the Muse 

Thau all the gi'apes' bewildering juice, 

We worship, unforbid of thee ; 

And, as her incense floats and curls 

In airy spires and wayward whirls. 

Or poises on its tremulous stalk 

A flower of frailest revery, 

So \vinds and loiters, idly free. 

The cun'ent of unguided talk. 

Now laughter-rippled, and now caiight 

In smooth dark pools of deeper thought. 

Meanwhile thou mellowest every word, 

A sweetly unobtrusive third : 

For thou hast magic beyond wine, 

To unlock natures each to each ; 

The unspoken thought thou canst divine ; 

Thou fiUesf the pauses of the speech 

With whispers that to dream-land reach, 

And frozen fancy-springs unchain 

In Arctic outskirts of the brain. 

Sun of all inmost confidences ! 

To thy rays doth the heart unclose 

Its formal caly.K of pretenses, 

That close against rude day's olfenses, 

And open its shy mitluight rose. 

jAMIiS KUSSHLL LoU'tLL. 



BfT where to find that happiest spot below. 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
And his long nights of revelry and ease : 
The naked negro, panting at the line. 
Boasts of his golden sands and iialmy wine. 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. 
And thanks his gods for all the good they ga\-p. 
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, 
His first, best countiy ever is at home. 
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 
And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An ei[ual portion dealt to all mankind ; 
As different good, by art or nature given. 
To different nations makes their bles.sing even. 

OLIVER GC' 



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THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 

TiiK stately Homes of Kngland, 

How Iwixutiful tliey stand ! 

Amidst their tall ancestral tri'i-s, 

O'lT all the pleasant land ; 

Tlie deer across their greensward bound 

Tiirough shade and sunny gleam. 

And the swan glides past them with the sound 

I If some rejoicing stream. 

The merry Homes of England ! 

Around their hearths by night, 

What gladsome looks of household love 

Meet in the ruddy light. 

There woman's voice flows forth in song, 

Or childish tale is told ; 

Or lips move tunefully along 

Some glorious page of old. 

The blessed Homes of England ! 

How softly on their bowers 

Is laid tlie holy iinietuess 

That breathes from Sabbath hours! 

Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime 

Floats through their woods at morn ; 

All other sounds, in that still time, 

Of breeze and leaf are born. 

The cottage Homes of England ! 

By thousands on her plains, 

Tlicy are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, 

And round the hamlet-fanes. 

Through glowing orchards forth they peep, 

Kach from its nook of leaves ; 

And fearless there the lowly sleep, 

As the biul beneath their eaves. 

The free, fair Homes of England ! 

Long, long in hut and hall, 

Jlay hearts of native proof be reared 

To guanl each hallowed wall ! 

And green forever be the groves, 

.\ud bright the flowery sod, 

AVhere lirst the child's glad spirit loves 

Its countrv and its God. 

t-ELlCIA HEMANS. 



LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. 

A r.oon wife rose from her bed one morn. 

And thought, with a nervous dread. 
Of the piles of clothes to bo washed, and more 

Than a dozen mouths to be fed. 
"There 's the meals to get for the men in the field. 

And the children to nx away 
To school, and the milk to be skimmed and 
churned ; 

And all to be done this day." 



It had rained in the night, and all the wood 

Was wet as it could be ; 
There were puddings and pics to hake, besides 

A loaf of cake for tea. 
And the day was hot, and her aching head 

Throbbed wearily as slio said, 
" If maidens but knew what good teirfs know, 

They would not be in haste to iced.'" 

•Mciini.', vvliat do you think I told Ben Brown?" 

Called the farnu'r from the well ; 
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow. 

And his eyes half-bashfully tell : 
" It was this," he said, and coming near 

He smiled, and stooping down. 
Kissed her cheek —"'twas this, that you were 
the best 

And the dearest wife in town I " 

The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, 

In a smiling, absent way. 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She 'd not sung for many a day. 
.\nd the pain in her head was gone, and the 
clothes 

Were white as the foam of the sc:i : 
Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet. 

And as golden as it could be. 

"Just think," the children all called in a breath, 

" Tom Wood has run off to sea I 
He would n't, I know, if he 'd only had 

As happy a home as we." 
The night came down, and the good wife smiled 

To hei'self, as she softly said : 
"'T is so sweet to labor for those we love, — 

It 's not strange that maids tril! vrd .'" 



THE TWO ANCHORS. 

It was a gallant sailor man. 

Had just come from sea. 
And, as I passed him in the town, 

He sang " Ahoy ! " to me. 
I stopped, and saw I knew the man, 

Had known him from a boy; 
And so I answered, sailor-like, 

".\vast !" to his "Ahoyl" 
I made a song for him one day, — 

His ship was then in sight, — 
"The little anchor on the left. 

The great one on the right." 

I gave his hand a hearty grip. 

" So you are back again ' 
They say you have been pirating 

T'pon the Spanish Main : 



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Or was it some rich Iniliaman 

You robbed of all lier jicarls ' 
Of course you have been breaking; hearts 

Of poor Kanaka girls ! " 
"Wherever I have been," he said, 

" I kept my ship in sight, — 
' ITie little anchor on the left, 

Tlio great one on the right.' " 

" I heard last night that you were in ; 

1 walked the wharves to-day. 
But saw no ship that looked like yours. 

Where does the good shiji lay? 
I want to go on board of her." 

"And so you shall," said he ; 
" But there are many things to ilo 

When one comes home from sea. 
You know the song you made for ine ? 

I sing it morn and night, — 
' The little anchor on the left, 

The great one on the right.' " 

" But how 's your wife and little one ?" 

" i-'ome home with me," he said. 
" Go on, go on : I follow you." 

I followed where lie led. 
He had a pleasant little house ; 

The door was open wide, 
And at the door the dearest face, — 

A dearer one inside. 
He hugged his wife and child ; he sang, — 

His spirits were so light, — 
"The little anchor on the left, 

The great one on the right." 

T was supper-time, and we sat down, — 

The sailor's wife and child, 
And he and I : he looked at them. 

And looked at me, and .smiled. 
" I think of this when I am tossed 

T^pon the stormy foam. 
And, though a thousand leagues away. 

Am anchored here at Iiome." 
Then, giving each a kiss, he said, 

" I see, in dreams at night, 
This little anchor on my left, 

This great one on my right." 

R. 11. STODDARD. 



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THE CHILDREN. 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended. 
And the school for the day is dismissed, 

The little ones gather around me. 
To bid me good night and be kissed ; 

Oh, the little white arms that encircle 
My neck in their tender embrace ! 



Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 
Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! 

And when they are gone 1 sit dreaming 

Of my childhood, too lovely to last ; 
Of joy that my heart will remember 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its wickedness made nie 

A partner of sorrow and sin. 
When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness within. 

All my heart grows as weak a.s a woman's, 

And the fountains of feeling will flow, 
Wlien I tliink of the paths steep and stony. 

Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; 
Of the njountains of sin hanging o'er them, 

Of the tempest of Fate blowing wild ; 
Oh ! there 's nothing on earth half so holy 

As the innocent heart of a child ! 

They are idols of hearts and of households ; 

They are angels of God in disguise ; 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. 

His glory still gleams in their eyes ; 
Those truants fiom home and from heaven, — 

They have made me more manly and mild ; 
And I know now how Jesus could liken 

The kingdom of God to a child ! 

I ask not a life for the dear ones. 

All radiant, as others have done. 
But that life may have just enough shadow 

To temper the glare of the sun ; 
I would pray God to guard them from evil. 

But my prayer would bound back to myself; 
Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner. 

But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod ; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowledge. 

They have taught me the goodness of God. 
iMy heait Is the dungeon of darkness. 

Where I shut them for breaking a rule ; 
My frown is sufficient correction ; 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old house in the Autumn, 

To traverse its threshold no more : 
Ah ! how shall I sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each morn at the door ! 
I shall miss the " good nights " and the ki-sses. 

And the gush of their innocent glee. 
The group on its green, and the flowers 

That are brought every moniing to me. 



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I shall miss them at morn and at even, 

Their song in the school and the street ; 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 

And the tread of their delicate feet. 
When tlie lessons of life are all ended. 

And death says, " The school is dismissed ! " 
May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me good night and be kissed ! 

CHARLES M. DICKINSON. 



FAITH AND HOPE. 

0, don't be sorrowful, darling ! 

Now, don't be sorrowful, pray ; 
For, taking the year together, my dear, 

There is n't more night than day. 
It 's rainy weather, my loved one ; 

Time's wheels they heavily run ; 
But taking the year together, ray dear. 

There is n't more cloud than sun. 

We 're old folks now, companion, — 

Our heads they are growing gray ; 
But taking the year all round, my dear, 

You always will find the May. 
We 've had our May, my darling. 

And our roses, long ago ; 
And the time of the year is come, my dear. 

For the long dark nights, and tlie snow. 

But God is God, my faithful. 

Of night as well as of day ; 
And we feel and know that we can go 

Wherever he leads the way. 
Ay, God of night, my darling ! 

Of the night of death so grim ; 
And the gate that from life leads out, good wife, 

Is tlie gate that leads to Him. 

REMIiKANDT PEALE. 



THE FAMILY MEETING. 

We are all here, 

Father, mother. 

Sister, brother, 
All who hold each other dear. 
Each chair is filled ; we 're all at home ! 
To-night let no cold stranger come. 
It is not often thus around 
(->ur old familiar hearth we 're found. 
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot ; 
For once be every care forgot ; 
Let gentle peace assert her power, . 
And kind affection rule the hour. 

We 're all — all here. 

We 're not all here ! 
Some are away, — the dead ones dear. 



Who thronged with us this ancient hearth. 
And gave the hour to guileless mirth. 
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand. 
Looked in, and thinned our little band ; 
Some like a night-flash passed away. 
And some sank lingering day by day ; 
The ciuiet gi-aveyard, — some lie there, — 
And cruel ocean has his share. 
We 're not all here. 

We are all here ! 
Even they, — the dead, — though dead, so dear, — 
Fond memory, to her duty true. 
Brings back their faded forms to view. 
How lifelike, through the mist of years, 
Each well-remembered face appears ! 
We see them, as in times long past ; 
From each to each kind looks are cast ; 
We hear their words, their smQes Ijehold ; 
They 're round us, as they were of old. 

We are all here. 

We are all here. 

Father, mother. 

Sister, brother. 
You that I love with love so dear. 
This may not long of us be said ; 
Soon must we join the gathered dead, 
And by the hearth we now sit round 
Some other circle will be found. 
0, then, that wisdom may we know, 
Which yields a life of peace below ; 
So, in the world to follow this. 
May each repeat in words of bliss, 

AVe 're all — all here ! 



A PETITION TO TIME. 

Touch us gently. Time ! 

Let us glide adown thy stream 
Gently, — as we sometimes glide 

Through a quiet dream ! 
Humble voyagers are we. 
Husband, wife, and children three, — 
(One is lost, — an angel, fled 
To the azure overhead !) 

Touch us gently. Time ! 

We 've not proud nor soaring wings ; 
Our ambition, our content. 

Lies in simple things. 
Humble voyagers are we. 
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea. 
Seeking only some calm clime ; — 
Touch us gently, gentle Time ! 

Bryan waller Procter 



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r- 



■a 



POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE. 



PARTING. 



U-- 



GOOD BYE. 

" F,\REWELL ! farewell !" is often heard 

From the lips of those who part : 
'T is a whispered tone, — 't is a gentle word, 

But it springs not from the heart. 
It may serve for the lover's closing lay, 

To be sung 'neath a summer sky ; 
But give to me the lips that say 

The honest words, "Good bye !" 

"Adieu ! adieu ! " may greet the ear. 

In the guise of courtly speech : 
But when we leave the kind and dear, 

'T is not what the soul would teach. 
AVliene'er we grasp the hands of those 

We would have forever nigh. 
The flame of Friendship bursts and glows 

In the warm, frank words, "Good bye." 

The mother, sending forth her child 

To meet with cares and strife, 
Breathes through her tears her doubts and fears 

For the loved one's future life. 
No cold "adieu," no "farewell," lives 

Within her choking sigh, 
But the deepest sob of anguish gives, 

"God bless thee, boy ! Good bye ! " 

Go, watch the pale and dying one. 

When the glance has lost its beam ; 
When the brow is cold as the marble stone, 

And the world a passing dream : 
And the latest pressure of the hand, 

The look of the closing eye. 
Yield what the heart must understand, 

A long, a last Good bye. 

ANONVMOUS, 



AS SHIPS BECALMED. 

As ships becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side. 

Two towers of sail, at dawn of day, 
Are scarce long leagues apart descried. 



When fell the night, up sprang the breeze, 
And all the darkling hours they plied ; 

Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side : 

E'en so — but why the tale reveal 

Of those whom, year by year unchanged. 

Brief absence joined anew, to feel. 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged'? 

At dead of night their sails were filled, 
And onward each rejoicing steered ; 

Ah ! neither blame, for neither willed 
Or wist what firet with dawn appeared. 

To veer, how vain '. On, onward strain, 
Brave barks ! — in light, in darkness too ! 

Through winds and tides one compass guides : 
To that and your own selves be true. 

But blithe breeze ! and great seas ! 

Though ne'er that earliest parting past. 
On your wide plain they join again, 

Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methought, alike they sought, — 
One purpose hold where'er they fare ; 

bounding breeze, rushing seas, 
At last, at last, unite them there ! 



AE FOND KISS BEFORE WE PAI. 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans 1 '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
Naething could resist my Nancy : 



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184 



POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE. 



■a 
1 



But to see her was to love her, 
Love but her, and love forever. 
Had we never loved sae kindly, 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 
Deep in heart-WTUng tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans 1 '11 wage thee. 

Robert Burns. 



In holy night we made the vow ; 

And the same lamp which long before 
Had seen our early passion grow 

Was witness to the faith we swore. 

Did I not swear to love her ever ; 

And have I ever dared to rove ? 
Did she not own a rival never 

Should shake her faith, or steal her love ? 

Yet now she says those words were air. 
Those vows were written all in water, 

And by the lamp that saw her swear 
Has yielded to the first that sought her. 

From the Greek of MELEAGER, 
by JOHN Herman Merivale, 



t— - 



THE KISS, DEAR MAID. 

The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left 

Shall never part from mine. 
Till happier hours restore the gift 

Untainted back to thine. 

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams. 

An equal love may see : 
The tear that from thine eyelid streams 

Can weep no change in me. 

I ask no pledge to make me blest 

In gazing when alone ; 
Nor one memorial for a breast 

Whose thoughts are all thine own. 

Nor need I write — to tell the tale 

My pen were doubly weak: 
O, what can idle words avail, 

Unless the heart could speak ? 



By day or niglit, in weal or woe, 

That heart, no longer free. 

Must bear the love it cannot show, 

And silent, ache for thee. 

Lord Byron. 



MATT) OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. 

Zii>7) jLLOu eras ayaTrui.* 

Maid of Athens, ere we part, 
Give, 0, give me back my heart ! 
Or, since that has left my breast. 
Keep it now, and take the rest ! 
Hear my vow before I go, 
ZJiTj IJLOU (rds ayairw. 

By those tresses unconfined, 
Wooed by each iEgean wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roe, 
TiCjf} IJ.OV ads dyaTTuj. 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist ; 
By all the token-flowers that tell 
What words can never speak so well ; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
ZujTj [jLou ads dyairCi. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone. 
Think of me, sweet ! when alone. 
Though I fly to Istambol, 
Athens holds my heart and soul : 
Can I cease to love thee ? No ! 
Zwt; jLioD ads dyairCi. 



THE HEATH THIS NIGHT MUST BE MY BED. 



NG OF THE YOUNG 
SIDE OF HIS BRIDE BY THE "FIERY CROSS ~ OF 
ERICK DHU. 

The heath this night must be my bed. 
The bracken curtain for my head. 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid, 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid ! 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 
And all it promised me, Mary. 

• Zol tnou, las agapo. — My life. I love thee. 



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p 



PARTING. 



Tsr^ 



t. 



No foml regret must Nomian know ; 

When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, 

His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like an'ow free, Mary. 

A time will come with feeling fraught ; 
For, if I fall in liattle fought, 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
And if returned from conquered foes, 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repo.se, 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

Sir Walter Scott. 



TO LUCASTA, 



Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 

That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde. 

To warre and amies 1 llee. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase, — 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 
As you, too, should adore ; 

I could not love thee, deare, so much. 
Loved I not honor more. 

Richard Lovel 



ADIEU, ADIEU I OUR DREAM OF LOVE — 

Adieu, adieu ! our dream of love 
Was far too sweet to linger long ; 

Such hopes may bloom in bowers above, 
But here they mock the fond and young. 

We met in hope, we part in tears ! 

Yet 0, 't is sadly sweet to know 
That life, in all its future years, 

Can reach us with no heavier blow ? 

Tlie hour is come, the spell is past ; 

Far, far from thee, my only love. 
Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last. 

My darkened spirit turns to rove. 

Adieu, adieu ! 0, dull and dread 
Sinks on the ear that parting knell ! 

Hope and the dreams of love lie dead, — 
To them and thee, farewell, farewell ! 

THOMAS K. HERVEY. 



BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 



All in the Downs the fleet was moored. 
The streamers waving in the wind, 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; 
" 0, where shall 1 my true-love find ? 

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 

If my sweet William sails among the crew." 

William, who high upon the yard 
Rocked with the billow to and fro. 

Soon OS her well-known voice he heard 
He sighed, and cast his eyes below : 

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands. 

And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air. 
Shuts close his pinions to his Ijreast 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
And drops at once into her nest ; — 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 

" Susan, Susan, lovely dear, 

My TOWS shall ever true remain ; 
Let me kiss off' that falling tear ; 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

" Believe not what the landmen say, 
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : 

They '11 tell thee sailors, when away. 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 

For thou art pre.sent wheresoe'er I go. 

" If to fair India's coast we sail. 
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright. 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus ever}' beauteous object that I view 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

"Though battle call me from thy arms. 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his dear return. 
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word. 
The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 

No longer must she stay aboard ; 

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 

"Adieu ! " she cries ; and waved her lilv liand. 



r-v 



rOEMS OF PAliTlNO AND AHSKNCJi!. 



n 



h 



MV.KO TO l.HANHKlv 

O, no mil yi'l, my Unc, 

'V\w iiiglU is <lnik iimi viisl ; 
Tin' wliili' imiou is liiil in liov lioiivou above. 

Ami till' wavos rliiiili liijjh uml lust, 
0, kiss iiu', kiss 1110, oiu'i' ngaiii. 

Lost lliy kiss sliouKl Iv Uio last. 
l> kiss nil' I'lv wi' iMi'l ; 
(!n>\v cKisoi- to my lituU't ; 
My lioai'l is waiimn' suivly than tlio Imsoiii of tlio 
main, 
(t joy ! O liliss oriiUs.<ios ! 

My lu'ail of lioai'ts art thou, 
ronu', l>jitlu> mo with thy kissos, 

Mv cyi'liils ami my hi'ow. 
Hark ' how tho wiUl rain his,sivs, 

.\ml Itu' Uuui si'« niai's holow. 

Thy lunirl boats thniiijjh thy msy limbs, 

Sojshully iloth it stir; 
Thiiio oyo in ilivps of jjladnoss swims. 

IhavobathoiUhoo with tho ploasaiit myrrh; 
Thy looks aro ilriiniinj; Kilm ; 
Thou shalt not wamlor hoiioo to-nijjht, 

I 'U stay t.hoo with my kisso.s. 
To-night tho iMaring brino 

Will ivml thy gvihlon tivssos ; 
Tho oooan with tho niorivw light 
Will bo both blnoaml oalm ; 
And tho billow will ombraoo thoo with a kiss as 
soft as niino. 

No Woslorn oiloi's wandor 

On tho blaok and moiining soi\, 
And whou thou art dead, l.oaudor, 

My soul must follow thoo ! 
0, gvi not yot, my lovo. 

Thy voioo is swoot and low ; 
Tlio dwi> salt wavo Invaks in alnivo 

Thoso niarblo stoiw bolow. I 

Tho tiinvt -stall's aix> wot ] 

That loa>l into tho soa, I 

1 .oandor ! go not yot ! | 

Tlio plivasant stai-s havo sot : 
l>, i;o not. jjvi not yot, 

t.>r 1 will follow thoo. 

ALlfRlUl TUNNN-SON. 



THE PARTING LOVERS 

Shk says, " Tho oook oixiws, — hark ! 
Ho says, " No ! still 't is dark." 

Sho says, "Tho dawn gmw's bright," 
Ho says, "0 no, uiy Light." 

Sho says, "Stand up and say, 
Cots not the hoiwoii gray t" 



111' siiys. " Tlio morning stai' 
Climbs llio horizon's bar." 

Sho.says, " Tlioii .|iii,K .Iq.art ; 
Alas ! you now iiiusl start ; 

" Ihit givo tho oook a blow 
Who did bogin our woo ! " 

I'tum llip ChliiCM-. I.y Will u 



THE PARTING OF ROMEO AND JULIKT. 

.h'l.iicr. Wilt Ihoubogiuio / it is not vol iioar 

day : 
It was tho nightingalo, and not tho hirk. 
That pion'od tho foarful hollow of thino oar ; 
Nightly .sho sings on yon iiomogriinato-troo : 
Holiovo luo, lovo, it was tho nightingalo. 

HoMHo. It was tho lark, tho lioiald of tho 

morn. 
No nightingalo ; look, lovo, what oiivioiis stivaks 
IV liioo tho sovoriiig oloiids in yoiidor oast : 
Night's oaiidlos aro biirnt out, and jooiiiul day 
Stands tiptoo on tho misty mountain-tops. 
1 must bo gono and livo, or stay and dio. 
.h'l.uu'. Yon light is not davliglit. I know 

it. 1 : 
It is somo niotoor, that tho sun oxhalos, 
To bo to thoo this night a toivh-boaror, 
And light thoo on thy way to Mantua : 
Thorofoiv stay yot, — thou lUHnl'st not to bo gono. 
KoMFo. Lot mo K' ta'on, lot ino bo put to 

doath ; 
1 am oontoiit, so thou wilt havo it so. 
1 '11 say, yon gray is not tho morning's oyo, 
'T is but tlio i«lo ix'tlox of t^ynlhia's bixiw ; 
Nor that is not tho lark, whoso iiotos do bwit 
Tho vanity honvou so liigh abovo our hoiids : 
1 havo inoiv oaiv to stay than will to go ; — 
Coino. doath, and wolcomo ! .luliot wills it so. — 
How is 't, my soul ! lot 's talk, it is not day. 

■h'l.iKT. It is, it is; hio honoo, bo gono, away! 
If is tho lark that sings so out of tuno, 
Stiiiining hai-sh disoonls, and nnplonsiiig sliiujs, 
Somo say, tho lark makes swoot division ; 
This doth not so, for she dividoth us ; 
Some sjiy, the lark and loatll^d toad ohaiigo 

eyes : 
0, now 1 would thoy had oluuigod voices too ! 
Sinoo arm fiMiii arm that voioo doth ns alVray, 
Hunting thoo honoo, with hnnts-up to tho day. 
O, now bo g\ino ; nioiv light and light it grows, 
RoMKO, Moni light and light, — nioiv dark 

and dark our woes. 
•Tui.tKT. Thou, window, lot day in, and lot 

life out. 



4 



[tr 



I' A IITINO. 



a 

187 



Uo.MKO. l''(il<!Wi:ll, fjircwr;! 1 ! OHi; k iult, Illl'l I 'II 
iIi;m<:i;iiiI. (iMHceiuh.) 

.Ii.'i.ij'.r. Art tlioii gum; ho ? my lov; I my 
lonl 1 my friciiil ! 
I iniiHl, lii!nr rioMi tlici! cviiry flay i' tin: li'jiir, 
For it] n mliinti! tlii;re iiii: mimy iliiyH ; 
0, liy l,lii« iMjuiil I hIiuII lid mucli in yi;iirH, 
I'^ri- I iigiiiii liuliold iny lioiiico. 

I'iOMito, KarcH'(;ll ! I will omil, iioo|ij)i>rtiiiiit.y 
'I'lp.il xmy w<iiv<;y my gidistiiixii, lovd, to tlidi:, 
fi'l.lK)'. O, Uiiiik'ot tlioii wi! (tliall nvcr mr-^t. 

a;{aiii ? 
ItOMKO. \ <loul)t it not ; aii<i all tlniM; woin 
aljall Hirrvi; 
Kor Hwi;<;t iVw.i>\irivM iri our time t*! cokk:. 

HlfAKahf'MAKIC. 



An cmjity nky, a worM of Ijcathor, 
i'liipli! Ill' (iiX0()Vi:, yiillow of \>yinim : 

Wr: two among tlidm w/uling togi:tlii!r, 
Hliaking out lioiicy, Irua'ling |;i;(fiimri. 

'>ow(Ih of liijBH are giildy witli (■.\iivi:i- ; 

Crowds of gr<ut(ilio(i|)i;rn (iki|) at one I'lct ; 
f.'roW'lH of larkn at tln.ir inatino liang ovi;r, 

Ttianking ttic I,oril for a life ho nwi-.nt. 



Kami in IikikI, wliili; thn dim jworwl ovct, 
VVi! ))ij>i«<l till; gr.omon tliat youn;{lin({H|>riiig, 

.Sw<;|it ]«u;U itH ninlici), Hitiootln;'! itn i;lov<ir, 
Ami naiil, " l^;t iih follow it w<;Hti;ring." 



A ila|(|il<!<l nky, a world of mciwIowH ; 

Chiding abovi! im tin; lj|iu:k rookd II y, 
Forward, ljai:kwaril : lo, tlii;ir dark »lia/lowPi 

Klit on till; IdoHHoming t/i|(i;Htry • 

Klil on till; lx;i:k - - (or lii;r long gnwH |iarli;tli, 
Ah liair from a maid'H liriglit ly^H lilown l/iuk ; 

And lo, tin; mm liki; a loTi;r dait^tli 

IIIh llatti;ring nmili; on Inr wayward tr(u:k ! 

Hing on I wi; ning in tin; glorioiiH wiaitlnrr, 
Till oin; iiU\iH over tlni tiny iilrand. 

Ho narrow, in Hootli, tliat Htill N/gi;llii;r 
On i;itlii;r lirink wi; go liand in liand. 

Till; l<i;ok grown wider, llie liandn iniiHt Hi;ver. 

On citlier margin, our HongH all done. 
We move ajiiirt, while nlie xingetli ever, 

Taking tlie eonrni; of tin; »too|iing Hiin. 

lie |)iayH, "Conn; over" - I may not follow ; 

I ery, *' liidnrn " ■ - l;iit lie eannol eome ; 
We Hjieak, we laiigli, Init witli voieen hollow ; 

Our l,ai,d^. ■.,!,■ l':,uff\uir. oiii lieiirlH are mind,. 



Fliiiilietli the riwj with her |iiir)>le favor, 
Oloweth the eleft with her golden ring, 

'Twixt the two brown l)iitt';rilieH waver, 
Lightly wjttle, and Hleejiily Hwing. 

We two v/alk till the piiriile dieth. 

And Hliort dry gr;iHB under foot in brown ; 

liiit one little Htreak at a dititaniy; lieth 
Green, like a riblion, Uj jirank the down. 



Over the gra«H we hU-.jiju'A iihUi it, 

And Ood he knowetli how blithe we v/cre ! 

Never a voii;*; to bid nit ewhew it ; 

lley the green riMxiu that itln/wed mi fair ! 

Iley the grwjn ribWi ! we knwiled l»i*ide it. 
We (Birte'l the gnut(M« dewy and (ihe<;n ; 

l;ro|i ovCT droji there MU^ed and nlidi;/l 
A tiny 1/right l<i«k that trickliMl l<(;twi«;n. 



A breathing ;,igli — a nigh for annwer ; 

A little talking of outward tliingn : 
The eareleHH Uek in a merry daiieer, 

Keejiing Hweet time Ui the air nlie ningn, 

A little j»ain when the Wik grown wider — 
"CroHH Ui me wiw, for her waveletH Hwell " ; 

" I may not i-.rimn" —■ and the voiee tn-Muh her 
Faintly reaeheth, though hee-li^-l well. 

N'o lui/ikward [/ath ; ah ! no returning ; 
,S'o Hiniimii eroitHing that ritijde'n (low ; 
"Come U> me now, for the weHt m biiniing ; 
I Come ere it darkenx," - - "Ah, no ! ah, no '." 

Then erie» of (>ain, and annn oiitreaehin;/ 
I The beek grows wider and Hwift and i|ie|i ; 
I'aanionat/! word« an of one lnrw;e/;liiiig 

The loud \xj:V. <lrov/i,». them ■ v.e walk and 
WM;p. 



^^ 



Tinkle, tinkle, Kwwdly it Hung U> an, 
I.iglit waH our talk an of fVwiry 1x;IIh — 

yH&ry w(alding-fK;llH ffiintly mug Vi an, 
Down in their fortiinat<; jrarallel*. 



A yellow moon in Hj/lendor drooj.ing, 
A tired 'jui*n with her nUiU opiireKw;/!, 

t/iw by rintheH and tmoM-Kr-Mn «tooj;ing, 
J,i<* nhe fif<ft on the wave* at re»it. 



^ 



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188 



POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE. 



-a 



The desert heavens have felt her sadness ; 

Her eiirtli will weep her some dowy tears ; 
The wild beck ends her tune of gladness, 

And goeth stilly as soul that tears. 

We two widk on in our gi'assy jilaees, 
On either marge of the moonlit flood, 

With tlie moon's own sadness in our faces, 
Where joy is withered, blossom and bud. 



A shady freshness, chafers whirring, 

A little piping of leaf-hid binls ; 
A llutter of wings, a fitful stirring, 

A cloud to the eastwaitl snowy as curds. 

Bare grassy slopes, where the kids are tethered ; 

Kound valleys like nests all ferny-lined ; 
Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered. 

Swell high in their freckled robes behind. 

A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver. 
When golden gleams to the tree-tops glide ; 

A Hashing edge for the milk-white river, 
The beck, a river — with still sleek tide. 

Broad and white, and polished as silver. 
On she goes tmder fruit-laden trees ; 

Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver. 
And 'plaineth of love's disloyalties. 

Glitters the dew, and shines the river ; 

Up comes the lily and dries her bell ; 
But two are walking apart forever. 

And wave their hands for a mute farewell. 



A liraver swell, a swifter sliding ; 

The river hasteth, her banks recede ; 
Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding 

Bear down the lily, and drown the reed. 

Stately prows are rising and bowing — 
(Shouts of mariner's winnow the air) — 

And level sands for banks endowing 

The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. 

While, my heart ! as white sails shiver. 

And crowds are passing, and banks stre 
wide, 
How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, 

That moving speck on the far-off side ! 

Farther, fartlier — I see it — know it — 
My eyes brim over, it melts away : 

Only my heart to my heart shall .show it. 
As I walk desolate day by day. 



And yet 1 know past all doubting, truly, — 
A knowledge greater than grief can ilim — 

I know, as he loved, he will love mo duly — 
Yea, better — e'en better than I love him ; 

And as I walk by the vast calm river, 

The awful river so dread to see, 
I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth forever 

Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me. 
Jean Ingelow, 



PARTING LOVERS. 



I LOVE thee, love thee, Giulio ! 

Some call me cold, and some demure, 
And if thou hast ever guessed that so 

I love thee — well, — the proof was poor, 

And no one could be sure. 

Before thy song (with shifted rliymes 

To suit my name) did 1 undo 
The Persian > If it moved sometimes, 

Thou hast not seen a hand push through 

A foolish flower or two. 

My mother listening to my sleep 

Heard nothing but a sigh at night, — 

The short sigh rippling on the deep. 

When hearts run out of breath and sight 
Of men, to God's clear light. 

When others named thee, — thought thy brows 
Were straight, thy smile was tender, — " Hera 

He comes between the vineyard-rows ! " — 
] said not "Ay," — nor waited, dear. 
To feel thee step too near. 

I left such things to bolder girls, 

Olivia or Clotilda. Nay, 
When that Clotilda through her curls 

Held both thine eyes in hers one day, 

I marveled, let me say. 

I could not try the woman's trick : 
Between us straightway fell the blush 

Which kept mo separate, blind, and sick. 
-•V wind came with thee in a flush. 
As blown through Horeb's bush. 

But now that Italy invokes 

Her young men to go forth and chase 

The foe or perish, — nothing chokes 
I 5Iy voice, or drives me from the plai-e : 
I I look thee in the face. 



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PARTING. 



189 



^ 



I love thee ! it is understood, 
Confest : I do not shrink or start. 

Xo blushes : all my body's blood 
Has gone to grcaten this poor heart, 
That, loving, we may pait. 

Oar Italy invokes the youth 

To die if need be. .Still there 's room, 
Though earth Ls strained with dead, in truth : 

Since twice the lilies were in bloom 

They have not grudged a tomb. 

And many a plighted maid and wife 
And mother, who can say since then 

" My country," cannot say through life 
"My .son," "my spouse," "my flower of 

men," 
And not weep dumb again. 

Heroic males the country bears. 

But daughters give up more than sons. 

Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares 
You flash your .souls out with the guns. 
And take your heaven at once ! 

But ice, — we empty heart and home 
Of life's life, love ! We bear to think 

You 're gone, — to feel you may not come, — 
To hear the door-latoh stir and clink 
Yet no more you, — nor sink. 

Dear God I when Italy is one 

And jjerfected from bound to bound, — 
Suppose (for my .share) earth 's undone 

By one grave in t ! as one small wound 

May kill a man, 't is found ! 

WTiat then ? If love's delight must end, 
At least we '11 clear its tiiith from flaws. 

I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend ! 
Xow take my sweetest without pause, 
To help the nation's cause. 

And thus, of noble Italy 

We '11 both be worthy. Let her show 

The future how we made her free, 
Not sparing life, nor Giulio, 
Nor this — this heart-break ! Go ! 

Elizabeth Barrett browning. 



AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 
Against the wind was clearing, 

Her trembling pennant still looked back 
To that dear isle 't was leaving. 



So loath we part from ail we love, 
i'rom all the links that bind us ; 

So turn our hearts, as on we rove. 
To those we 've left behind us ! 

When, round the bowl, of vanished years 

We talk with joyous seeming, — 
With smiles that might as well be tears. 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
0, sweet 's the cup that circles then 

To tho.se we 've left behind us ! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting, 
Where all looks flowerj', wild, and sweet, 

And naught but love is wanting ; 
We think how great liad been our bliss 

If Heaven had but a.ssigne<l us 
To live and die in scenes like this. 

With some we 've left behind us ! 

As travelers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going. 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consigned us. 
We turn to catch one fa/Iiiig r.\v 

Of joy that 's left behind us. 

Thomas Moork. 



LOCHABER NO MORE. 

Farewell to Lochaber ! and farewell, my Jean, 
Where heartsome with thee I haemonyadaybecn ! 
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more. 
We '11 maybe return to Lochaber no more ! 
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, 
And no for the dangers attending on war. 
Though txime on rough seas to a far bloody shore. 
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. 

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, 
They 'II ne'er make a tempest like that in my 

mind; 
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, 
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is .sair pained ; 
By ease that 's inglorious no fame can be gsiined ; 
And beauty and love 's the reward of the brave. 
And I maun deserve it before I can crave. 

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excu.se ; 
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse ? 
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee. 
And without thy favor I 'd better not be. 



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POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE. 



--Qi 



I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame, 
And if I should luck to oonie gloriously liame, 
1 '11 bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, 
And then 1 '11 leave thee and Lochaber no more. 
ALLAN Ramsay. 



ADIEU, ADIEU I MY NATIVE SHORE. 

Adiku, adieu ! my native shore 

Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
Tlie night-winds sigh, the breakers roar. 

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
Von sun that sets upon the sea 

We follow in his flight ; 
Farewell awdiilo to him and thee. 

My native laud — Good Night ! 

A few short hours, and he will rise 

To give the morrow birth ; 
Anil 1 shall hail the main and skies, 

But not my mother earth. 
Deserted is my own good hall. 

Its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; 

My dog howls at the gate. 

Lord bvron. 



t. 



MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. 

The sun shines bright in our old Kentucky homo ; 

'T is summer, the darkies are gay ; 
The corn top 's ripe and the meadow 's in the 
bloom, 

While the birds make music all the day ; 
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor. 

All merry, all happy, all bright ; 
By'm-by hard times comes a knockin' at the 
door, — 

Tlu'n, my old Kentucky home, gooil night ! 



Weep no more, my lady ; O, weep no more 

to-day : 
We '11 sing one song for my old Kentucky 

home, 
For our old Kentucky honu' far away. 

They liunt no more for the possum and the coon. 

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore ; 
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon. 

On the bench by the old cabin-dooi- ; 
The day goes by, like a -shadow o'er the heart. 

With sorrow where all was delight ; 
The time h.as come, when the darkies have to part, 

Then, my old Kentucky home, good night ! 
Weep no more, my lady, etc. 



The head must bow, and the back will have to 
bend. 
Wherever the darky may go ; 
A few more days, and the troubles all will end, 

In the field whei'e the sugar-cane grow; 
A few more days to tote the weary load. 

No matter, it will never be light ; 
A few more days till we totter on the road. 
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night ! 
Weep no more, my lady, etc. 

STEPHF.N C. Foster. 



THE FAREWELL 



Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the riee-swamp dank and lone. 
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, 
Where the noisome insect stings, 
W'here the fever demon strews 
Poison with the falling dews. 
Where the sickly sunbeams glare 
Tlirough the hot and misty air, — 
Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone, 
From Virginia's hill and waters, — 
Woe is me, my stolen ilaughters ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone, 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
There no mother's eye is near them, 
There no mother's ear can hear them ; 
Never, when the torturing lash 
Scams tlieir back with many a gash. 
Shall a mother's kindness bless them. 
Or a mother's arms caress them. 
Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and waters, — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone, 
To the rice-sw.amp dank ami lone. 
O, when weary, sad, and slow. 
From the fields at night they go. 
Faint with toil, and racked witli pain. 
To their cheerless homes again, 
There no brother's voice shall greet them, ■ 
There no father's welcome meet thcra. 
Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's lulls and waters, — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone, 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 



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PARTING. 



191 



--a 



From tlie tree whose shadow lay 
On tlicir i.-liildhood's phu.'e of j.lay, — 
Fioiii tlie rjdol spring whi-ie llioy drank, — 
Kofk, and liill, and rivulet Ijaiik, — 
From the solemn house of prayer, 
And the holy counsels there, — 
Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swainp dank and lone, 
From Virginia's hills and waters, — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 

To the rice-swami) dank and lone, — 

Toiling through the weary day, 

And at night the spoiler's prey. 

{) that they had earlier died, 

Sleeping calmly, side by side. 

Where the tyrant's power is o'er. 

And the fetter galls no more ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and waters, — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 

By the holy love He beareth, — 

By the bniistd reed He spareth, — 

O, may He to whom alone 

All their cruel wrongs are known 

Still their liojie and refuge ]irovc. 

With a more than mother's love ! 
Gone, gone, — sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone, 
From Virginia's hills and waters, — 
Woe i.s me, my stolen daughters ! 

John Greeni.eaf Whittier. 



COME, LET US KJSSE AND PARTE. 

Since there 's no helpe, — come, let us kisse and 
parte ! 

X:iy, I have done, — you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, — yea, glad with all my hearte, 

That thus so cleaidy I myselfe can free. 
Shake hands forever ! — cancel all our vows ; 

And when we meet at any time againe, 
Be it not scene in either of our brows. 

That we one jot of former love retaine. 

Now — at the last gaspe of Love's latest breath — 
When, his pulse failing. Passion speechless 
lies ; 

When Faith Is kneeling by his bed of death. 
And Innocence is closing up his eyes, 



Now ! if thou wouldst — when all have given 
him over — 
From death to life thou might'st him yet re- 
cover. 



FAREWELL! THOU ART TOO DEAR. 

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
For how do I hold thee b\it by thy granting ? 
And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 

knowing. 
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
So thy great gift, upon misjirision growing, 
Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth (latter ; 
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter. 

SHAKEEPBAKE. 



AN EAKNE8T SUIT 

TO HIS U.VKI.ND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HI! 

And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! for shame ! 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus 1 
Say nay '. say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave mc thas. 
That hath loved thee so long. 
In wealth and woe among ? 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart, 
Never for to depart, 
Neither for pain nor .smart ? 
And wilt thou leave me thus '! 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave mc thus. 
And have no more pity 
Of him that loveth thee ' 
Ala.s ! thy cruelty ! 
And wilt thou leave me thus ' 
Say nay ! say nay ! 



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PO.SMS OF PAHTING AND ABSENCE. 



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WE PARTED IN SILENCE. 

We pnvtiHl in silence, we parted by night, 
Oil till' blinks of that h>nely rivt-r ; 

AVhere the fragrant limes tlieir boughs unite.. 
\\\' met — iuid we parted forever ! 

The night-bird sung, and the stare above 
Told many a toucliing story 

Of friends long passed to the kingdom of lova, 

Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. 

We parted in silence, — our cheeks were wet 

With the tears that were past controlling ; 
We vowed we would never, no, never forget, 

And those vows at the time were consolinj; ; 
But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine 

Are as cold as that lonely river : 
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, 

Has shrouded its fires forever. 

And now on the midnight sky I look. 

And my heart grows full of weeping ; 
BJich star is to me a sealed book, 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 
We parted iu silence, — we jiarted in tears, 

On the banks of that lonely river : 
But the odor and bloom of those bygone yeais 

Shall hang o'er its waters forever. 

Mrs. crawfokd. 



PEACE I WHAT CAN TEAKS AVAIL? 

Peace ! what can teai-s avail ? 
She lies all dumb and pale. 

And from her eye 
The spirit of lovely life is fading, — 

And slie must die ! 
Why looks the lover wroth, ^ the friend upbraid- 
ing ? 

Reply, reply ! 

Hath she not dwelt too long 
Midst iwin, and grief, and wrong ? 

Then why not die > 
Why sujfer agaiu her doom of sorrow, 

.\nd hopeless lie ? 
Why nui-se the trembling dream until to-momiw ! 

Keply, reply ! 

Death ! Take her to thine arms. 
In all her stainless charms ! 

And with her fly 
To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness. 

The angels lie ! 
Wilt bear her there, death ! in all her white- 
ness ? 
Reply, reply ? 

\JRVAN Waller Procter (Barry Cornwalu, 



THE DYING GERTRUDE TO WALDEGRAVE. 

FRO.M "GBRTRODB OF WVOMlNi;.'* 

Clasp me a little longer on the brink 

Of fate ! while I can feel thy dear caress ; 

And when this heart hath ceased to beat, — 0, 

think, 
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, 
That thou hast been to mc all tenderness. 
And friend to more thiui human friendship just. 
0, by that retrospect of hapinness, 
.\nd by the hopes of an immortal trust, 
(iod shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in 

dust ! 

Go, Hein-y, go not back, when I depart. 
The scene thy bui'sting teai-s too deep will move, 
Where my dear father took thee to his heart. 
And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove 
With thee, as with an angel, through the grove 
Of peace, imagining her lot was cast 
In heaven; for oui-s was not like earthly love. 
And must this parting be our very last ? 
No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is 
past. 

Half could 1 bear, methinks, to leave this 

earth, — 
And thee, more loved than aught beneath the 

sun. 
If I had lived to smile but on the birth 
Of one dear pledge; — but shall there then be- 
none. 
In future time, — no gentle little one. 
To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me ? 
Yet seems it, even « liile life's last pulses run, 
A sweetness in the cup of death to be. 
Lord of my bosom's love 1 to die beholding thee ! 
THOMAS Campbell. 



THE MOURNER. 

Yes ! there are real mourners, — I have seen 
A fair sad girl, mild, sulTering, and serene ; 
Attention (through the day) her duties claimed. 
And to be useful as resigned she aimed ; 
Neatly she drest, nor vainly seemed t' expect 
Kty for grief, or parxlon for neglect ; 
But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep. 
She sought her place to meditate and weep ; 
Then to her mind was all the past displayed. 
That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid ; 
For then she thought on one rcgi'etted youth, 
Her tender trust, and his unnnestioued tnith ; 
In every place she wandered, where they 'd been, 
And sadly-sacred held the jiarting scene. 
Where last for sea he took his leave : that place 
With double interest would she nightly trace 



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PARTING. 



193 



Happy be sailed, and great tlie care she took 
That lie sliould softly sleep and smartly look ; 
White was his better linen, and his check 
Was made more trim than any on the deck ; 
And every comfort men at si'a can know 
Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow : 
For he to Greenland sailed, and much she told, 
How he should guard against the climate's cold ; 
Yet saw not danger ; dangers he M withstood. 
Nor could she trace llie fever in liLs blood. 

His messmates smiled at flushings on his cheek. 
And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak ; 
I'"or now he found the clanger, felt the pain. 
With grievous symptoms he could not explain. 
He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh 
A lover's message, — "Thomas, I must die ; 
Would I could see my Sally, and could rest 
.My throlibing temples on her faithful bre;i.st, 
.And ga/ing go ! — if not, this trille take. 
And say, till death I wore it for her sake : 
Yes ! I must die — blow on, sweet breeze, blow on ! 
Give me one look before my life be gone ! 
0, give me that, and let me not despair ! 
iJne last fond look ! — and now repeat the 

pr.ayer." 
Ho liad his wish, had more : I will not paint 
'l"he lovers' meeting ; she beheld him faint, — 
With t<Mider fears, she took a nearer view, 
Her teirors doubling as her hopes withdrew ; 
Ho tried to smile ; and, half suci'ceding. said, 
"Yes ! I must die" — and hope forever fled. 
.Still, long she nursed him ; tender thoughts 

meantime 
Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime. 
To her he came to die, and every day 
She took some portion of the dread away ; 
With him she prayed, to him his I'ible read. 
Soothed the faint heart, and held tlie aching 

head : 
She came with smiles the hour of [lain to cheer, 
.■\part she .sighed ; alone, she shed the tear ; 
Tlien, .as if breaking from a cloud, she gave 
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. 
One day he lighter seemed, and tliey forgot 
The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot. 
A sudden brightness in his look appeared, 
X sudden vigor in his voice was heard ; — 
•She had been reading in the Book of Prayer, 
And led him forth, and placed him in his chair. 
Lively he .seemed, and spake of .all he knew, 
Tlie friendly many, and tlie favorite few ; 

but then his hand she prest. 

And fondly wliispered, " Thou must go to rest." 
" I gn, " he .said ; but as he sjioke, she found 
His hand more cold, and fluttering was the 

sound ; 
Then gazed affrighted ; hut she caught a last, 
A dying look of love, and all was |iast ! 



She placed a decent stone his grave above, 
Neatly engraved, — an offering of her love : 
For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, 
Awake alike to duty and the ilcail ; 
She would have grieved, had friends jiresunied to 

spare 
The least assistance, — 't was her projier care. 
Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, 
Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit : 
rjut if observer pa.ss, will take her round, 
And careless seem, for she would not be found ; 
Then go again, and thus her hours employ, 
While visions please her, and while woes destroy. 

GEORGIi CKAlJdh 

FAREWELL I BUT WHENEVER - 

Fakewell I — but whenever you welcome the 

hour 
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your 

bower. 
Then think of the friend who once weleonnd it 

too. 
And forgot his own griefs, to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened hLs ])athway of 

pain — 
But he ne'er can forget the short vision that threw 
Its enchantment around him while lingering with 

you! 

And still on that evening when Pleasure fills up 
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each 

cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright. 
My soul, happy friends ! will be with you that 

night ; 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your 

wiles. 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your 

smiles ! — 
Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer, 
Some kind voice has murmured, "I wish he were 

here ! " 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy. 

Bright dreams of the pa.st, which she canimt 
destroy ; 

Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and 
care. 

And bring back the feature-i whirli joy used to 
wear. 

Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! 

Like the vase in which roses have once been dis- 
tilled — 

You may break, vou may ruin the vasi', if you 
will, 

liut the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 



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194 



POEMS OF I'Airriyo and absence. 



■a 



ABSENCE, 



TO HER ABSENT SAILOR. 



Her window opens to the hay. 
On glistening liglit or misty gray, 
And there at dawn and set of day 

In prayer she kneels : 
" Dear Lord ! " she saith, "to many a home 
From wind and wave the wanderers come ; 
I only see the tossing foam 

Of stranger keels. 

" ISlinvn out and in by summer gales. 
The stately ships, with crowded sails, 
And sailors leaning o'er their mils, 

Before me glide ; 
They come, they go, but evermore, 
Spice-laden from the hulian shore, 
I see his swift-winged Isidore 

The waves divide. 

" thou ! with whom the night is day 
And one the near and far away, 
Ijook out on yon gray waste, and say 

Where lingers lie. 
Alive, perchance, on some lone beach 
Or thirsty isle beyond the reach 
Of man, he hears the mocking speech 

Of wind and sea. 

" dread and cruel deep, reveal 
The secret which thy waves conceal. 
And, ye wild sea-birds, hither wheel 

And tell your tale ! 
Let winds that tossed his raven hair 
A message from my lost one bear, — 
Some thought of me, a last fond prayer 

Or dying wail ! 



But, with her heart, if not her ear. 
The old loved voice she seemed to hear : 
" 1 wait to meet thee : bo of cheer. 
For all is well ! " 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



TO HJCASTA. 

If to be absent wei'e to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that, wlien I am gone, 
Yo\i or I were alone ; 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. 

But I '11 not sigh one blast or g:Ue 
To swell my sail, 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The foaming blue-god's rage ; 
For, whether he will let me i)ass 
Or no, I 'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us lioth. 
Our faith and troth. 
Like sejiarated souls. 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet. 
Unseen, unknown ; and greet as angels greet. 

So, then, we do anticipate 
Our after-fate. 
And are alive i' th' skies, 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In heaven, — their earthly bodies left behind. 
Richard Lovelace 



u 



"Come, with your dreariest truth shut out 
The fears that haunt me round about ; 
God ! I cannot bear this doubt 

That stifles breath. 
The worst is better than the dread ; 
Give me but leave to mourn my dead 
Asleep in trust and hope, instead 

Of life in death ! " 

It might have been the evening breeze 
That whispered in the garden trees. 
It might have been the sound of seas 
That rose and fell ; 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west ; 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'o best. 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

A nd monie a hill 's between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 
I see her sweet and fair ; 



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ABSENCE. 



19 



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I heal' her in the tuuefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There 's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, — 
There 's not a bonnie bird tliat sings, 

But minds me of my Jean. 

0, blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Aniang the leafy trees ; 
Wi' gentle gale, I'ra rauir and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees : 
Anil bring the lassie back to me 

That 's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae look at lic-r wad banish care, 

Sae lovely is my Jean. 

ROBERT BURNS. 



LOVE'S MEMORY. 

FROM "ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." 

I AM undone : there is no living, none. 

If Bertram be away. It were all one. 

That I should love a bright particular star, 

And think to wed it, he is so above me : 

In his bright radiance and collateral light 

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 

The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : 

The hind that would be mated by the lion 

Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plague. 

To see him ev'ry hour ; to sit and draw 

His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls. 

In our heart's table, — heart too capal)lc 

Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : 

But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 

Must sanctify his relics. 



O, SAW YE BONNIE LESLEY? 

0, s.wv ye bonnie Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 

Slie 's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her forever ; 

For nature made her what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Tbuu art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, T)efore thee ; 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na scaith thee, 
Oi" aught that wad belang thee ; 

He 'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And sav " I canna wrang thee ! " 



The powers aboou will lent thee ; 

ilisfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely 

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Keturn to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonnie. 



koiiERT BUR.NS 



JEANIE MORRISON. 

I 'vE wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

Through mony a weary way ; 
But never, never can forget 

The luve o' life's young day ! 
The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en 

May weel be black gin Vide ; 
But blacker fa' awaits the heart 

Where first fond luve grows cule. 

dear, <lear Jeanie Morrison, 
The thochts o' bygane years 

Still fling their shadows ower my path. 

And blind my een wi' tears : 
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, 

.Vnd sair and sick I pine. 
As memory idly summons up 

The lilithe blinks o' langsyne. 

'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 

'T was then we twa did part ; 
Sweet time — sad time ! twa bairns at scule, 

Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 
'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink. 

To leir ilk ither lear ; 
And tones and looks and smiles were shed, 

1 i cmembered evermai v. 

1 wimder, Jeanie, aften yet. 

When sitting on that bink, 
( hi-ek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof. 

What our wee heads could think. 
When baith bent donn ower ac braid page, 

Wi' ae bulk on our knee. 
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 

My lesson was in thee. 

O, mind ye how we hung our heads. 

How cheeks brent red wi' shame, 
Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said 

We decked thegither hame ? 
And mind ye o' the Saturdays, 

(The scule then skail't at noon.) 
Wlien we ran aff to speel the braes, — 

The broomy braes o' June ? 



f 



I'JG 



POEMS OF PARTING AND ABSENCE. 



-^ 



My head rina round and round about, — 

My heart flows like a sea, 
As ane by aue the thochts rusli back 

O' scule-time, and o' thee. 

moridn' life ! O inornin' hive ! 

lichtsome days and lang, 

When hiunied hopes around our hearts 
Like simmer blossoms sprang ! 

0, mind ye, luve, liow aft we left 

The deavui' dinsome toun, 
To wander by the green burnside, 

And hear its waters croon '. 
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, 

The flowers burst round our feet, 
And in the gloamin' o' the wood 

The throssil whusslit sweet ; 

The throssil whusslit in the wood, 

The burn sang to the trees, — 
And we, with nature's heart in tune. 

Concerted harmonies ; 
And on the knowe abune the burn 

For hours thegither sat 
In the sileutness o' joy, till baith 

Wi' very gladness grat. 

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Mon'ison, 

Tears trickled doun your cheek 
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane 

Had ony power to speak ! 
That was a time, a blessed time. 

When hearts were fresh and young. 
When freely gushed all feelings forth, 

Unsyllabled — unsung ! 

1 marvel, Jeanie Morrison, 
Gin I hae been to thee 

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts 

As ye hae been to me. 
0, tell me gin their music fills 

Thine ear as it does mine ! 
0, say gin e'er your lioart grows grit 

Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ! 

I 've wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

1 've borne a weary lot ; 

But in my wanderings, far or near. 

Ye never were forgot. 
The fount that first burst frae this heart 

Still travels on its way ; 
And channels deeper, as it rins. 

The luve o' life's young day. 

() dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 
Since wo were siudered young 

I 've never seen your face nor heard 
The music o' your tongue ; 



But 1 could hug all wreteheiluess. 

And happy could I dee, 
Did 1 but ken j-our heart still dreamed 

0' bj'gone days and me ! 

William motiilkwell. 



■'SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING OF SOFT 
RECALL." 

Reti'rn, return ! all night my lamp is burning; 

All night, like it, my w-ide eyes watch and 
burn ; 
Like it, 1 fade and pale, when day returning 

Bears witness that the absent can retuiii. 

Return, return. 

Like it, I lessen witli a lengthening sadness ; 

Like it, 1 burn to waste and waste to buiii ; 
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness 

To feed the sorrowy signal for return. 

Return, return. 

Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind-sings, 

I bend and shake ; like it, I quake and yearn. 
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering 
wings. 

Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn — 

Burn in the watclifire of return, 

Return, return. 

Like it, the very flame whereby I pine 
Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn, 
My soul becomes a better soul than mine. 
And from its brightening beacon I discern 
My starry love go forth from me, and shine 
Across the seas a path for thy return, 
Return, return. 

Return, return ! all night 1 see it liurn. 

All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin 

Of palmM praying hands that meet and yearn — 

Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return. 

Day, like a golden fetter, locks tliem in. 

And wans the light that withers, though it burn 

.\s wamily still for thy return ; 

Still through the splendid load uplifts the thin 

Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn 

Naught but that votive sign for thy return. 

That single suppliant sign for tliy return. 

Return, return. 

Return, return I lest haply, love, or e'er 

Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to 

burn. 
And thou, who through the window didst discern 
The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair 
To find no wide eyes watching there. 
No withered welcome waiting th\- return 



^ 



[& 



ABSENCE. 



197 



rn 



A passing ghost, a smoke-wreath in tlie air, 

Thu ilanieless ashes, and the soulless urn, 

Wann with the famished tire that lived to bum — 

Burn out its lingering lite for thy return. 

Its last of lingering life for thy return, 

Its last of lingering life to light thy late return. 

Return, return. 



.FROM "THE TRfUMPn OF TIME. 

TiiEiiE lived a singer in France of old 

By the tideless, dolorous, midland sea. 
In a land of sand and ruin and gold 

Tliere shone one woman, and none but she. 
And (inding life for her love's .sake fail, 
Being fain to see her, he bade set sail. 
Touched laud, and saw her as life grew cold, 
And praised God, seeing ; and so ilied he. 

Died, praising God for liis gift and grace : 

For she bowed down to him weeping, and said, 
" Live " ; and her tears were slieil on his face 

Or ever the life in his face wa.s shed. 
The sharp tears fell through her hair, and stung 
Once, and her close lips touched him and clung 
Once, and gi'cw one with his lips for a space ; 
And .so drew back, and the man was dead. 

brother, the gods were good to yon. 
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures. 

r.e well content as the years wear through ; 

Givr th.-iiiks for life, and the loves and lures ; 
fiivc tliaiiks for life, brothin-, and death. 
For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath. 
For gifts she gave you, gracious and few, 

Tears and kis.so3, tliat l.ady of yours. 

liest, and be glad of the gods: but I, 

How shall I praise them, or how take rest ? 

Tliirr is not room under all the .sky 
For me tliat know not of worst or best. 

Dream or desire of tlie days before. 

Sweet things or bitterness, any more. 

Love will not come to me now though I die. 
As lov(! came close to you, breast to breast. 

1 shall never be friends again witli roses ; 

I shall loathe sweet tunes, where a note grown 
strong 
Relents and recoils, and climbs and closes. 

As a wave of the sea turned back by song. 
There are sounds where the .soul's delight takes 

fire. 
Face to face with its own desire ; 
A delight that rebels, a desire that reposes ; 
I shall hate sweet music my whole life long. 



The pulse of war and passion of wonder. 

The heavens that murmur, the sounds that 
shine, 

The stars that sing and the loves that thunder. 
The music burning at heart like wine. 

An armed archangel whose hands raise up 

All senses mixed in the spirit's cup, 

Till tlesh and spirit are molten in sunder, — 
These things are over, and no more mine. 

These were a part of the playing I heard 

Once, ere my love and my heart were at strife ; 
Love that sings and hath wings as a bird. 

Balm of the wound and heft of the knife. 
Fairer than earth is the sea, ami sleep 
Than overwatching of eyes that wec[i, 
Now time has done with his one sweet word. 
The wine and leaven of lovely life. 

I shall go my ways, tread out my measure. 

Fill the days of my daily breath 
With fugitive things not good to treasure, 

Do as the world doth, say as it saith ; 
But if we had loved each other — O sweet, 
Had you felt, lying under the palms of your feet. 
The heart of my heart, beating harder with 
pleiisure 

To feel you tiead it to dust and death — 

Ah, had I not taken my life up and given 
All that life gives and the years let go, 

Tin; wine and money, the balm and leaven. 
The dreams reared high and the hopes brought 
low, 

Come life, come death, not a word be said ; 

Should 1 lose you living, and vex you deaii ? 

1 shall never tell you on earth ; and in lieaven. 
If I cry to you then, will you hear or know ? 

AI.CF.R.NON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 



DAY, IN MELTING PITRPLE DYING. 

Day, in melting purple dj-ing ; 
Blossoms, all around me sighing ; 
Fragrance, from the lilies straying ; 
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing ; 

Ye but waken my distress ; 

I am sick of loneliness ! 

Thou to whom I love to hearken, 
Come, ere night around me darken ; 
Though thy softness but deceive me, 
Say tiiou 'rt true, aud 1 '11 believe thee ; 
Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent. 
Let me think it innocent ! 



-^ 



n- 



1>>S 



I'OKMS ()*' rAnrisu} anh ausksck. 



n 



siii\i> tliy toiling, xiwiv tliy tiwwmv ; 

All I iisk is tVlouvisliip's (iIto»\uv ; 

l.i'l U\o slviiiiiift Hit' lio iliu'kliiif;, 

Ui'inx i\i» pMn in lusltT !>i«iiklinft ; 

(lilV-t mwl gvilil i\iv iiimglil III 1110, 
\ WMuUl only look oil Uiw ' 

•IVU to tlll'O tllO llii"!! WIMIIJilll I't'oliiiK, 

KoHtnxy 1ml in i~ovi'iiliiij» ; 

I'liiiil tv> llioo llio lUvji M'lisiitivm, 

Umitmv in |vii-tloii>ntiou s 

Yi-t Imt toituiv, if iHiHipiVHl 
111 II loins nnlVii'inliHl Iiih'usI. 

AKsoiil still ! .Ml ! oonio sinl l>l<>ss mo I 

l.ol llioso oyos iij^nin iiiivss llioo. 

t»iioo, ill >';uilioii, I I'oiiM Hy lino , 

Now, 1 iiotliinji v'onlil dony lluv, 
111 II look ir>l(><>tli tlioiv I'o, 
I'oiiio, mul 1 will )puo on llioo I 

MAKI* IIKOOKSl 



THK AK8Km' SOl.lMKK Sim, 



l,»>iii\ 1 lun wo<>)>iiv»{. As Hum will, t> l.oi\l, 
Ho Willi liiiu lis llion will ; lull O my (!oil, 
l.ol liini oomo Kiok to vlio ! l.ol not llio lowls 
0' tlu> nil' >lolilo llio K»1y of my oliikl. 
My own I'nii' oUiKI, tliivt wlion lio wiis i\ IniIh*, 
I lilt in> ill my iivms iiinl jpivo to Ilioo ! 
Lot not his jr.umont, l,oi\i, ln> viloly ivii'tinl, 
Nor llio lino linon wliioli tinvso Iminls Imvo simn 
V:\\\ to tlio sti:iiv>,w's lot ! ,>*ll»ll llio wiUl l>il\l, 
'I'hut wonUl li.iYo i>ilfoiwl of llio o\. tliis ywiv 
IMsvliiin llio (vos «»'l '*'«"" ' '^'>'>*' '»''' •'""*' 

yoMiVkj, 
'IMiiit on tlio Hook ami nionlt of ln-iitisli Iwists 
Uinl Kvn too lii\|>i\y, sloop in olotli of ,«mKI 
W lioitHif <viioli tliwi.l is to lliis iHiiliiifS lirtivt 
As ii |xvnli:ii- iliii'linj; * l.o, tlio lUiw 
Hum o'ov liim ' l.o, a fivithoi' lV>m tlio oi\«v 
K:iUs in liis iviitinl li|vs I l.vx. Iiis lUinl oyos 
Siv not tlio \tivon ' l.vs tlio woviii, tlio worm 
t'lx^'iw l\\>m his fi>stoviiij; >vi-so ! My t!o>l ! my 

t?vHl ! 

(> l.onl, tlion vlvHv<t woll, I am ivntont. 
If tlii>\i liavo inwl of liini. ho sliall not stay, 
r«il as ono oallotli to a sorvant, sjiyinj; 
•" At snoli ii timo K> witli m<\" s-v, t^ l.oi\l, 
Oill liim to tliiH- ' t'>, l>i>l liiin not in liiisto 
Stmijslit wlioiiiv lio stamlotli. Lot liim lsi,v asi>lo 
Tho soiUM tiHxIs of lalH>v, Lot liim wash 
His liaiivls of hlvn>»\, Lot liim avi-tiy liimsolf 
M(Vt for Ills l,oi\l. |>«i-o l\\«« tlio swoat ami l\imo 
Of .H>n>ouil travail ! l.oi\i, if U» ">vist >Uo, 
l*>t him >lio lioiv, l\t«ko him whotv tlnw jp»>-<vst ! 



Ami ovon iis on.'o I liol.l liun m in> «,.ihI. 
Till all things woio riilliUoa, aii.l ho .iim.' loilli, 
,So, l.oitl, lot 1110 hoM him in my giavo 
Till llio timo oomo. uiul tlnm, who sot tost whoii 
Tho liimls ,hIiii11 oalvo, onliiiii n hottoi' hiilh ; 
Aiul 11,1 1 looki'il ami saw my sou, ami wopi 
I'oi' joy, I hiok iifjain ami soo my .mui, 
Ami WOO)! again for joy of him ami tlioo 1 

sioNhv iiomi I 



t'oMit to mo, O my Motliov I oonio to mo, 
I'liino own son slowly ilying I'm' away ! 
Thiviigh tlio iiioisi ways of tho wiilo oooaii, Mown 
liy gival invisihlo wimls, oonio statoly shi|w 
To (his oalm Uiy lor uniot anolioiiigt' ; 
Tlioy oomo, llioy ivst iiwliilo, llioy go away, 
lint, t> my Molhov, iiovoi' oomosi tlion I 
I'lio snow is ixmml thy ilwoUing, tho wliito snow. 
'I'hat oohl sort ivvolation (miv as light. 
Ami tho ivino-siiiix> is niystioally iVingr'il, 
l.aooil with inonistoil silvoi', lloiv all mi' ' 
'I'lio wiiilor is ilooiviiit, iimloi'lnnn, 
,\ lojioi' willi 110 nowov hut his ilisoaso. 
Why mil I Ittmi tlioo, Motliov, far IVmi tlioo ! 
Vav fltmi tho iWst onohantmont, ami tho wooils 
.lowoloil l\\mi hough to lH>ngli / O homo, my 

homo ! 
ti rivor in tho valloy of my homo. 
With ina-^v wimling molioii inlrioiito. 
Twisting thy ili>iitlihvs.s nuisio umlonioalh 
Tho (Hilislio,! ioo-work, must 1 iiovormoiv 
lloliohl Ilioo with familiar oyos, ami waloli 
Thy Knnity ohanging with tho i'liang<'l\il ilay. 
Thy U-auty oonstant to tho oonstuiit oliango ' 
ivAvio v;kav 



TllK Kl'srlO l..\iv,< t.AMl'IN'l" IN TUK 'l\l\VN 

l\ \v \i> that my timo woiv owiv Imt, 

\Vi" this wintry slool ami snaw. 
That 1 might soo onr Inmso ag-ain, 

r tho Nmnio hirkoii sliaw ! 
Kv»' this is no my ain lifo, 

Anvl I (HHik ami (miio away 
Wi" tho llnvlits o' liamo ami tho young llowoi-s. 

In tho ghul gixH>n month of May, 

I nsoil to wauk in tho morning 

AVi' tho loiul ,««!}! o" tho lark, 
Ami tho whistling o" tho plowman laiUs 

.Vs thoy ginil to thoir walk ; 
I «s«l to woar tho hit young lamKs 

Krao tho tvol ami tho iwiring stmmi ; 
I5ut tho warhl is oli»ng<Hl, ami a' thing now 

IV mo siH-ms Uko a ilrwim. 



-ff 



cP- 



AhHICNCIl. 



I'J'J 



'\'\iKtl: lltf, tills:'/ ':r'/W'l?. :il'illll'l til':, 

0/1 ilka Imifi^ <l»ll otr'ait. ; 
YkI, l\>iiHfi)i niv; iiiniiy nurrniiwl iin;, 

I kmi iiii HUH ( tii'ntl, : 
Aii>\ I tWdk '/ kiriil L'<:nt (iuti:», 

J\iA 11 \i\Mii: ail' chu-.r/ 'ln-yti, 
Wli«i) I waii/lcnd out wi' our aln Wk, 

Out iiwri; III/! niiiiiiiKT iirufnt, 

Wtu-.n rill:, for my li/iart )* \ifjMiii/, ! 

I tliifik <>' my \iniUi'.t miih', 
/\ui\ on my ii\»U:r it/iMtUin, 

Wliir/i f <;arft fra/! Iiamc ay/a, 
A/i'i 0, li/zc/ my iiMn^r >:iAi\M., 

A» clu; atiw/k m<j t;y tli': liao'l, 
Wliirfi I left ll.<! <l/c/r II imr auM li'/iiW;, 

'I'd limn: U> thi« xlraiigBr la/i'l. 

Tlicre '» ii;»« hainfc IIk« imr aid bam<; — 
O, J wiisli tliat 1 werethwi! 
'I'li<;f>: V. )ia/; ham<; lik<; onr airi liam<; 

'/'<< U; met wi' onyv/lmri: ; 
Aii/1 tliat J w<rr<! inu.k aj{alii, 

To our fan»( and fiol/U ««: gr<;';;i ; 
Ah'I h<!ar4 th* UiiiiQUm u' my ai/i folk, 

Ad'l W'rre what 1 ><a<; l/<*(i ! 



)!•/ TirK AJ.MA UVKH.. 

Vill.uy,, foM your littlft Unruh; 

f/-t it 'iroji, that "k/iMikt" Uiy; 
ijnM vihiiii: fatli'tr'it pi/rturi; utamU, — 
Kathw, that her'! kiws'!'! hi» Ix/y 
.V(/t a month din/*, — father ki/i<l, 
Who thi» nij^it may <ui:vi:r iiiiml 
M//th«f'» Koh, my Willi/! (l/!ar; — 
(^ry imt lou/1 that He may htar 
WJi/< i« (ii/ii of liatthsi, — «ay 
" O'/l k/!"!/) (ntUnr xafe thi* <)ay 
IJy the Alma JJiver!" 



Hun'Ire'lK, thoiiwifi'l ?, (>rt u* v/eeji, 
We v/ho n<->:/| not, jii*l I/, k'«|< 
Mtfuviii elear in th'/ii((lit an<) I/rain 
Till the morning (j/z/nen ajjaln ; 
Till th* thifl <lr<!«i/J iiiimiiiiK tell 
Wli/>they were that foii^jht and /W< 
Jjy the Alma Itiyer, 

t'.'iiiii:, iii:']\ lay i« liiiwu, iny ehll/1; 

Co'/r the i/f/| ii, fiitiir an/1 liard ; 
lliit thy father, f!,r i:ziiiA, 

MfM\m u|c/ri the oj«n nwar'l, 
l)ri:timiiiK 111 »H two at home ; 
Or, fif.uiMh the «fj»rry 'lonie, 
I>i({!t out Uniii:Ui9t ill till: 'lark. 
Where he Utnist — Willie, mark ! — 
Win:rt! /« terfoer th'/«« who 'licl 
J'ijfliting ' (i({hti«({ at hi* »i'l« — 
By the Alma Jiiver, 

Willie, Willie, ((O U, «lee(, ; 

O'W will hel(. ui, my hz/y! 
/(e will make the ilull hour* ereep 

faiU'r, an'l ^'-r.-l h-»>, of ;ov ; 
Whftn I ne/ ; 
Th/zw; ;(rea^ 
'n«t for w- . , 

In */>me eye* i.hilA, ,,:j v.,.i.'.. ^.t^ynr 
On/;/: a({ain, a different one, 
Kay, "O O'W ! thy will 1* <|//ne 
J}y the Alma iJiver," 

fyiiiAH UKijy.n ';*Aii: 



THB WIKe TO HBR HVKKKHV, 

l.inhf.k ri'/* Ion;' Ho.'ft'- !>: no* fi'/ri:'- wisho-i 

It*.;. 

0, hrt, . 

Oen'.. , 



Unj/er n//t |//n{{, T>i//Ti({h i:r'ivh >.h',a\ii tuiii thy 
KiJiyUin, 
lUitMiik th/!e, /:«« the mirth of frie»//l», iUim^i 
lUiir, 
I imi^iiaixiM fur the KmflUy imisi 'Ikhyiiift, 
CoJit* the fond h/5«rtthat«i;(hA t// have th/!<! Iiere ? 



Aj»k no m//re, ehil/l ! X/rcer hewl 

KithCT fitu«, //r frank, or Turk ; 
liight of ftationa, tr»mf<le/l erw:/!, 

('AinufA'\ii /, ' '//Ay v/hix ; 

All'/ \\>i.n i' ti. 
On thy hei(/r • 

Willi/!, all t/. y-u ;,..,! i.v; .: 

J» that *\kA,, what/:'er it f<:. 

Where he (itan')« ~ no //ther w/rd ;.; 

HUi/ii/Im — (UA sure the ehlW» [iinyitn h*«r'l! — I An/J «>)<!«/* hnw/ji mi aii tlimu/, iiKe a >s|*)l ! 
Near the Alma Jiiver, 



^ 



Willie, lijrt/jn to the UlU 
Hiiij^iiSi^ III tfie t//v/n t/>-'Iay ; 

Tfi/it '» for vUHotj. So knell itwel 
Cor the many Kwej/t away, — 



Ifov/ ttimU I wat/;h t/r th/;*, wh/rn fear* jfr'/W 
(ttf'/nger, 

A» night gr'/w« dark an'l 'Urk<^ '/n the hill ; 
How ((hall r wee-ji, when i imii wa!/!h no long**! 

Ah ! art th//u al/ntertt, art th//n aW^it vtill 7 



pt; 



DO 



POEMS OF J'AUrim} AM) AliSIiNCE. 






& 



Yil 1 ^ll.mM iiiiovo no(, tlioiij;li |]n' ovo Uiiit soi'tli 

1110 

(iii/.ollillnwisliU'iu'stliiilmukoil.ssplouilonliiU; 
Kill- O, 1 souii'limos IVai- wlu'ii lluni ait with nio. 
My ouii ol' liaiipiuoss is all too lull. 

Haslo, liasto llioi'hoiuo unto tliy nioiiiilaiii ihvoll- 
ing. 
Ilasto, as a liinl \mto its |)oiioi'fiil lu'sl ! 
llasto, as a skill', tluMUjih ti'iiiiicst-s \\iiU> ami 
swolliuj., 
Klios to its liaviMi ol' scouivsl i-osl ! 

Anonymous. 



WiiAi- sliall 1 .lo with all llu> days ami hours 
That must 1h> oomitod oiv 1 s.-o thy I'aoo !" 

How shall 1 I'liann tho iutorval that lowoi's 
lli'lwcoii this limoaml that swoot tiiiio ol'giiico* 

Shall 1 ill slmiihor sloo]! i-ju'h wwiiy soiiso, — 
\\'oaiy with loiigiivj; ! Shall 1 lloo away 

Into iKist (lays, ami with soiuo foiul piMtousc 
rlu'al mysoU'to roi'gi>t the luvsi'ut Jay? 

Shall lovo for thco lay on my soul tho sin 
01' casting fixim mo tnui's givat gift of tiuio .' 

Shall 1, thoso mists of momory lookoil within, 
l.oavo ami forgot lifo's luirposos snhUmo ? 

0, how or by what moans may 1 oontrivo 
To liriug tho hour that hrings tlioo hiok inoiv 
noar 1 

TIow may 1 tonoli my drooping hopo to liw 
I'ntil that hlossoil timo, ami thou art hoiv ? 

1 '11 toll thou : for thy sako 1 will lay hold 
llf all gxiod aims, and oonsoomto to tlioo. 

In worthy doods, oaoh inomont that is told 
Whilo thou, holovid oiio ! art far fivm mo. 

For thoo I will aivuso my thoughts to try 
Alllioavonw!ii\lllights. all high and holy strains; 

For thy doar sako, I will walk iwtiontly 
Thiwigh thoso loiij5 honrs, nor oall tlioir iiiiii- 
utos imiiis, 

I will this di'i'ary Wank of aKsonoo mako 
A uohlo task-timo ; and will thoiviu stri\i< 

To follow oxoollonoo, and to o'ortako 

Moiv gxxHl than 1 liavo won sinoo yot I livo. 

So may this dooim^d timo hnild np in ino 

A tliovisiuul gi-aoos, whioh shall thus Ih< thiiio ; 

So may my lovo and Uuiging liallowod K\ 
And thy divir thought an inlluonoo vlivino. 

FKANCSS ANMt KUMm.r,. 1 



MY I'l.AVMATB. 

Tins jiinos woi'o dark on Kamotli hill, 
Tlioir song was soft and low ; 

Tho hlossoms in tho swoot May wind 
Woro falling liko tho snow. 

Tho blossoms drifted at our foot, 
Tho oivliani binls sang oloar ; 

Tho swootost and tho saddost day 
It soomod of all tho yoar. 

For, moiv to mo than binls or llowors, 

My iilaymato loft lior homo. 
And took with hor llio laughing spriug, 

Tho iiiiisio and tho bloom. 

Sho ki.ssod tho lips of kith and kin, 

Slio laid hor liiiud in miiio ; 
What nioiv oould ask tho Imshfnl bov 

Who tod hor fathor's kino t 

Sho loft ns in tho bloom of Jlny ; 

Tho oonstant yoars told o'or 
Tlioir soasons with as swoot May morns, 

Hut sho oamo hiok no inoiv. 

1 walk with iioisoloss foot tho round 

Of nnovontful yoars ; 
Still o'or and o'or 1 sow tho sluing. 

And tvap tho autumn oai-s. 

Slio livos whori> all tho goldoii yoar 

llor summor rosos blow : 
Tho dusky ohildivn of tlio sun 

Hoforo hor oomo and go. 

Thoro haply with hor jowolod hands 
Sho smooths hor silkoii gown, — 

Ko moiv tho hoiiiospnn lap whoix'iii 
1 shook tho walnuts down. 

Tho wild grajH-s wait ns by tho brook, 

Tho bivwn nnts on tho hill, 
And still tho May-day llowors mako swoot 

Tho woods of Folly mill. 

Tlio lilios blo.s.som in tho pond, 

Tho biiil builds in tho tivo, 
Tho dark pinos sing on liamoth lull 

Tho slow song of tho soa. 

I wonder if .sho thinks of tliom, 
And how tho old timo sooms, — 

If o\Tr tlio pinos of Hainoth wood 
Aiv sounding in hor divams. 

I soo hor faoo, 1 hoar hor voice : 
Pot's sho ivmomWr mino > 



-S 



AliHENaii. 



"^l^ 



&.- 



And wir.-it, t(. Ui-y \h now \\w lK)y 
Who UA her fatlicr'ii kin<: ? 

What car(;» ohft that the uniAi-M 1/iiil'l 

For other <:y<;H than oiini, — 
That other hands with riiitfi arc filled, 

And </th<;r \;i\n with flow<;r>i ! 

O playmat/; in the j(i>\iU:u time ! 

Our (noHHy fieat id (freen, 
IlJ) fringing vuAnUt iAmiujui yet, 

The old treen o'er it l«in. 

The winds wj sweet with hireh and feni 

A sweet<;r memory blow ; 
And therein sfiring the veerics sing 

The S'jng of long ago. 

And -itill the jiinen of liamoth wood 

An; mi^aning like the f«;a, -^ 
The nj'/aning of the sea of ehange 

iJe-tween inyself and thee ! 

loMM f>. WKir-nep 



ON A KICroilK. 

Whbk summer o'er her native hills 

A veil of fx;anty spretcl, 
She sat and wat>;hwi her gentle (locks 

And twined her flaxen threfwl. 

The inonntain daisies kisswl her fi*t ; 

The m'jss sprung greenest there ; 
The >/r'»ith of summer fiinn'yl her eheck 

And to»!«:d her wavy hair. 

TJie heather and the yellow gorsc 

lilofjrnwl over hill and wold, 
And elothwl them in a royal rol* 

Of purine anrl of gold. 

ThCTC T(iiv: till: skylark's gushing song, 
There hiimmwl the latxvring t/«e ; 

And merrily the mountain •itr'sirn 
lian singing to the s<;a. 

But while she mirnvA from thrrt*; sweet s'junds 

Tlie voi(« she sighed U) hear, 
TJie w»ng of f>ee and bird and stream 

"Was disw>rd t/j her isir, 

Kor eonld the V/right green world around 

A joy Ui her imfiart. 
For still she miiwA the eyes that ma/le 

The summer of her heart. 



THBRE '8 NAB LUCK ABOUT THK HOUHB. 

A M< are ye sure the news is tnie ' 

And are ye sure he 'h weel '! 
I^ this a time t/» think o' wark f 

Ve j!i/|(a, lay f/y your wheel; 
Is this the time to s(iin a threa/l, 

When ','olin 's at the dfK/r ; 
li<:a<;h down my cl'jak, 1 'II ^/i the 'juay. 
And we him cjniii; ashore, 

Kor the-re 's nae luek alxiut the hoiw;, 

'/'here 's n/i»; luek at a'; 
There 's nae luek alxirit the house 
When our gudeman s awa'. 

And gie t/i me rny higonet, 

.\(y hishop's-satin gown ; 
for I maun t,ell the Uillie's wife 

'I'liat Colin '» in the t/iwrr. 
,\Iy Turkey slipjiers rnaun gae on, 

.My st/»ekins [p«.-arly blue ; 
It 's a' t/» plejtsiire our gudeman, 

For he 's With leal and tnie. 

I:is<;, l;i.i«(, and rnak a el'^in fireside, 

I'ut on the rnuekle Ji'jt ; 
f/ie little Kate her eott/jn gown, 

And .foek his .Sunday ewit ; 
And mak their sliwm as Ha/ik as sla«s. 

Their h'lS*; as white ta snaw ; 
It 'ft a' to p|i*iw; my ain gtidcman. 

For he 's Ix^jn long awa'. 

Tliere 's twa fat liens ujoi' the J>ank, 

'Riey 've fed this month and mair ; 
Alak h.-iste and thraw their neeks aV;ut, 

That Colin W(y:) rnay fare ; 
And MfiTKa/l the table nefit and el'»in. 

Oar ilka thing lo^jk Vn-aw, 
For wha ean t^rll how Colin f:ired 

When he was far awa' ! 

.%!/! tnie his heart, sa/; smfXJtb his sjieerih, 

His fir<*ith like ealler air ; 
His very fw/t has musie in 't 

As he r/ntiifi up the stair, — 
And will I w.': Jits fa/* again ? 

And will I hear hirn sjK^ak ? 
I 'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I 'rn like i/i siT>-jd '. 

'nil; ejinld hlast^i '>' the vrinU:T wind, 

'Hiat thirlwl through my heart, 
TViey 're a' blown by, I ha/: him riafe. 

Till death we'll never [;art ; 
JJut what puts j^rting in my hea/l ? 

It may be far awa' ; 
Tlie present moment is our ain , 

TJie neist we never saw. 



-Oi 



'^ JUJ 



POEMS OF PAliTINO AND ABSENCE. 



-Ft- 



If Colin 's weol, and woel ooiitout, 

1 hiiti imo umir to i-riivo : 
Ami j;iii 1 livii to koi'i) him siui 

I 'm lilnst atiooii tho liivi> : 
Ami will 1 st'o his (nee agiiiu ? 
Aiul will 1 lieiir him spoiik ? 
1 'mi ilowiiiight dizzy wi' tho Uiought, 
In tivlh 1 'm like to giwt. 
For tlioiv "s imo hu'k iibout tho housp, 

Tliei-o 's niiu liu-k iit a' ; 
Theiv 's little pleasui* in the houso 
When ouv g\uloman 's awa". 

W'lLl.lAM J. MlCKLK. 



ABSENCE. 

When 1 think on the hapjiy days 

I spoilt wi' you, my denrio ; 
And now what hmds Ixitweoii us lie, 

How can 1 Iw but eerie ! 

How slow yo move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye woni wae and weary ! 
1 1 was iia sac ye glinted by 

'When I was \\i' my dearie. 

Anonymous. 



THK TERRACE AT BERNE. 

Ten years ! — and to my waking eye 
Ouee mon' the ixxifs of Berne appear ; 

The iwky Imnks, tlie terraee high, 
The stivam, — and do 1 lingi-r here ? 

The elouds are on tJie Oberland, 
The .luiigfrau snows look faint and far ; 

l)«t bright are tJioso gi'eeii fields at hand, 
And through those fields comes down tlio Aar, 

.\nd fixim the blue twin lakes it comes. 
Flows by the town, the eluiirliyanl lair, 

.\nd 'neatli the gnixlen-walk it hums. 
The house, — and is my Mai-guerite there ? 

All. shall 1 see thets while n flush 
l">f startled pleasure floods thy brow, 

l^uiek tlirongli the oleanders brush, 

.-Viid clap thy hands, and cry, ' T is thoii ? 

Or hast thou long since wandeiitKl back. 
Daughter of France ! to Fiimce, thy home ; 

And rtitteil down the flowery track 

Where feet like thine too lightly come ? 

Poth riotons laughter now r«>i>laco 
Thy smile, and rouge, with stony glare. 

Thy cheek's soft hue, and fluttering lace 
The kerehief that euwound thv hair » 



Or is it over / — art thou dead ? — 
Head ' — and no warning shiver ran 

Across my heart, to say thy thread 
Of life was cut, and closeil thy si^m ! 

Could from earth's ways that figure slight 
Be lost, and 1 not fed 't was' so ? 

Of that iVesh voice flic gay delight 

Fail from earth's ail, and 1 not know ! 

Or shall 1 find tluc still, but changed. 
But not the Jlargiieritc of thy prime ? 

With nil thy being rearniugcd, 

I'assed through the crucible of time ; 

With spirit vanished, beauty wiined, 
And hardly yet a glance, a tone, 

A gesture, — anything, — retained 
Of all that was my Mai-gucrite's own ? 

I will n«>t know ! — for wherefori' try. 
To things by mortal eoui-se that live, 

A shadowy durability 

For which they were not meant, to give ! 

Like driftwood spars which meet and pass 
Upon the boundless ocean-plain. 

So oil the sea of life, alas ! 

Man Hears man, meets, and leaves again. 

I knew it when my life was young, 
1 feel it still, now youth is o'er ! 

The mists aiv on the mountain hung. 
And Marguerite 1 shall see no more. 



©-- 



THE BEAVTIFUT, RIVER. 

Like a foundling in slumber, the summer-day 
lay 
On the crimsoning tliresliold of even. 
And 1 thought that the glow through the azure- 
aivlied way 
Was a glinnise of the coming of Heaven. 
There together we sat by the beautiful stream ; 
We had nothing to do but to love and to dream. 

In the days that have gvme on before. 
These are not the same days, though they War 
the same name. 
With the ones 1 shall welcome no more. 

But it may bo that angxds are calling thom o'er, 

For a Sablxith and summer forever, 
When the veal's shall forgvt the Decembers they 
I wore. 

And the shroud shall Ih' woven, no never ! 
; In a twilight like that, Jennie .Tune for a bride. 



^ 



ABUKN'UE. 



203 



.ra 



O, wliat iiioie of the world couM oin; wish lor 
Ijesiili-, 

As we gazeil ou tlio river unrolleil, 
Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide, 

When it Mowed through the gateway of gold ! 

"Jennie June," then I said, "let us linger no 
more 
On the banks of the beautiful river ; 
Let the boat be unmoored, and U: niullled the 
oar. 
And we '11 steal into heaven togi;ther. 
If the angel on duty our coming descries. 
You have nothing to do but throw olf the dis- 
guise 
'Dial you wore while you wandered with me. 
And the sentry shall say, ' Welcome ba<;k to the 
skies. 
We long have been waiting for th(;e.' " 

Oil ! how sweetly she spoke, er<: she uttered a 
word, 

With that blush, partly hers, partly even's. 
And a tone, like the dream of a song we once 
heard. 

As she whispered, " 77ms way is not lieaven's : 
For the Uiverthat iiins by the realm of the blest 
lias no song on its lipjile, no star on its breast ; 

Oh ! thai nver is nothing like this, 
Kor it gli<les on in shadow beyon<l the world's 

west, 

Till it breaks into beauty and Ijliss. " 

1 am lingering yet, but I linger alone, 
On the banks of the beautiful river ; 
'T is the twin of that day, but the wave where it 
shone 
Bears the willow-tree's shadow forever. 

rjHNjAMiN I-. Taylor. 



THE EMIGRANT'S WISH. 

I WISH wo were bamc to our ain folk, 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain Iblk, 
Where thesimple arc weal, and the gentleare leal. 
And the hames arc the hamcs o' our ain folk. 
We've been wi' the gay, and the gude where 

we 've come, 
We 're courtly wi' many, we 're coulhy wi' some ; 
Hut something 's still wantin' we never can lind 
Sin' the day that we left our auld ueelwrs behimi 

0, 1 wish we were haine to our ain folk. 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 
Where dalfin and glee wi' the friendly and free 
Made our hearts aye sae foinl o' our ain folk. 
Though Syriwj had its moils, and Hmnmcr its 

toiU, 
And AvXwmn craved jiith i;re we gathered its 

spoils, 
Yet Winter repaid a' the toil that we took, 
When ilk ane crawed crouse by his ain ingle nook. 

O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk, 
Our kind and our trac-hcartcd ain folk, 
Where maidens and men in hall and in glen 
Still welcome us aye as their ain folk. 
They told us in gowjxjns we 'd gather the gear, 
Sae sune as we cam' to the rich .Mailins here, 
IJut what are the Mailins, or what arc they worth. 
If they be not enjoyed in the land o' our birth ! 

Then 1 wish we were hame to our ain folk, 

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 

Hut deep are the howes and high are the knowes, 

That keep us awa' frac our ain folk. 

The seat by the door where our auld faithers sat. 

To tell a' the news, their views, and a' that. 

While down by the kailyard the Imrnie rowed 

clear, 
'T was mair to my liking than aught that is here. 



t 



FnoM you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied Ajiril, dressed in all his trim. 
Hath put a spirit of Youth in everything, 
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of diderent llowers in odor and in hue. 
Could make me any summer's story tell. 
Or fiom their proud lap pluck them wheie they 

grew : 
N'or did I wonder at the lilies white. 
Nor piai.se the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, 
As with your shadow I with these did play. 

SHAKESPRABP. 



Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk, 

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 

Where the wild thistles wave o'er th' alwde o' the 

brave. 
And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk 
But happy, gey lucky, we '11 trudge on our way, 
Till our ann waxes weak and our liaifets grow 

gray ; 
And, tho' in this world our ain still we miss. 
We '11 meet them at last in a world o' bliss. 

Anil Ih^n we '11 I)e liame to our ain folk, 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 
Where far 'yont the moon in the heavens aboon 
The hames are the hames o' our ain f.Ik. 



-ff 



^' 



204 



FOJiMS OF rAKTINO AXl) ABSENCE. 



fb 



(.X>MK TO MK, DKARKST. 

t'oMK to iiu>, (Iwu-^vst, 1 "m loiu-ly witho\it theo. 
l^nvtimo imd iiight-tinio, I in tliinkiug aKiiit 

tluv ; 
Night-timo and di>ytin>t>, in ihwiins 1 1h>1>oU1 

thoo ; 
rnwoloonu' tlio wsikins; wliioli otwses to fo\il tlioo. 
Oo\no to ino, ilailinj;. n>y sorixiws to ligliti-n, 
IVmo ill tJiy Ivanty to hlivss ami to hiigliton ; 
I'oiiio in thy womaiiluxnl, nnvkly niui lowly, 
Conio in tliy loviiigness, ijuooiily and holy. 

S\v:d\o\vs will Ilit ivimd tlu> dosoliito niiu, 
Ti'lUiii; of spviuj; and its joyous iviunviiig ; 
.Viulthoiijthtsollhylovo.anditsinanifoldtitMismts 
Ai\< oiivlinj; my lu\>vt with a juvniiso of j>K\isuro. 
O S)>ring of my sjYiiit, May of my Kisimh, 
81iiiuH>ntonmysonl, till itKnii^^^nand blossom; 
Tho wasto of my lifo has a iwso-iwt witliin it. 
And thy fondness alono to tho snnsliiiio oan win it, 

Kis;mv that movos liki< a song through tho ovon ; 
Fwitiii\>s lit up by a ivllox of hoavoii ; 
Eyi's lik(> tho skios of jhwv Eiin, our mothor, 
Whoiv shadow iuid sun&hiiio an> chasing eadi 
other ; 



Smilos coming seldom, but childlike and single, 
Planting in each i\wy cheek a sweet dimple ; — 
i.\ thiuiks to the Saviour, that even thy .seeming 
Is left to the e.xile to brighten his divaming. 

You have Khhi glad when yon knew 1 was glad- 

deiitnl : 
0«ir, au< you sad now to hear 1 am .saddened ! 
Onr lusirts over luiswer in tune and in time, love. 
As octave tooctjive, and rhyme unto rhyme, love : 
1 cannot weep but your teai-s will be llowing. 
You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing ; 
1 would not die without you at my side, love. 
You will not liiigi<r when 1 sliall have diisl, love. 

Come to me, dear, eiv 1 die of my sorivw, 
Kise on my ghHun like the sun of to-morivw ; 
StTOUg, swift, and fond as the wonls which 1 

.<lHvi}v, love, 
AVith a song on your lip and a smile on your 

cheek, love. 
Come, for my heart in your al>senco is weary, — 
Haste, for my spirit is sickcnwl and dix'ary, — 
Come to the arms which alone should caivss tluv. 
Come to the lieai't that is thivbbing to pix'ss thee ! 
Jostiru Bkennan. 



u 



-^ 



e-- 



■a 



^ 



m^ 



'^^^^5^ 



POI-.MS OF SORROW A\D ADVHRSITY 



f^. <3eL 



& 



e-- 



-i^ 




€ 

\ 



^- 



-4? 



r 



■-n 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT AND 
ESTRANGEMENT. 



[&- 



THE BANKS O' DOON. 

Ye banks and braes o' Ixjmiie Dooii, 

How can ye bloom sae fresli ami fair ? 
How can ye chant, ye little Ijirds, 

And I sae weaiy, fu' o' care ? 
Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wantons through the flowering thorn ; 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return. 

Ah hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 

And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny ti'ee ; 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 

koLERT BL'RNS. 



AITLD ROBIN GRAY. 

Whe.n the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 's 

come hame. 
And a' the wear}' warld to rest are gane ; 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ce, 
Unkeut by my gudeman wha sleefw sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and socht me for hLs 
bride ; 

But, saving a crown piece, he had naething be- 
side. 

To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to 
sea ; 

And the crown and the pound they were Vjaith 
for me ! 

He hadna been gane awa a twelvemouth and a 

day, 
\Vhen my father brake his arm, and the cow was 

stown awa ; 



My mither she fell sick, my young Jamie was at 

sea, — 
And auld Kobin Gray cam' a courting me. 

My father cou'dna wark, — my mither cou'dna 

spin, — 
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna 

win ; 
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' t«ars 

in his ee, 
Said, "Jenny, 0, for their sakes, will ye no 

marry me !" 

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back ; 
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a 

wTack ; 
His ship was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie die ? 
Or why am I spared to cry, Wae 's me ? 

My father urged me sair, — my mither didna 

speak, 
But she looked in my face till my heart was like 

to break ; 
They gied him my hand, my heart was in the 

sea ; 
And so Kobin Gray he was gudeman to me. 

I hadna been his wife, a week but only four. 
When, mounifuUy as I sat on the stane at my 

door, 
I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I cou'dna think it he, 
Till he said, " I 'm come hame, love, to marry 

thee ! " 

sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a', 

1 gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa', 

I wish that I were dead, but I 'm na like to die ; 
For though my heart is broken, I 'm but young, 

wae 's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin ; 
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But 1 '11 do my best a gude wife to be. 
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 



^^ 



[^ 



206 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



-a 



THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 



NIGHT'S ORE 



For aught that ever 1 couki reiui, 

L'oukl ever hear by tale or history. 

The coui-se of true love never diil run smooth : 

liut, either it was dillereiit in blood, 

Or else misgratl'ed in respect of yoai-s ; 

t>r else it stood upon the choice of friends ; 

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 

War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 

Making it momentary as a sound, 

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 

Brief as the lightning in the eoUied night. 

That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. 

And ere a man hath power to siiy, — Behold 1 

The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 

So quick bright things come to confusion. 



IIAKBSPEARE 



«-- 



BYRON'S LATEST VERSES. 



'T IS time this heart should be unmoved. 
Since others it has ceased to move ; 
Yet, though I cannot be beloved. 
Still let me love. 

My days ai-o in the yellow leaf. 
The flowers and fruits of love are gone. 
The worm, the canker, and the grief, 
Are mine alone. 

The fire that in my bosom preys 
Is like to some volcanic isle. 
No torch is kindled at its blaze, 
A funeral pile. 

The hope, the fear, the jealous care. 
The exalted portion of the jmin 
And power of love, 1 cannot share, 
r>ut wear the chain. 

But 't is not here, — it is not here, 
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, 
Where glory seals the hero's bier. 
Or binds his brow. 

The sword, the banner, and the field, 
lilory and Greece about us see ; 
The Spartan l)orne upon his shield 
Was not more free. 

Awake ! not Greece, — she is awake ! 
Aw:ike, my spirit ! think through whom 
My life-blood tastes its paient lake. 
And then strike home ! 



Tread those reviving passions down, 
Unworthy manhood ! unto thee, 
Indillerent should the smile or frown 
Of beauty be. 

If thou regrett'st tliy youth, — why live? 
The land of honorable death 
Is here, — up to the field, and give 
.'\way thy brcutli I 

Seek out — less often sought than found — 
.\ soldier's grave, for thee the best ; 
Then look around, and choose thy ground. 
And take thy rest ! 

LuKU Byron. 



CLAUDE MELNOTTE'S APOLOGY AND DE- 
FENSE. 

rAVUSE, by pride 
.-Vngels have fallen ere thy time ; by pride, — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold, — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love 
And a ifveugeful heart had power upon thee. 
Krom my first years my soul was tilled with thee ; 
1 saw thee midst the tlowers the lowly boy 
Tended, unmarked by thee, — a spirit of bloom. 
And joy and freshness, as spring itself 
Were nnide a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
1 Siiw thee, and the pa.ssionate heart of man 
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 
.\nd from that hour 1 grew — what to tlui la.st 
1 shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love. 
Vain, frantic, — guilty, if thou wilt, Iwcame 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
1 thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell, — how maidens sprung from 

kings 
Have stooped from their high sphere ; how Love, 

like Death, 
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
Beside the scepter. Thus I nnide my home 
In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
My father died ; and I, the ]ieasant-l)orn, 
Was nry own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
Out of the prison of my mean estate : 
And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 
Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my 

ransom 
From those twin jailers of the daong heart. 
Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright inntge. 
Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory. 
And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
By which man nuisters men ! For thee, 1 grew 
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! 
For thee, I sought to borrow from each Grace 
And every Muse such attributes as lend 
Ideal charms to Love. 1 thought of thee, 



^ 



AXD ESTRANGEMENT. 



207 



n 



B-«- 



And passion tauglit nie j(oesy, — of tlu;<;, 

And on llic |)aintei's canvas grew the life 

ijf beauty ! — Art tecame the slia»low 

Of the dear starlight of thy liaunting eyes ! 

Men called ine vain, — some, mad, — I heeded 

not ; 
But still toiled on, hoped on, — for it was sweet, 
If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee I 

At laiit, in one mad hour, 1 dared U> pour 
The thoughts that buret their channels into song. 
And scut them to thee, — such a tribute, lady. 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name — apjwnded by the burning heart 
That longed to show its idol wluit bright things 
It ha<l created — yea, the enthusiast's name. 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy 

scom ! 
That very hour — when passion, turned t» wrath. 
Resembled hatred most ; when thy diwiain 
ilade my wliole soul a chaos — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful U>o\ 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the 

wonn, — 
It turned, and stung thee ! 

EDV-'AkD BULWER (1-OKD LYTTON). 



LEFT BEHIND. 

It was the autumn of the year ; 
The strawberry, leaves were re<l and sear ; 
October's airs were fresh and chill. 
When, j>auslng on the windy hill. 
The hill that overlooks the sea, 
"you talkol confidingly to me, — 
Me whom your keen, artistic sight 
Has not yet learned to read aright, 
Since I have veiled my heart from you. 
And loved you better than you knew. 

You told me of your toilsome past ; 
The tardy honors won at last, 
The trials borne, the conquests gaine<l. 
The longed-for boon of Fame attained ; 
I knew that every Wctory 
But lifted you away from me, 
That every step of high emprise 
But left me lowlier in your eyes ; 
1 watched the distance as it grew, 
And loved you better than you knew. 

You did not see the bitter trace 
Of anguish sweep across my face ; 
You did not hear my proud heart beat, 
Heav)" and slow, beneath your feet ; 
You thought of triumph still unwon. 
Of glorious deeds as yet undone ; 



And 1, the while you talkwl to me, 
1 watched the gulLs Hoat lonesomely, 
Till lost amid the hungry blue, 
And loved you better than you knew. 

You walk the sunny side of fate ; 
The wise world smiles, and calls you great ; 
The golden fruitage of success 
Drops at your feet in plcnteousness ; 
And you have blessings manifold ; 
Kenown and jwwer and friends and gold, 
They build a wall l)ctween us twain, 
Which may not \x: thrown down again, 
Alas ! for I, the long years through, 
Have loved you l;etter than you knew. 

Your life's proud aim, your art's Iiigh truth. 
Have kept the promise of your youth ; 
And while you won the crown, which now 
Breaks into bloom u|K)n your brow, 
ily soul cried strongly out to you 
Across the ocean's yearning blue, 
While, unrememlwred and afar, 
1 watched you, as 1 wat<;h a star 
Through darkness struggling into view, 
And loved you better than you knew. 

I used to dream in all these years 

Of [Kitient faith and silent tears, 

That iMve's strong hand would put aside 

The barriers of place and pride, 

Would reach the pathless darkness through. 

And draw me softly up to you ; 

But that is past. If you should stray 

Beside my grave, some future day, 

Percliance the violets o'er my dust 

Will half l>etray their buried trust, 

And say, their blue eyes full of dew, 

"She loved you letter tlian you knew." 

Elizabeth akers Allen (Florence Percy). 



LINDA TO HAFED. 

FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPERS." 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 
Of her own gentle voice afraid. 
So long had they in silence stood, 
Ixioking ujKin that moonlight flood, — 
" How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 
To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 
Oft in my fancy's wanderings, 
I 've wished that little isle had wings, 
And we, within its fairy >x)wers, 

Were wafte<l off to seas unknown, 
Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

And we might live, love, die alone ! 



■^ 



a-^. 



208 



POKMS OF DISAPPOlNTAtS:iT 



n 



©- 



WluMV tl>o Wijjitt i>v«>s of uuftvls only 
Sl\>>\iKI lOiuo aiw\n>l lis, to Ix-lioUl 

A ivkraiUsw so piuv «iul \oiiol_v ' 
WouKl t)>is I* woiUl I'lion^nh lor thw ! " — 
riii_Yl\il she tuvuwl, that ho lui^ht s»>e 

Tho (wssiii^s; s\»Uo hoi- ohook l>vit im ; 
l$Ht whoii sho lUiuktHl hv>\v i>i>>urul'ull,Y 

His oy«w un't hoi~s, that smilo was j^vwo ; 
,\\nl, btu'stivj; into h<'aitl'olt tears, 
" Yiv-i, yos," sho ovuhI, ■•my hourly fesu's, 
My (li-v^tuus, have Knlisl all to<> rij;lit, — 
Wo jwrt — foivvor \>«rt — tv>-nij;ht ! 
I know, 1 know it i\'m/i< not last, — 
"r was hiij;l»t, 't was Uivavouly, Imt 't is |>«st ! 
(.\ over thus, fivm ihiKlhiWs ho\»v, 

I "vo s«m« my I'oiulost hojHvs dw-ay ; 
1 itoYor lovwl a t«H> or tlowor 

U«t 't was Uie first to faUe away. 
I uovor intrsed a »l<vu' gaioUo. 

To jjlail me with its soft Waok ey«s 
l>ut whou it oame to know me well, 

.\i>vl love tue, it was s»\iv to die ! 
Now, tvHv, the joy tmxst like vliviue 

V^tall 1 ever ili\«mt or knew. 
To s<v th«\ hear thiv, oall thw mine, — 

Hvisevy ! must I K»se tAat t>H> ? 

ri40M.XS M0<.>Ktl 



RKKTHA IN THK UANK. 

Pf r the ^^^>^v^el'y-t^•ame away, 
Kor my sewing is all iloiie ! 

The last thiwul is usevl to-vlay. 
Ami I iietnl not join it on, 
Thotigh the ohvk stsuuls at the uooM, 
1 am weary ! 1 have s<>wh, 
Sweet, I'w thee, a w wUUng-gvwu. 

Sister, help me to the K^l, 

And stanvl neai- me, di^aivst -sweet ! 
VV not shrink nor he afftud, 

lUusliinjj with a smUlen heat ! 

No luie standeth in the street I — 

By Owl's love 1 g\^ to nnvt. 

Love 1 thee with h>ve evm\\Jete. 

Lean thy faee down '. divj> it in 
These two httnds, that I may hold 

Twixt their jvdms thy cheek and ehiu, 
Sttwkiug haok the exnls of j^ild, 
"T is a fair, fair I'aiv, in s^x»th, — 
l^arjp^r eyes and reildev month 
Th;u» mine werv in my first youth ! 

Thou art younger by seven years — 
Ah ! so hasht\tl at my guze 



That the laslies, hung with twirs, 
l)row too heavy to ujuiiise ; 
1 wviuld wound th<H> by no tonoh 
Wliieh thy shyness feels as s\U'h, — 
Oosi thou luiiul me, dwir, so mueh t 

Have I not lieen nigh a tnother 

To thy sweetnivss, — tell m<\ dear ! 

Have we i>ot lovtxl oue another 
Tenderly, fwm year to ytvar, 
Sinee onr dying mother mild 
Said, with aeeeuts nndeliliHl, 
" I'hild, K' itiother to this ehild ! " 

Mother, mother, vip in h«»ven. 
Stand ui> on the jasjH'r stvi, 

A>\d Ih> witness I have given 
All the gifts iv>iv>i»V\l of nu- ; — 
Uo|Hi that W<>ss<hI me, hliss that eivwuinl. 
Love tliat left me with n wound, 
Ijfe itself, that turueth ivund ! 

Mother, mother, thou art kind. 

Thou art standing in the twnr. 
In a molten glory shriued. 

That rays oil" into the gloom ! 

Hut thy smile is Ixright and Weak, 

lake eold wav<>s, — 1 eannot sii<\>k ; 

1 sob in it, and gi\>w weak. 

Ghostly mother, keep aloof 

One hour lo\ig»'r fivm n\y sv>ul, 
Kor I still am thinking of 

Karth's w!U'm-lH\»ting joy and dole ! 

0\i my linger is a ring 

Whieh 1 still se« glittering. 

When the night hides everything. 

little sister, thou art jwle ! 

Ah, 1 have a wandering laniu ; 
But I lose that fever-Kile, 

A\>d my thoughts g>vw ealm Kgaiu. 

Lean down closer, closer still ! 

1 have woi\ls thine ear to fill. 

And would kiss thet> at my will. 

l">eai\ 1 heiH\l thee in the spring, 
The<> and Kv^Wrt, thivngh the trees, 

AVheu we all went gathering 

Boughs of May-WvHm\ for the bees. 
1\> not start so ! tlrink instead 
lU«v the snnslune overhead 
Se<'med to trickle through the shade. 

What a day it was, that day ! 

Hills and vales did oiH'nly 
Seem to ht\«ve and thivb away. 

At the sight of the great sky ; 



-^ 



[& 



AND mriiANOEMKST. 



-^-f^ 

200 r 



An/I th« Marvj;, a* it i!Vx>] 
Aw\My dill, l/u/l, — mul iiiul '. 

Thr'^ugh thft winding fuvlge-rows i^-mu, 
How v/i; vfun/Utrf/i, I ami yon, — 

With tin; (y/wery t/>j»» (shut in, 
An'l th/; gat*Ji tliat nhowfA ttw; vi<;w ; 
H'yw w<; Uith-A tiitm ! thninltm y/i'.\ 
Bang <jur imiiw* out, or oft 
filiiatings t/>'<k Ui«rn fro/n th/; «r'/('.. 

Till the plea«rir*, gtowit too istrong, 

I>!ft Hi* mullet i^vuniifif: ; 
An/1, tjw; win'iing f/a/l U;i/jg h/r<g, 

I viiiWuA out of tight, i/zifori; ; 

An/1 BO, wraj/t in mii>;ings fon'i, 

lnHUfA (irmt t)</; v/aysi/i* (<'//i<l; 

On tlift m«a/l//w-lan'l* t/eyon/l. 

I gat d//wn V»en/:ath the hee/jh 
W'hi/;h l/:an« ov';r to tlw; Ian';, 

An/1 tii/; fiir soun/1 of your isj'>ee/;h 
Di/1 riT/t firoiiiim any \mii ; 
An/1 I hl/assfl you, full an/l fr/;/;, 
With a Kmil/; nUj'/ii^i t«n<l/;rly 
O'er tlifc May-flz/weru on my kn*<;. 

But tlj* (iz/un/l gr'rtv iaUi word 
A« tl//; isj/zrakers <irew «i//r<; n*ar — 

Bweet, forgive nj* titat I h<;ar'l 
\S^lat you vf'us\ifA rn* not to hear. 
Do rj//t weep <•/>, dr/ n/>t (shak/; — 
0, 1 hear/1 tl/ee, Bertlia, make 
Ooo'l true an»wer« f//r rny hake, 

Ve«, an/1 lie t/f, '. let hir/i etand 

In thy tfi//ugl<t«, aiiUjwAifA by Warne. 

CouI/1 he help it, if n<y lian'l 

He ha4 elainie/l with liasty '.laim ' 
TiiHt wa» wr//ng f/erliapii, 1/ut th/;n 
8ii/;h thir/gji 1/; — an/i will, again I 
W//men cann/>t jadge for rnen, 

Ha/1 lift seam thee, when he (swore 
He wouU love but rrie al//ne ? 

Th/ju wert absent, — isent Mon 
To 'KIT kin in Kidnrwuth town. 
Wlien he saw th/;/;, who art h*st 
Pa*t /sornpare, and loveli/:«t. 
He but ju4ge<l thee a* the re*t, 

CV/tjH we blame him with grave woidit, 
Thou and I, dear, if we miglit ? 

Thy br//WB eye» have l'<ok» like bird* 
Klying straightway to the light : 
Mine are oWer, — Hu«h ; — look <rat — 
Cp tl<e istreet ! f* n'/ne withf/ot ? 
How the popUr Kwing* aJ/oat ; 



Aii/1 that hwir — Sihin^uMi u •• ■/•;)/ ii 

Wl(«n I VuiUiiifl ill a drean;, 
An/1 lie ual/l, in hix 'le^rp tjx->:' h, 

'I i,a'. IjI; OW'/J ;/,.: ail ««te«w< — 

1-j!/ ;, w'/c' >.■/..!//, i.'j '//I my brain 

Vi'it.J, a 'iu/i, 'Uimiir/_ j/ain, 

Till it t/iinit with that la«t istraln- 

( (ell Il/y/.le.l with a .lark, 
I n the mhii/n: </f a tw/x/n ; 

■'■ herj f fo^-e. fr^Tf,'!. '-o!'! ;?:;'} ^"•^.v-V, 



.>>eii»e/i t// ViOit*k*ii w/jal J rt;sw:, 

An/1 1 walked a* if a|/art 

Fr'/m wymlf when I 'y/uld stand. 
And I ;;;';e<! :r;v owr: heart, 

.- i,an/l 

'. a i»en»; 

Ai^i a " !'<>// li.,/,(j " negligence, 

Arj/1 1 answered 'y/l/lly t/y/, 

When voij rind me at tf/e door ; 



A(» ujy tiie. 


iiKifxlunii, lor mi:. 


1)0 not V 


\imt%-iiAnii 


It v/a. 




If I .: , . 





iiunjs VI laint in wonti.'. 



i;* -',-,; iiu>^, ■ 
I Wl died, ')■ 

IJfe'i! h/ng, jo. . . - y ,;ime 

Is t/A lotid for mv n/eek 6lia,'(ie, 



Thou art row //W, 

And r/jeant, vi;. .. ., 

Life'ii pure pUa«iire« manifold. 

I am pale ass 'ct'/c^v. '^if'ivi 
(Vli/tf: \iisguiii a roee-tree'i root f 






/ •( > k.\/kS of D2iHi*iH)L\r.\t ^ .V /• 



^ 



Twvxls t.lu> OIVOUS HIldlT IvWt i 

1, likp M!>y-1\Uh>ih >>u lluMivlivo, 
Tliou, liko moiTV sv<muu'i-ln><>,' 
Kil t\\M 1 l><> uliiok.sl r»i lluH', 

Yot \\1\>> i>l>i>'ks n\o ' uvi >\in> m>>i\i'iis ; 
1 l\avo livrtl ii>_\ s<vt>s>>i> out, 

Auvl now \lio v>f ii\,v own thoins, 
Whioh 1 >-ouM not Uv* wiUionl. 
Sw.vl, tv mony ! Mow tho li^lK 
i\>u\(vs anil s^Hv» I ir it Iv nvjjlit, 
Kivi> tlio »>i»t»ll<>s in m^v' si^^shl-, 

Aiv t.l\piv (\H>tst<<i^ at tln> >UH>r ■ 
l,>»ok out ii«\ok\v, Yim, oi' u*,v f 

SoH\<> ono tni^itUt Ih> waitin^j; for 
Svnno last woi\i that I n\ij;l>t s;>_v. 
Nay ' So lx>st I So anjjx'ls woulvi 
Stand olV oU>iU' IVni >i««t.lil,v i\w4 
Not to oi\«s t.lu> sijjht of lirxl. 

l\\l.t<'i- j!r\>\v tivj- luu\ils ai\vi f«H<t, — 
WUon I w<>ar tlio sliivmd I luatK 

l«M tlio folds U<> stj-ai^isht and Hoat, 
A\ul t.ht< wvirtuavv Ih> s|m<ad, 
TUat if ai\v tVi<M»l shoviUl tvn>tv, 
(.To s»H> t^, sw«H>t !> all tho >\Hm» 
May Iv lil'linl out of jtUnxin, 

Ah>1, vl«>r Uortlia, li>t ino ktvp 
^^u luy hanvl this littlo liiij;, 

Whiv-h at nijjhts, wlu'n othocs sUh'JS 
I oat» still stv glittoiiu^i;, 
l^t nu> wMr it out of sijjht, 
lu th<> gravis — whiuv it will li^ht 
All th* vlsu'k »iis >Uv ajul uijjht, 

Oi\ that j;>t»vv> >h\>j> not a t«M- ! 

Klso, tUoujth fathon>-il<v|i tho )xlai"\\ 

Thivuj;h tho w\wlo»\ shivuvi I wxvu- 
I shall IWI it o\> my faiv, 
Rathor smilo thov\\ WinssihI v»n<>, 
'riiinkiu^i; of luo iu tho suii, — 
Or fo\>!:»'t m<s siuilinjt v>n ! 

Art thou n<\tr n\o ■ (uwvr ' sv> ! 
Kiss mo oUv!^< uiv>» tho oyos. 

That tho iv^rthly li^jht may J^> 
Swwtlv as it \>s«\i to ris»\ 
Whou I w;>toh<\l tho <m\nunjv jji'sy 
Strike K'twixt tho hills, tho way 
Uo was sur<> tv> ivuw that day. 

S\< — uo mow vain wotxls ho said ! 

Tho hivsauuas uoaivr roll 
Mothor. sniilo now ou thy dtN^d, — 

1 am d<>»th-«H\xuj; in i\>y s<»«l ' 



Mystio Dovo alit on owws, 
Ouido tho jKHir l\i(\l of tho tnowst 
'n»vnsl> tho anow-wind «K>vo lius I 

.losns, viotiui, ooiujux'hondinj; 

l.ovo's divino solt'-<»hni>){alion, 
Olwrnso uiy lovo iu its solf-snoudiug, 

And aKsorb tho i>oor liK'ition ! 

\Viu>l u\y thiwid of lifo u\\ hi^hor, 

l'j> thiMU^h auj»»>ls" hands of liiv ! ■ 

1 aspiiv wliilo 1 oxjuiv ! • - 

tUljAUlun lUKKI'ir llKOWMNv;, 



UNRK^lHTKn LOVK 



fROM " nviii.i'rH Niv-.itv ' 



Vioi_\. Ay, l>«t I know - 

UvKK. Wltat d<vit thou know f 

Yloi.,v. TiH> woU what lovo womon to m«ii 
tnay owo ; 
In faith, thoy aiv as trno of lnvirt as w*. 
My fathov had a daujslilor lov«d a iua«. 
As it mi^itht Iv. jH-rhaivs. wow I a wvMutui, 
\ should Yoiu' lowlship- 

Ot'KK, Auvl what 's hor history > 

Yiv>i.,\, .\ Wank, nty Uml. Sho tiovw told 
hor lov»\ 
l^ut lot >vuiH\>l\uont, liko a worm i" tho bud. 
Fo«kI v>n hor dau\ask oluvk ; sho piuivl in thoti^ht ; 
.\«d. with a j!ixv\> an>i voUow luolanolioly, 
Sho Silt liko l^^tionoo ou a \uouu\uont, 
SiuiUn)» at ,»;riot'. Was not this lovo, indtVHl > 
Wo u>on \u;»y sj>y moiv. sw<>ar n>oix> ; hut, indotnl, 
t^ur shows aw mo>x< than will ; fvw still wo \>imt» 
Much iu our vows, hut littlo iu our lovo. 

SHAKKSrKARK. 



nOROTHY IN THK 0.\KRKT, 

In tho low-ml^oixxl j!?irix>t, stwinng 

Cajvfully ovor tho onwkiiij; K>a»\ls, 
Old Maid IXuvthy J^HVi a-};>x»l>iu.it 

.Vmonjt its dusty and wlvwvhly>d hosuxls ; 
SiHvkiuj; somo hnuvUo of n*toh»\<. hid 

Far uudor tho <>av<>s. or Imuoh of s;vjn\ 
Or s;>tohol huivjt ou its nail, amid 

Tho hoirhnuns of a hygvMio .'«)^\ 

Thow is tho aj\oiout family v-host. 

Tl\or<> tho auiH>st«il oarvls .■u\d hatohd ; 
lX>rv<thy, si^hi\\sj. siuks down tx> r<xst. 

For)^'tl\>l of jvatv-hos. s.'^-. and satohol. 
Ohosts of fa>\>s jwr IVmu tho );h>»>u» 

Of tho ohimuoy. who>x\ with swills imd reel. 
Aud tho lou^^^disusovl. dismantl^l Uhmu. 

Stsuids tho old-fashiomsl spinuiuji-wlxisl. 



4> 



■e 



G- 



AND JCHTRANGEMEST. 



211 



^ 



m 



She sewi it t«i/;k in tlje cUan-»wept kiU-liKU, 

A i<art <jf iter girll»'>o'l'i> little worW ; 
Her mutimr i* tlierc by tiic «fi«ilow, stil<;liiijg ; 

Sj(in<lie buzzeti, awl reel ix wiiirl":-! 
With iiiany a i;li';k ; on her litth; jsUxjI 

She »sit«, a ehiW, l/y tli* ojjen <hx)r, 
Wal/jliing, and <laljUing her feet in the i>o<jl 

Of sunshine Hpilled on the gihled fto</r. 

Her 8ist<:r» are spinning all 'lay long ; 

To l»";r wakening seiuse the fiiist swe«t warning 
Of daylight com* is the <:Uv:tiiil wng 

To tlie hurn of the wheel in the early murning. 
Benjie, the gentle, fA-cliKtikiA iioy. 

On his way to school, i*(;i« in at tlie gate ; 
In n<ait white pinafore, plea«*l and <x<y, 

Sli* r<;a/;hjes a band to her l^ashful njaV: ; 

And un'ler the elms, a prattling i«ir, 

Togeth/;r they go, through glinu/ier and 
gloom : — 
It all comes W;k to lier, dr'aming tl/ere 

In the low-raftere'l garret- r'xwn ; 
The hum of tli« wh/*l, an*! the summer w'aither, 

The luart'* first trouble, an/1 love's Ijeginning, 
Are all in her mem/yry link'^l Vignher ; 

And n'/w it is she lte;'self that is spinning. 

With the bloom of youth on eheek and lip, 

Tuniing the sjx^kes with th<; flashing pin, 
Twhiting the threa/1 from the spindk-tip. 

Stretching it out and windirjg it in. 
To and fro, with a blithesome trea4. 

Singing she g'>es, and her heart i» full. 
And many a long-<lrawn gohien thread 

Of fancy is spun with the shining wooL 

Her father sit* in his favorite pla/*. 

Puffing his pijje by the ehimneynBi'le ; 
Through curling clou'ls hi» kindly face 

Glows ujwn her with hyve an<l f/ride. 
Lalle<l by the wheel, in tfje oU arm-eliair 

Her motlier is musing, cat in lap. 
With beautiful droof/ing liirad, and Iiair 

Whitening under her snow-whit/; cap. 

One 1^ one, to the grave, to the bri'lal. 

They Ijave folkiwe'l her sist/rrs from the door : 
^ow they are ol'l, and she is their i<iol : — 

It all comes Ijack on her heart once more. 
In the autumn dusk the hearth glearuK brightly. 

The wh«el is set by the (ha/lowy wall, — 
A liand at the UtcU, — 't is lift*/l lightly. 

And in walks Benjie, manly and talL 

His cJiair is placed ; the old rnan tij/s 
The pitcher, and bringx his choi'jwst fruit ; 

Benjie basks in the hLaze, and sij/s. 
And tells hi« Btoty, and joints his flute ; 



O, sweet the tunes, the talk, the laugljter ! 

They fill the hour with a glowing ti'le ; 
liut sweeter the still, di^ep moments after. 

When sh<; i» alone by ISenjie's side. 

liut once with angry wor'hs they ]<ajt : 

O, then the weary, weary days : 
Kver with restless, wrebclje'l heart, 

I'lying her task, she turns to gaze 
Far up the roa<l ; and early and late 

fthe liarks for a f'X^tetep at tlie d'wr. 
And starts at the gujst tliat swings tV; gate, 

And prays for IJenjie, who wwes no more. 

Her fault < Benji*;, and ' 

Your thoughts toward out • 
H'/ia/.'i she »<:eki! in tlie whiiii;.^ 

In duty and love tliat ligliten y-'j-- ; 
Striving with ]«'/'..■■, r.'/- ::. v: ::.. 

To drive aw^ 
IJlessing the • 

OfadeeiXf),; .,•■.. 

I'roud and jjetted and ispoile'l was she : 

A word, and all her life is ehanged '. 
His wavering love U/ij easily 

In the gr'ait, ^ay <■!••.' «■"•»- "~*rar!«ed : 
Ojie year ; sii' 

A rustle, a : 
Your fW;* an • •■ '■ 

"V is Benjie naniu.g a Aj.it^-.- it*.'i .M^.ie ! 

Xow father and mother i.»v.; >/;.l' vr-ru dea/1. 

And the bride sleej yard hVim, 

And a bent old mau id 

Walks up the long 'ua, ai ,■; a.Mie. 
Years blur to a mist ; and iJorotby 
1 ftits doubting Ijetwixt the gli'wt she secHiS 
i And the phantom of youth, more real titan she, 
I That meets her there in that Ijaunt of drear/is. 

Bright young Dorothy, idolized daughter, 

Sought by many a youthful a/iorer, 
Life, like a new-risen dawn on tlje water, 

Shining an endless vista l>:fore Iter ! 
Old Maid fJorothy, wrinkled and gray. 

Groping under the fann-house eaves, — 
And life is a brief Novem5>;r 'lay 

That set* 'yn a world of withered leaves ! 

Yet fjaithfulness in the humblest j/art 
Is better at last than proud su'^^/rss. 
And patience and love in a chas-ten<^ heart 



Are j)ear!« rry; 
And ■■ 

To- 
AUt! 

And iiie,Ji/iig j 



^■sppinew ; 
: wake 
-th again. 



■^ ',u tlie }>ane. 

KB T Tk 



:.-r3 



a-: 



212 



roEMS OF DISAPPOIXTMKyr 



-^ 



MAKK BKUKVK 

Kiss m>', thoujih you \ni\ko l*lieve ; 

Kiss me, though 1 iilim>si know 
You int> kissing to (lovoivo : 

Lot till' tiilo ouii moiuiMit How 
l>iukw!U\l ore it viso ami l>n>«k, 
Ouly I'oi' jioor pity's sjiko ! 

Oivti uie of your Mowers one le-!«f, 
tiive me of your sutiles one smile, 

Ivukwtiul roJl this tide of grief 
Just a moment, though, the while, 

1 shouKl feel and almost know 

You are trilling with my woe. 

Whisper to rae sweet aiul low ; 

Toll mo how you sit ami weave 
l>i\ams about mo, though I know 

It is only make iH'lieve ! 
Just a miunent, though 't is plain 
You are jesting with my jwin. 



ALICB Carv. 



AN KXPERIKNOK AND A MORAL. 

I i.KX r my love a Kx>k one ilay ; 

She hreught it baok ; 1 laid it by ; 
"r was little either had to say, — 

She W!>s so strange, and 1 so slty. 

But yet we loved indilfereiit things, — 
The spreuting buds, the l>ii\ls in tune, — 

And Time stow! still and wreathed his wings 
With i\>sy links from June to June. 

For her, what task to dare or do • 
What iH<ril tempt > what hai\lship bear ? 

But witli her — ah ! she never knew 
My hoiUt, and what was hidden there ! 

And she, with me, so cold and eoy, 
S<'emsHl a little maid liereft of sense ; 

lUit in the erewd, tUl life and joy, 
And full of blushful impudemt.'. 

She marrieil, — well, — a woiuan needs 
A mate, her life and love to sliare, — 

And little oaiws sprang up like woihIs 
And played iux>uud her elliow-ohair. 

And yeai-s relUnl by, — but I, content, 
'IViiumod my own lamjs and kept it blight, 

TUl agt>"s tiHuh my hair Wspivnt 
With rays and gleams of silver light. 

.\ud then it ehance^l 1 tiH>k the Kx>k 
Whioh she jieruseil in days gvuio by ; 

And Sis 1 r<»ad, such jwssion sluwk 
>lv soul, — 1 netnls luust ouise or crv. 



For, here and tJiere, her love was writ. 
In old, half-faded iieneil-signs. 

As if slie yielded — hit by bit — 
Her heart in dots and \inderlines. 

Ah, silvered fool, too late you look I 
1 know it ; let me here reeonl 

This ma.\ira : Zuitii ito ffirl a book 
L'nleis i)ou read i<<»y?ei"MY«rt/.' 

I'KBUtiKlCK S. COZ2BN& 



OxLv a woman's right-hand glove. 

Five and three tiuarters, Courvoisior's n\nke, — 
For all eouimou puriH>ses useless enough. 

Yet dwuvr for her sweet ssike. 

Dearer to me for her who tilled 

Its empty place witii a warm white hand, — 
The hand I held ere her voice was stilled 

In the slwp trf the silent land. 

Only a glove ! yet sivaking to me 

Of the dear dead days now vanishes! and ttovl, 
And the face that 1 never again sliall see 

Till the grave give Ixick its dead. 

An empty glove ! yet to me how full 

Of the fragiiuu'e of days that come no more. 

Of memories that make us, and thoughts that 
rule 
Man's life in its inmost core ! 

The tone of her voice, the jKiise of her head, — 
All, all come liaek at the will's liehest : 

The music she lovtnl, the Kwks tlnit she read, — 
Nay, the colors that suitinl her Ivst. 

And 0, that night by the wild sea-sliore. 
With it* tears, and kisses, and vows of love. 

When, as phslge of the jwrting premise we swore, 
Kach gave a glove for a glove ! 

You langh .' but remeniKir though only a glove. 
Which to you may no deciier meaning express. 

To me it is changed by the light of that love 
To Jhe one swtwt thing I jkvssoss. 

Our souls vlraw their nurture from many a giwiiid. 
And faiths that are different in their ivots. 

Where the will is right, and the heart is sound. 
Are much the siune in their fruits. 

Men gi>t at the truth by ililVerent roads. 
And must live the jvart of it each one sees : 

You gather your guides out of ovthwlox cinles, 
I miuo out of tritUs like those. 



^ 



tr 



Fh 



AXD ESTRANGEMENT. 



^^ 



A triHe, no doubt, but, in such a case. 
So l^th'5'1 in the light of a love gone by, 

It lias enUrred the region and takes its place 
With the things that cannot die, 

ThLs trifle to uie is of heavenly birth ; 

No chance, as I take it, but purjx>sely given 
To help me to sit soinewliat looser to earth. 

And closer a little to heaven. 

For it seems to bring me so near, O, so near 
To the face of an angel wat<.hiug above, — 

That fa<;« of all othere I held m dear. 
With its yearning eyes of love I 



U^ 



IKTBOSFBCnON. 

Have you sent her bai;k her letters ? have you 

given her Ijack her ring ? 
Have you tried to forget the haunting songs that 

you loved to hear her sing ? 
Have youcuj-soltheilay you met her first, thank c I 

Go<i that you were free. 
And said, in your inmost heart, as you though;, 

" She never was dear to me" t 
You have <.aist her off; your j^ride is touched ; you 

fancy that all is done ; 
That for you the world is brightagain, and bravely 

shines the sun : 
Vou have w^ished your hands of passion ; you 

have whistled her down the wind, — 
Tom, old friend, this goes before, the sharjwst 

comes l>;hind ! 
Yes, the sliar]»es-t is yet to corne, for love is a plant 

that never dies ; 
Its roots are deep as the earth itself, its branches 

wide as the skies ; 
And whenever once it has taken hold, it flourish'js 

everujore, 
Biiaring a fruit that is fair outside, but bitter ashes 

at core. 

You will learn this, Tom, hereafter ; when anger 

lias cooled, and you 
Have time for introspection, you will find my 

wor'ls are true : 
You will sit and gaze in your fire alone, and fancy 

that you can see 
Her fa<?*, with its classic oval, her ringlets flut- 
tering free, 
Her Sfjft blue eyes wide opened, her sweet red 

lijw apart, 
As she used to look, in the golden days when 

you fancied she ha^l a heart : 
Whatever you do, wherever you turn, you will 

see that glorious face 
Coming with shadowy Ijeauty, to haunt all time 

and Bjjace ; 



I Those songs you wrote for her singing will sing 
I themselves into youj- biaiii. 

Till your life seems set to their rhythm, and your 

thoughts to their refi-4in; 
Their old, old burden of love and grief, — the jias- 

sion you have foresworn : 
I tell you, Tom, it is not thiowu off so well a.s 
', you think, this moi-n. 

But the worst, perhaps the worst of all, will 1* 
, when the day has flowii. 
When liarkness tavore reflection, and your coni- 

raxies l<-ave you alone ; 
You will try to sleep, but the memories of unfor- 

gotten yeare 
Will come with a storm of wild regret, — mayliap 

with a storm of ti:sirs ; 
Kach li><.ik, eaf.h wor'i, ea/.h jdaj-ful tijim, each 
I timid little '^ress. 

The golden gleam of her ringlets, the rustling of 

her dress. 
The deli'jate touch of her ungloved hand, that 

woke such an exquisite thrill. 
The flowers she gave you the night of the 1 :.;;. — 

I think you treasuie them still, — 
All these will come, till you slumljer, v.oni ■ ,t 

by sheer desi/aii, 
And then you will hear %'ague echoes of son;; on 

the darkened air, — 
I Vague echoes rising and falling, of the Voice you 

know so well. 
Like the songs that were sung by the Lurlei maids, 
I sweet with a deadly sjxill ! 
i 
In dreams her heart will ever again be yours, and 

you will see 
Fair glimpses of what might have been, — what 

now can never be ; 
A nd as she comes to meet you, with a sudden, wild 
I unrest 
You will stretch your arms forth lovingly to fold 

her to your bi-east : 
But the I,urlei song will fade and die, and with 

its fading tone 
You will wake to find you clasp the thin and 

emjrty aii alone, 
■While the fire-bells' clanging dissonance, on the 

gusty night-wind Ixjme, 
AVill S(=em an iron-tougued demon's voice, laugh- 
ing your grief to scorn. 
Tom, you say it is over, — you talk of letters 

and rings, — 
Do you think that Love's mightj' spirit, then, is 

held by such trifling things ? 
No ! if you on<ic have truly loved, you will still 

love on, I know, 
Till the churchyanl myrtles blossom alxive, and 

vou lie mute Ijelow, 



• — i — »-i 



ip-.Tr 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



--a 



How is it, 1 wonder, hei-e«ltt'r ? Kaith touches 

us littlo, here. 
Of tho Olios wo have loved and lost on enitli, — 

do you think they will still ho dear ! 
SliiUl wo live the lives we iiiij;ht have lead ? — 

will those who ar* seveitxl now 
lu'iiuniticv the [iledgoof a lower sjihere, and renew 

the hivkou vow ! 
It almost drives nie wild to think of the gifts 

we throw away, 
Uiithinkinj; whether or no wo lose Life's honey 

and wine for aye ! 
liut then, agiiin, 't is a mighty joy — groater tlian 

I can tell — 
To trust that the ^wrted may some time meet, — 

that all may again he well. 
However it he, 1 hold, that all tho evil we know- 
on earth 
Finds in this violeiuo done to I.ove its true and 

legitimate hirth ; 
And the agtuiies wo sullor, when the heart is left 

alone. 
For even- sin of Humanity should fully and well 

attuio, 

1 see tliut yon marvel givatly, Tom, to hoar siieli 

wonls fixuu me, 
But, if you knew my inmost heart, 't would he no 

mystery. 
Exiierioiiee is bitter, hut its teaohings w-o retain : 
It has tjuight mo this, — who onee has loveil, 

loves never on earth again ! 
And 1 too have my closet, with a ghastly form 

inside, — 
The skeleton of a perislRxi love, killed by a cruel 

jnide : 
1 sit Vy the fire at evening — as yon will some 

time sit. 
And watch, in the nvseato halfdight, the ghosts of 

happiness Hit ; 
I too awaken at midnight, and stretch mv arms 

to enfold 
A vague and shadowy image, w-ith t resses of brown 

and gidd ; 
Kxperieiice is bitter indeed, — I have learned at 

a heavy cost 
The secret of Love's ixn-sistency : 1 too have loved 

and lost ! 

GljOKOB AKN0U\ 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 

CoMKAPES, leave me lieiv a little, while as yet 

't is early morn, — 
Leave me here, and when you want mc, sound 

upon the bugle horn. 



"T is the place, and all aivuiul it, as of old, the 

curlews call. 
Dreary gleams about tho mooiliuid, living over 

Loi'ksley Hall : 

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks tho 
sandy tracts. 

And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cata- 
racts. 

Many a night frem yonder ivied casement, ore I 

went to ivst, 
Uid 1 look on great i->rion sloping slowly to tlio 

west. 

Many a night 1 saw tho I'lciads, rising through 

tho mellow sliade, 
lilittor like a swarm of lire-llios tangled in a silver 

braid. 

Here ahoul tho bench I wandered, nourishing a 

youth suhlime 
With the fairy tales of science, and the long 

result of time ; 

When the lonturics behind me like a fruitful 

land reposed ; 
When I oluug to all the present for the promise 

that it closed ; 

When 1 dipt into the future far a.s luinuui eye 

could see, — 
S)>w- the vision of the world, and all the wonder 

that would be. 

In tlie Spring a fuller orimsou comes in>oii the 

robin's breast ; 
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself 

another crest ; 

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the hur- 

iiishod dove ; 
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns 

to tlioughts of love. 

Then her cheek w-as pale and thinner than should 

bo for one so young. 
And her eyes on all my motions with a iiiut* 

ol>servance hung. 

And 1 said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and siieak 

the truth to me ; 
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being 

sets to thee. " 

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color 

and n light, 
j\s 1 have seen the rosy red Hushing in tho north 

ern night. 



&- 



-^ 



a--- 



AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



2K 



-a 



AdJ she turned, — her bosom shaken witli a sud- 
den storm of sighs ; ! 

AJl the siiiiit dc-cply dawning in tlie dark of liazel 
,-yn, -^ 

Saying, " I have hid my feelings, fearing tliey 

should do nic wrong " ; 
Saying, " Dost thou love me, cousin I " weeping, 

" 1 have loved thee long." 

Ijove took uji the glass of time, and turned it in 

his glowing hands ; 
Eveiy moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden 

sands. 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all 

the chords with might ; 
Smote the chord of Self, tliat, trembling, passed 

in music out of sight. 

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the 

copses ring. 
And her whisper thronged my pulses with the 

fullness of the Spring. 

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the 

stately 3hip.s, 
And our spirits rushed together at the touching 

of the lips. 

my cousin, shallow-hearted ! my Amy, 

mine no more ! 
0, the drear}', dreary moorland ! O, the barren, 

barren shore ! 



What is thLs? his eyes are heavy, — think not 

they are glazed with wine. 
Go to him ; it is thy duty, — kiss him ; take his 

liand in thine. 

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain Is 

overwrought, — 
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, toudi him 

with thy lighter thought. 

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to 

understand, — 
Better thou wcrt dead before me, though I slew 

thee with my hand ! 

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the 

heart's disgrace. 
Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last 

embrace. 

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the 

strength of youth 1 
Cursed be the social lies that waq) us from the 

living truth ! 

Cursed be the sickly fonus that err from honest 
nature's rule ! 

Cursed Ije the gold that gilds tlie straitened fore- 
head of tlie fool ! 

Well — 't is well that I should bluster ! — Ha<lst 

tliou less unwoithy proved, 
Would to Cod — for I had loved thee more tliau 

ever wile was loved. 



&. 



Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs 

have sung, — 
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a 

shrewish tongue ! 

Is it well to wisli thee happy ? — having known 

me — to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart 

than mine ! 

Yet it shall be : thou shall lower to his level day 
by day. 

What is fine within thee growing coarse to sym- 
pathize with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is ; thou art mated 

with a clown. 
And the grossness of his nature will have weight 

to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have 

spent its novel force. 
Something better than his dog, a littlo dearer 

than his horse. 



Am I iriad, that 1 sliouhl cherish that which l>ears 

Iml bitter fruit ? 
I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart 

be at the root. 

Never ! though my mortal summers to such length 
of years should come 

As the many-wintered crow tliat leads the clang- 
ing rookery home. 

Where is comfort ? in division of the records of 

the mind ? 
Can 1 jjart her from herself, and love her, as I 

knew her, kind ? 

I remember one that perished ; sweetly did she 

speak and move ; 
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was 

to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the 

love she bore ? 
No, — she never loved me tnily ; love is love for- 

evemiore. 



--& 



a- 



ne 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



■^ 



Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is truth 

the poet sings, 
That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering 

happier things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou leam it, lest thy 

heart be put to proof. 
In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain 

is on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams ; and thou art 

staring at the wall, 
^Vliere the dying night-lamp flickers, and the 

shadows rise and fall. 



What is that which I should turn to, ligliting 

upon days like these ? 
Everj- door is barred with gold, and opens but 

to goldtin keys. 

Every gate is thronged with suitors, all the mar- 
kets overflow. 

I have but an angry fancy ; what is that which 
I should do ? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the foe- 
man's gi'ound. 

When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the 
winds are laid with sound. 



Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to : But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt 



his drunken sleep, 
To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears 
that thou wilt weep. 



that honor feels, 
And the nations do but munnur, snarling at each 
other's heels. 



Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whispered Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that 

by the phantom years, i earlier page. 

And a song from out the distance in the ringing Hide me from my deep emotion, thou won- 



of thine ears ; 

And an eye shall ve.x thee, looking ancient Icind- 

ness on thy pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee to 

thy rest again. 



drous mother-age ! 

Make me feel the wild pulsation tliat I felt 

before the strife, 
When I heard my days before me, and the 

tumidt of my life ; 



Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a tender 1 Yearning for the large excitement that the com- 
voice will cry ; I ing years would yield, 

'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his 
trouble dry. i father's field. 

Baby lips will laugh me down ; my latest rival And at night along the dusky highway near and 

brings thee rest, — ] nearer drawn. 

Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the j Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like 

mother's breast. I a dreary dawn ; 

0, the child too clothes the father with a dear- j And his spirit leaps within him to he gone be- 

ness not his due. | fore him then, 

Half is thine and half is his : it will be worthy : Underneath the light lie looks at, in among the 

of the two. throngs of men ; 

0, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty j Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reap- 



part. 
With a little horde of maxims preaching down a 
daughter's heart. 



ing something new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the 
things that they shall do : 



t 



" They were dangerous guides the feelings — she For I dipt into the future, far as human eye 

lierself was not exempt — , could see. 

Truly, she herself had suffered — " Perish in ! Saw the vision of the world, and nil tlie wonder 

thy self-contempt ! { that would be ; 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy! wherefore , Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of 

should I care ? i magic sails, 

I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down 

despair. I with costly bales ; 



^ 



AND ESTEANGEMEXr. 



■1\\ 



'-^ 



Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on sueh a 

rained a ghastly dew I mouldered string ? 

From the nations' airy navies grappling in the I am shamed through all my nature to have loved 



central blue ; 

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south- 
wind rushing warm, 

With the standards of the peoples plunging 
through the thunder-stonn ; 

Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the 

battle-flags were furled 
In the parliament of man, the federation of the 

world. 

Tiicre the common sense of most shall hold a 
fretful realm in awe, 

And the kindly earth shall slimiher, lapt in uni- 
versal law. 



so slight a thing. 

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! woman's 

pleasure, woman's pain — 
Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a 

shallower brain ; 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, 

matched with mine, 
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water 

unto wine — 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah 

for .some retreat 
Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life 

began to beat ; 



So I triumphed ere my passion sweeping tlirough Where in -irild Mahratta-battle fell my fatlier, 
me left me dry, ' evil-staiTed ; 



Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with 
the jaundiced eye ; 

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are 

out of joint. 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on 

from point to point : 

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creep- 
ing niglier. 

Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly 
dying lire. 

Yet I doulit not through the ages one increasing 
purpose runs 



I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's 
ward. 

Or to burst all links of habit, — there to wander 

far away. 
On from island unto island at the gateways of the 

day, — 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and 

happy skies. 
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, 

knots of Paradise. 

Never comes the trader, never floats an Eumpcan 
H^ig. — 



And the thoughts of men are widened with the Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the 



U 



process of the suns. 

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his 

youthful joys. 
Though the deep heart of existence beat forever 

like a boy's ? 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers ; and I 

linger on the shore. 
And the individual withers, and the world is more 

and more. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he 
liears a laden breast. 

Full of sad experience moving toward the still- 
ness of his rest. 

Hark ! my merry comrades call me, sounding on 

the bugle horn, — 
They to whom my foolish passion were a target 

for their scom ; 



trailer from the crag, — 

Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the 

heavy-fruited tree, — 
Sunimerisles of Eden lyingin dark-purple spheres 

of sea. 

There, methinks, would be enjojTnent more than 

in this march of mind — 
In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts 

that shake mankind. 

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have 

scope and breathing-space ; 
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my 

dusky race. 

Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, and 

tliey shall run. 
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and huil tlirir 

lances in the sun. 



-t^ 



^218 



POEMS OF DISAPPOIXTMENT 



u 



Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rain- 
bows of the brooks, 

Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable 
books — 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my 

words are wild, 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than the 

Christian child. 

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our 

glorious gains. 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast 

with lower pains ! 

Mated with a squalid savage, — what to me were 

sun or clime ? 
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of 

time, — 

1, that rather held it better men should perish 

one by one. 
Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's 

moon in Ajalon ! 

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, for- 
ward let us range ; 

Let the great world spin forever down the ring- 
ing grooves of change. 

Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into 

the younger day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of 

Cathay. 

Mother-age (for mine I knew not), help me as 
when life begun, — 

Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the light- 
nings, weigh the sun, — 

0, I see the orescent promise of my spirit hath 

not set ; 
Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my 

fancy yet. 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to 

Locksley Hall ! 
Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the 

roof-tree fall. 

Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over 

heath and holt. 
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a 

thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or 

fire or snow ; 

For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and 

I go. 

Alfred tennvson. 



ONLY A WOMAlf. 

■■ she loves with love that cannot tire : 
And if. ah, woe : she loves alone. 
Through passionate duty love flames higher. 
As grass grows taller round a stone " 

COVENTRY PATMORE. 

So, the truth 's out. I 'U grasp it like a snake, — 
It will not slay me. My heart shall not break 
Awhile, if only for the children's sake. 

For his, too, somewhat. Let him stand unblamed ; 
None say, he gave me less than honor claimed. 
Except — one trifle scarcely worth being named— 

The heart. That 's gone. The corrupt dead 

might be 
As easily raised up, breathing, fair to see. 
As he could bring his whole heait back to me. 

1 never sought him in coquettish sport, 
Or courted him as silly maidens court, 
And wonder when the longed-for prize falls short. 

1 only loved him, — any woman would : 
But shut my love up till he came and sued, 
Then poured it o'er his dry life like a flood. 

I was so happy I could make him blest ! — 

So happy that I was his first and best. 

As he mine, — when he took me to his breast. 

Ah me ! if only then he had been true ! 

If, for one little year, a month or two. 

He had given me love for love, as was my due ! 

Or had he told me, ere the deed was done, 
He only raised me to his heart's dear throne — 
Poor substitute — because the queen was gone ! 

0, had he whispered, when his sweetest kiss 
Was wann upon my mouth in fancied bliss. 
He had kissed another woman even as this, — 

It were less bitter ! Sometimes I could weep 
To be thus cheated, like a child asleep, — 
Were not my anguish far too dry and deep. 

So I built my house upon another's ground ; 
Mocked with a heart just caughtat the rebound,— 
A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound. 

And when that heart grew colder, — colder still, 

1, ignorant, tried all (luties to fulfil. 
Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will, 

All, — anything but him. It was to be 
The full draught others drink up carelessly 
Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me. 



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e- 



AJW ESTRANGEMLi^T. 



-.^ 



1 say again, — he gives me all I claimed, 
I and iny cliildreu never shall be shamed : 
He is a just man, — he will live unblaraed- 

Only — God, God, to cry for bread, 
And get a stone ! Daily to lay my head 
Upon a bosom where the old love 's dead ! 

Dead ? — Fool ! It never lived. It only stirred 
Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard : 
So let me bury it without a word. 

He '11 keep that other woman from my sight. 
I know not if her face be foul or bright ; 
1 only know that it was his delight — 

As his was mine ; I only know he stands 
I'ale, at the touch of their long-severed hands. 
Then to a flickering smile his lips commands. 

Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show. 
He need not. When the ship 's gone down, I trow', 
We little reck whatever wind may blow. 

And so my silent moan begins and ends : 

No world's laugh or worhl's taunt, no pity of 

friends 
Or sneer of foes, with this my torment blends. 

None knows, — none heeds. 1 have a little pride ; 
Enough to stand up, wifelike, by his side. 
With the same smile as when I was his bride. 

And I shall take his children to my arms ; 
They will not miss these fading, worthless charms ; 
Their kiss — ah ! unlike his — all pain disarms. 

And haply as the solemn years go by. 

He will think sometimes, with regretful sigh, 

The other woman was less true than I. 

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK- 



& 



HOME, WOUNDED. 

Wheel me into the sunshine, 

^\^leel me into the shadow, 

There must be leaves on the woodliine, 

Is the king-cup crowned in the meadow ' 

^^Tieel me down to the meadow, 

Down to the little river, 

In sun or in shadow 

I shall not dazzle or shiver, 

I shall be happy anywhere, 

Everv' breath of the morning air 

Makes me throb and quiver. 

Stay wherever you will. 

By the mount or under the hill. 



Or down by the little river : 
Stay as long as you please. 
Give me only a bud from the trees, 
Or a blade of grass in moming dew, 
Or a cloudy violet clearing to blue, 
I could look on it forever. 

Wheel, wheel through the sunshine. 
Wheel, wheel through the shadow ; 
There must be odors round the pine. 
There must be balm of breathing kine. 
Somewhere down in the meadow. 
Must I choose ? Then anchor me there 
Beyond the beckoning poplars, where 
The larch is snooding her floweiy hair 
With wreaths of morning shadow. 

Among the thickest hazels of the brake 

Perchance some nightingale doth shake 

His feathers, and the air is full of song ; 

In those old days when I was young and strong, 

He used to sing on yonder garden tree, 

Beside the nursery. 

Ah, I remember how I loved to wake. 

And find him singing on the selfsame bough 

(I know it even now) 

Where, since the flit of bat. 

In ceaseless voice he sat, 

Tiying the spring night over, like a tune. 

Beneath the vernal moon ; 

And while I listed long. 

Day rose, and still he sang, 

And all his stanchless song, 

.\s something falling unaware. 

Fell out of the tall trees lie sang among. 

Fell ringingdown the ringingmorn, and rang, — 

Bang like a golden jewel down a goldi-ii stair. 

My soul lies out like a basking hound, — 

A hound that dreams and dozes ; 

Along my life my length I lay, 

I fill to-morrow and yesterday, 

I am warm with the sunsthat have longsinceset, 

I am warm with the summers that are not yet. 

And like one who dreams and dozes 

Softly afloat on a sunny sea. 

Two worlds are whispering over me, 

And there blows a %vind of roses 

From the backward shore to the .sliorc before. 

From the shore before to the backward shore, 

And like two clouds that meet and pour 

Each through each, till core in core 

A single self reposes. 

The nevermore with the evermore 

Above me mingles and closes ; 

As my soul lies out like the basking hound, 

And wherever it lies seems happy ground. 



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220 



POEMS OF DISAPPUiy'TMENT 



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Ami whoii, nwukciiwl liy soiiu' swot't souuii, 

A ilroainy oyo uudosos, 

1 soc a liliiomin}; woi'lii around, 

Aiul 1 lie amid luimrosos, — 

Voai-s of sweot jirimrosos, 

Spriiii^s of fresh pi'iinnisos, 

Sin-iiisp to lu>, ami s|>riiigs for me 

or distant lUiii lU'iuuosi'S. 

O, to li.' a-divam, a-.livam, 

'I'll fci'l 1 may divam ami to Umnv you doem 

My woi'k is done forovoi', 

And the iialintatiuj; lover, 

That gains and loses, loses and gsiiiis. 
And heats the hurrying blood on the hrunt of a 
thousand pains, 

(.'ooled at om'e hy that Mood-let 

Upon the parapet ; 
And all the tedious taski^'d toil of the dillicult long 
endeavor 

Solved and ipiit hy no nioiv line 

Thai! these limbs of unne. 

Spanned and measured onee for all 

Hy that right-hand 1 lost, 

liought up at so light a eost 

As one bloody fall' 

On the soldier's bed, 

.And thnui days on the ruined wall 

Among the thirstless dead. 

0, to think my name is erost 

From duty's nuister-roll ; 

That 1 may slumber though the clarion call, 

.And live the joy of an embodied soul 

l''ree as a liberated ghost. 

t >. to feel a life of deed 

Was emptied out to feed 

That liiY of |vuii that burned so brief awhile, — 

That lire fivni which 1 eonie, as the dead eomo 

Forth from the irreparable tondi. 

Or as a martyr on his funeral pile 

Heaps up the burdens other men do bear 

Thi-ongh yeai's of segregjitetl eaiv. 

Ami takes the totalload 

I'pon his shouldei-s broad, 

.And steps from earth to God. 

And she, 

Ferhaps, even she 

May look as she looked when 1 knew her 

In those old days of childish sooth. 

Ere my boyhood darod to woo her. 

I will not seek nor sue her, 

For 1 'm neither fonder nor truer 

Thau when she slighted my lovelorn youth, 

Mv giftless, graceless, guinetdess truth. 

And 1 only lived to rue her. 

Hut I '11 never lov» another. 



And, in spite of her lovei-s and lands, 
She shall love me yet, uiy brother ! 

As a child that holds by his mother, 

White his mother speaks his pitiises, 

Holds with eager hands, 

And ruddy and silent stands 

In the ruddy and silent daisies. 

And hears her bless her boy. 

And lifts a wondering joy, 

So 1 '11 not seek nor sue her. 

But I U leave mv glorv to woo her, 

And I '11 stand like a chihl beside. 

And fnim behind the purple pride 

1 'U lift my eyes unto her. 

Ami I shall not be denied. 

And you will love her, brother ihnv. 

And perhaps next year you '11 bring me here 

All through the balmy April tide. 

And she will trip like spring by my side, 

And be all the biixis to my ear. 

And here all three we 'II sit in the sun, 

And see the Aprils one by one, 

Frimrosed Aprils on and on, 

Till the lloating prospect closes 

'In golden glimmei-s that rise and rise. 

And perhaps nro gleams of r.iradise. 

And perhaps too far for mortal eyes, 

New springs of fresh primroses, 

Springs of earth's primroses. 

Springs to be and springs for me 

Of distant dim primroses. 

SIDNCV DOUKM.. 



PERISHED. 

CATSKILL MOU.NTAIX HOUSE. 

Wave after wave of greenness rolling down 
From mountain top to base, a whispering sea 
Of atlluent leaves through which the viewless 
bit^eze 
Murmui-s mvsteriously. 

And towering up amid the lesser throng, 
A giant oak, so desolately gi-iuul, 
Stixitohcs its gray imploring arms to heaven 
In agonized demand. 

Smitten by liglitaiing from a summer sky, 
Or bearing in its heart a slow decay, 

j 'WlMt matter, since inexorable fate 

I Is pitiless to slay. 

Ah, waywaril sonl, hedged in and clothed about. 
Doth not thy life's lost hope lift np its head. 
And, dwarting present joys, proclaim aloud, — 

" Look on me, I am dead !" 
" Marv Louise Ritter. 



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AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



221 



-a 



DEATH OF THE WHITE FAWN. 

TiiK wanton tro<>i>trB, riding by, 

Have shot my fawn, and it will die. 

L'ngentlr; men I tliey cannot thrive 

Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive, 

Tliem any harm ; ala-s ; nor could 

Thy death yet do them any gwxl. 

I 'm sure I never wished them ill, — 

Xor do I for all this, nor will ; 

But if my simple prayers may yet 

Prevail with H<siven to forget 

Thy murder, I will join my tears, 

Katlier than fail, iiut, O my fears ! 

It cannot die so. Heaven's king 

Ke^ijis register of everything ; 

And nothing may we ase in vain ; 

Even l*asts must >x; with justice slain, — 

Else men are made their deodands. 

Though they should wa.sh their guilty hand-s 

In this warm life-blood, which doth jtart 

From thine and wound me to the heart. 

Yet could they not >><; clean, — their gtain 

Is dyed in such a purjJe grain ; 

There is not such anothCT in 

The world to offer for th«r sin. 

Inwnstant .Sylvio, when )'ct 
I had not found hirn wjunt'rtfeit. 
One moniing (I remeinlier well), 
Tie<l in this silver diain and V;!l, 
CJave it to me ; nay, and I know 
What he said then, — I 'm sure I do : 
Said he, " I^ook how your huntsman here 
Hath taught a fawn tf) hunt his dear ! " 
But .Sylvio soon ha<] rne Tieguiled ; 
This waxed tame, while he grew wild ; 
And, quite regardless of my smart, 
Left me his fawn, but took his h'airt. 

Tlienr^iforth I wX myself Ui jilay 
My solitary time away 
AVith this ; and, very well content. 
Could so mine idle life have sjient. 
For it was full of sport, and light 
Of fiKA and heart, and did invite 
Me to its garrie. It seeme'l fi bless 
Itsfdf in rne ; how could I less 
Than love it ? 0, I cannot >je 
Unkind to a beast that loveth me ' 

Had it lived long, I do not know 
Whether it, too, might have done so 
As Sylvio did, — his gifts might be 
Perhaj/s as false, or more, than he. 
For I am STire, for aught that I 
Could in so short a time esjiy. 
Thy love was far more bett*r than 
The love offals'- and cni'l man. 

With smeetest milk and sugar, first 
I it at mine ova fingen nursed ; 



And as it giew, so every day 

It waxed more white and sweet than they. 

It ha<l at) sweet a breath ! and oft 

I blushe/l to see its foot more soft 

And white- — sliaU I say than my hand? 

Nay, any la<ly's of the land. 

It i-i a wondrous thing how fleet 
'T was on thosf! little silver feet. 
With what a pretty, skijjping gr.ice 
It oft would challenge me the race ; 
And when 't ha/1 left me far away, 
'T would stay, and run again, and stay : 
For it w.-is nimbler much than hind.-,, 
And troil as if on the four winils. 

I have a garden of my own, — 
But >vi with roses overgrown, 
Anil lilies, tliat you would it guess 
To Ix; a little wilderness ; 
And all the Bi>ringtime of the year 
It only love/l to 1* there. 
Among the Wis of lilies I 
Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 
Yet could not, till its/df would rise, 
Find it, although lx;fore mine eyes ; 
?'or in the flaxen lilies' shaile 
It like a Wik of lilies laid. 
Vym tlie roses it would fec<I, 
Until its lij« even seeme'l to blce/l ; 
And then to rne 't would Vddly trip, 
And print th'«e roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On T'lHisn thus itself to fill ; 
Ami its pure virgin lirnljs to fold 
In whitest sheets of lili'si coU. 
Had it live'l long, it w'juld have b<;en 
Lili'rs without, r'jses within. 

0, help ! O, help ! I see it faint, 
And die as failrnly as a saint ! 
.See how it w«;jrs ! the Uars do come, 
HaA, slowly, dropping like a gum. 
.So weeps the wfjundcl l<al.sam ; so 
llie h'dy frankin'*n»e doth flow ; 
The brotherless Helia'lisi 
Melt in such amber tears as th':Sie. 

I in a golden phial will 
Keep tht-se two (rystal tears, an'l fill 
It, till it do o''!rflr(W with mine ; 
Tlien pla<«i it in Diana's shrine. 

Xow my sweet fawn is vanishcl V, 
Whither the swans and turtles go. 
In fair Elysium to endure. 
With rnilk-white laml>s, and ennines pure. 
0, do not run too fast ! for I 
Will but l*8jieak thy grave — and 'lie. 

First, my unhappy statue shall 
Be fmt in marble ; and witlial, 
I>et it \ii: weeping Xiin. But there 
The engraver sure Ids art may s]<are ; 



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222 



POEMS OB' DISAPPOINTMENT 



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For I so truly thee bemoiui 

That I shall weep, though I be stone, 

Until my tears, still dropping, wear 

My breast, themselves engraving there. 

There at my feet shalt thou be laid. 

Of purest alabaster made ; 

For I would have thine image be 

White as I can, though not as thee. 

ANLtREW MAKVii 



IN A YEAR. 

Never any more 

While 1 live. 
Need I hope to see his face 

As before. 
Once his love grown chill. 

Mine may strive, — 
Bitterly we re-embrace. 

Single still. 

Was it something said. 

Something done, 
Vexed him ? was it touch of hand. 

Turn of head ? 
Strange ! that very way 

Love begun. 
I as little understand 

Love's decay. 

When I sewed or drew, 

I recall 
How he looked as if I sang 

— Sweetly too. 
If 1 spoke a word. 

First of all 
Up his cheek the color sprang. 

Then he heard. 

Sitting by my side. 

At my feet. 
So he breathed the air I breathed, 

Satisfied ! 
I, too, at love's brim 

Touched the sweet : 
I would die if death bei|ueathed 

Sweet to him. 

" Speak, — I love thee best ! " 

He exclaimed. 
" Let thy love my own foretell, — 

I confessed ; 
" Clasp my heart on thine 

Now unblamed. 
Since upon thy soul as well 

Hangeth mine ! " 



Was it wrong to own. 

Being truth ? 
Wliy should all the giving prove 

His alone '! 
I had wealth and ease. 

Beauty, youth, — 
Since my lover gave me love, 

I gave tliese. 

That was all I meant, 

— To be just, 

And the passion I had raised 

To content. 
Since he chose to change 

Gold for dust. 
If I gave him what he praised, 

Was it strange ? 

Would he loved me yet, 

On and on, 
While I found some way undreamed, 

— Paid my debt ! 
Gave more life and more. 

Till, all gone. 
He should smile, " She never seemed 
Mine before. 

" What — she felt the while. 

Must 1 think ? 
Love 's so different with us men," 

He should smile. 
' ' Dying for my sake — 

White and pink ! 
Can't we touch these bubbles then 

But they break ? " 

Dear, the pang is brief. 

Do thy part. 
Have thy pleasure. How perplext 

Grows belief ! 
Well, this cold clay clod 

Was man's heart. 
Cnimble it, — and what comes next ? 

Is it God ? 

Robert Browning. 



BLIGHTED LOVE. 

Flowers are fresh, and bushes green, 

Cheerily the linnets sing ; 
Winils are soft, and skies serene ; 

Time, however, soon shall throw 
Winter's snow 
O'er the buxom breast of Spring ! 

Hope, that buds in lover's heart. 

Lives not through the scorn of years ; 



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.-1,Y7; ESTRANGEMENT. 



220 



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4^- 



Time makes love itself ilepait ; 

Time and scorn congeal the mind, — 
Looks unkind 
Freeze affection's wannest tears. 

Time shall make the bushes green ; 

Time dissolve the winter snow ; 
Winds be soft, and skies serene ; 

Linnets sing their wonted strain : 
But again 
Blighted love shall never blow ! 

From the Portuguese of Luis DE CAMOBNS, 

by LORD STRANGFORD. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

FROM •' ZOPHIEL, OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN." 

The bard has sung, God never formed a .soul 
Without its own peculiar mate, to meet 

Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole 
Bright plan of bliss most heavenly, most com- 
plete. 

But thousand evil things there are that hate 
To look on hapi>iness : these hurt, im[)cde, 
And leagued with time, space, circumstance and 
fate, 
Keep kindred heart from heart, to ])ine, and 
pant, and bleed. 

And as the dove to far Palmyra flying 

From where her native founts of Antioch beam, 

Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, 
Lights sadly at tlie desert's bitter stream ; 

So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring. 
Love's pure congenial spring unfound, un- 
quaflfed, 
Suffeis — 1 ecoils — then thirsty and despairing 
Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest 
draught 1 



SHIPS AT SEA. 

I HAVK ships that went to sea 

More than fifty years ago ; 
None have yet come home to me, 

But are sailing to and fro. 
I have seen them in my sleep. 
Plunging through the shoreless deep, 
With tattered sails and battered hulls. 
While around them screamed the gulls, 
Flying low, flying low. 

1 have wondered why they strayed 
From me, sailing round the world ; 



And 1 've said, "1 'm half afrai.l 

That their sails will ne'er be furled." 
Great the treasures that they hold. 
Silks, and plumes, and bars of gold ; 
While the spices that they bear 
Fill with fragrance all the air. 
As they sail, as they sail. 

Ah ! each sailor in the port 

Knows that I have ships at sea, 
Of the waves and winds the sport, 

And the sailors pity me. 
Oft they come and with me walk, 
Cheering me with hopeful talk, 
Till I put my fears aside. 
And, contented, watch the tide 
Rise and fall, rise and fall. 

I have waited fin the piers. 

Gazing for them down the bay. 
Days and nights for many years, 
Till 1 turned heart-sick away. 
But the pilots, when they land. 
Stop and take me by the hand. 
Saying, ' ' You will live to see 
Your proud vessels come from sea, 
One and all, one and all." 

So I never quite despair. 

Nor let hope or courage fail ; 
And some <lay, when skies are fair, 

Up the bay my ships will sail. 
I shall buy then all 1 need, — 
Prints to look at, books to read. 
Horses, wines, and works of art, 
Everything — except a heart 
That is lost, that is lost. 

Once, when 1 was pure and young, 

Kicher, too, than 1 am now, 
Ere a cloud was o'er me flung. 

Or a wrinkle creased my brow, 
There was one whose heart was mine ; 
But she 's something now divine. 
And though come my ships from sea, 
They can bring no heart to me 
Evermore, evermore. 

ROBERT B. COFF 



ENOCH ARDEN AT THE WINDOW. 

Bt-T Enoch yearned to see her face again ; 
" If I might look on her sweet face again 
And know that she is hapjiy." So the thought 
Haunted and harassed him, and drove him forth 
At evening when the dull November day 
Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. 
There he sat down gazing on all below 



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224 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



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There did a thousand nieinoiii'S loU u[ioii him, 
Unspeakable for sadness. By and by 
The ruddy square of comfortable light, 
Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house, 
Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures 
The bird of passage, till he madly strikes 
Against it, and beats out his weary life. 

For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street. 
The latest house to landward ; but behind. 
With one small gate that opened on the waste, 
Flourisheil a little garden square and walled : 
And in it throve an ancient evergreen, 
A yew-tree, and all round it ran a walk 
Of shingle, and a walk divided it : 
But Enoch shunned the middle walk and stole 
rp by the wall, behind the yew ; and thence 
That which he better might have shunned, if 

giiefs 
Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw. 

For cups and silver on the burnished board 
Sparkled and shone ; so genial was the hearth ; 
And on the right hand of the hearth he saw 
Philip, the slighted suitor of old times, 
Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees ; 
And o'er her second father stoopt a girl, 
A later but a loftier Annie Lee, 
Fair-haired and tall, and from her lifted hand 
Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring 
To tempt the babe, who reared his creasy arms. 
Caught at and ever missed it, and they laughed ; 
And on the left hand of the hearth he saw 
The mother glancing often toward her babe. 
But turning now and then to speak with him. 
Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong. 
And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled. 

Now when the dead man come to life lieheld 
His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe 
Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, 
And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness. 
And his own children tall and beautiful. 
And him, that other, reigning in his place. 
Lord of his rights and of his children's love, — 
Then he, though Miriam Lane had told him all. 
Because things seen are mightier than things heard, 
Staggered and shook, holding the branch, and 

feared 
To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry, 
Which in one moment, like the bla.st of doom, 
Would shatter all the happiness of tlie hearth. 

He therefore turning softly like a thief, 
Lest the harsh shingle should grate under foot. 
And feeling all along the garden-wall. 
Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found. 
Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed. 



As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door. 
Behind him, and came out upon the waste. 

And there he would have knelt, but that his 
knees 
Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug 
His fingers into the wet earth, and prayed. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 



10VE'.S YOUNG DREAM. 

0, THE days are gone when beauty bright 

My heart's chain wove ! 
When my dream of life, from morn till night. 
Was love, still love ! 
New hope may bloom. 
And days may come, 
Of milder, calmer beam. 
But there 's nothing half so sweet in life 

As love's young dream ! 
0, there 's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream ! 

Though the bard to purer fame may soar. 

When wild youth 's past ; 
Though he win the wise, who frowned before, 

To smile at last ; 

He '11 never meet 

A joy so sweet 
In all his noon of fame 
As when first he sung to woman's ear 

His soul-felt liame. 
And, at every close, she blushed to hear 

The one loved name ! 

0, that hallowed foi-m is ne'er forgot. 

Which first love traced ; 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
On memory's waste ! 
'T was odor fled 
As soon as shed ; 
'T was morning's wingkl dream ; 
'T was a light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream ! 
0, 't was light that ne'er can shine again 
On life's dull stream ! 

Thomas Moore. 



WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED. 

WiiEX the lamp is shattered. 
The light in the dust lies dead ; 
When the cloud is scattered. 
The rainbow's glory is shed. 
When the lute Is broken, 
Sweet tones are remembered not ; 
A\1ien the lips have spoken. 
Loved accents are soon forgot. 



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AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



225 



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As music and s[)lendor 

Survive not the lamp and the lute, 

The heart's echoes render 

No song when the spirit is mute, — 

No song but sad dirges, 

Like the wind through a ruined cell, 

Or the mournful surges 

That ring the dead seaman's knell. 

When hearts have once mingled. 

Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 

The weak one is singled 

To endure what it once possest. 

Love ! who bewailest 

The frailty of all things here, 

Why choose you the frailest 

For your cradle, your home, and your liier ? 

Its passions will rock thee 

As the storms rock the ravens on high ; 

Bright reason will mock thee. 

Like the sun from a wintry sky. 

From thy nest every rafter 

Will rot, and thine eagle home 

Leave thee naked to laughter. 

When leaves fall and cold winds come. 

Percy B^sshe Shelley. 



TAKE, O, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 

FROM " MEASURE FOR MEASURE.' 

Take, 0, take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn ; 

And those eyes, the break of day. 
Lights that do mislead the morn ; 

But my kisses bring again. 

Seals of love, but sealed in vain. 

Hide, 0, hide those hills of snow 
Which thy frozen bosom bears. 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears ! 

But first set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

SHAKESPEARE and JOHN FLETCHER. 



I LOVED A LASS, A FAIR ONE. 

I LOVED a lass, a fair one, 

As fair as e'er was seen ; 
She was indeed a rare one, 

Another Sheba Queen ; 
But fool as then I was, 

1 thought she loved me too. 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 



Her hair like gold did glister. 

Each eye was like a star, 
She did surpass her sister 

Which past all others far ; 
She would me honey call. 

She 'd, 0, she 'd kiss me too, 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

In summer time to Sledley, 

lly love and I would go, — 
The boatmen there stood ready 

lly leva and I to row ; 
For cream there would we call. 

For cakes, and for prunes too. 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

Many a merry meeting 

My love and I have had ; 
She was my only sweeting. 

She made my heart full glad : 
The tears stood in her eyes. 

Like to the morning <lew, 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left nie, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

And as abroad we walked. 

As lovers' fashion is. 
Oft as we sweetly talkeil. 

The sun wouUl steal a kiss ; 
The wind upon her lips 

Likewise most sweetly blew. 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left mc, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

Her cheeks were like the cherry. 

Her skin as white as snow. 
When she was blithe and merry. 

She angel-like di<l show ; 
Her waist exceeding small, 

The fives did fit her shoe. 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

In summer time or winter. 

She had her heart's desire ; 
I still did scom to stint her. 

From sugar, sack, or fire ; 
The world went round about, 

No cares we ever knew. 
But now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

As we walked home together 

At midnight through the town, 

To keep away the weather, 

O'er her 1 'd cast my gown ; 



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226 



POEMS OF niSAPPOINTMEXT 



~Qi 



^2^ 



No colli my lovo should foul, 

Whate'er tho hcavons ooulil ilo, 

But now, alas ! sh' 'as loft inc, 
Faloro, lero, loo. 

Like (loves wo would bo billing, 

Anil clip and kiss so fast. 
Yet slio would bo unwilling 

That I should kiss the lust ; 
They 'ro Judas kisses now, 

Since that they proved untrue ; 
For now, alas ! sh' 'as left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

To maiden's vows and swearing, 

Henceforth no credit give. 
You may give them the hearing, — 

Hut never them believe ; 
Tliey are as false as fair, 

Unconstant, frail, untrue ; 
For mine, alas I hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

'T was I that paid for all things, 

'T was other dnink the wine ; 
I cannot now i-ecall things, 

Live but a fool to pine : 
'Twas I that beat the Imsh, 

The biiils to othei's Hew, 
For she, alas ! hath loft me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

I f ever that Dame Nature, 

For this false lover's sake. 
Another pleasing creature 

Like unto her would make ; 
Let her remember this. 

To make the other true. 
For this, alas I hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

No riches now can raise me. 

No want make me despair. 
No misery amaze me. 

Nor yet for want I caix) ; 
I have lost a world itself. 

My earthly heaven, adieu ! 
Since she, alas ! hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 



VTHY SO PALE AND WAN? 

Why so pala and wan, fond lover ? 

Prythee, why so jwle ? — 
Will, when looking well can't move her. 

Looking ill provail ? 

Prythee, why so pale ? 



Wliy so dull and mute, young sinner ! 

Prythee, why so mute ■ 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Saying nothing do 't > 

Prythee, why so mute .' 

Quit, ipiit, for .shame ! this will not move. 

This cannot take her ; 
If of hei-self she will not love. 

Nothing can make her : 

The devil take her ! 

SIK JOH.-J SUCKLING. 



THE DISAPPOINTED LOVER. 

I wii.i, go tiack to the great sweet mother. 

Mother and lover of men, the sea. 
I will go down to her, I and none other. 

Close with her, kiss her, and mix her'w ith mo ; 
Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast. 
fair white mother, in days long past 
Born without sister, born without brother, 

Set free my soul as thy soul is free. 

fair green-girdled mother of mine, 

Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain, 
Thy sweet hanl kisses are strong like wine, 

Thy large embraces are keen like pain ! 
Save me and hide me with all thy waves. 
Find mo one grave of thy thousand graves. 
Those pure cold popnlous graves of thine, 

Wroughtwithout haiul in a world without stnin. 

1 shall sleep, and move with the moving ships. 
Change as the winds change, veer in the tide ; 

My lips will feast on the foam of thy lijKs, 

I shall rise with thy rising, with thee subside ; 
Sleep, and not know if she be, if slie were, 
Filled full with life to the eyes and hair. 
As a rose is fultilled to the rose-leaf tips 

With splendid summer and perfume and pride. 

This woven raiment of nights and days. 

Were it once cast off and unwound from me, 
Naked and glad would I walk in thy ways. 
Alive and aware of thy waves and thee ; 
Clear of the whole world, hidden at home. 
Clothed with thegreen, and crowned with the foanr, 
A pnlse of the life of thy straits and bays, 
A vein in the heart of the streams of the sea, 

ALC.EKNO.N CH.VKLES SWLNBURNE. 



OUTGROWN. 

Nay, you wrong her, my friend, she "s not fickle ; 

her love she has simply outgrown : 
One can read the whole matter, translating her 

heart by the light of one's own. 



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AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



227 



.r^ 



Can you bear me to talk with you fiankly ? There 
is much that my heart wouKl say ; 

And you know we were children together, liave 
quarreled and " made up " in play. 

And so, for the sake of old frii-ndslnji, I venture 

to tell you the truth, — 
As plainly, perhajis, and as bluntly, as 1 might 

in our earlier youth. 

Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you 

stood on the selfsame plane. 
Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your 

souls could be parted again. 

She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom 

of lier life's early May ; 
And it is not her fault, 1 repeat it, that she does 

not love you to-day. 

Nature never stands still, nor souls either : they 

ever go up or go down ; 
.\nd hers has been steadily soaring, — but Iiow 

has it been with your own ? 

She has struggled and yearned and aspired, — 
grown purer and wiser each year ; 

The stars are not farther above you in yon lumi- 
nous atmosphere ! 

For she whom you (Towned with fresh roses, 
down yonder, tive summers ago. 

Has learned that the first of our duties to God 
and ourselves is to grow. 

Her eyes they are .sweeter and calmer ; but their 

vision is clearer as well : 
Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is jjure as 

a silver IjcII. 

Her face has the look worn by those who with 
God and his angels have talked : 

The white robes she wears are less white than 
the spirits with whom .she has walked. 

And you ' Have you aimed at the highest ? Have 

you, too, as]iired and prayed ? 
Have you looki'd upon evil unsullied ? Have you 

eon<|uercd it iindismayed ? 

Have you, too, giown purer and wiser, as the 
months and the years have rolled on ? 

Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the 
triumiih of victory won ? 

Nay, hear me I The truth cannot harm you. 

When to-day in her presence you stood. 
Was the hand that you gave her as white ami 

clean as that of her womanhood ? 



B-^- 



Go measure youi'self by her standard. Look back 

on the years that have fled ; 
Then ask, if you need, why she tells you that tlie 

love of her girlhood is dead ! 

Slie cannot look down to her lover : her love like 

her soul, aspires ; 
lie nuist stand by her .side, or above her, who 

would kindle its holy fires. 

Now farewell ! For the sake of old friendship I 
have ventured to tell you the truth, 

As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as 1 miglit 
in our earlier youth. 



ALAS I HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE- 

FRO.M "THE LIGHT OF lllli tIAkllM." 

Alas ! how light a cause may move 

Dissension between hearts that love ! — 

Hearts that the world in vain has tried. 

And sorrow but more closely tied ; 

That stood the storm when waves wore rough. 

Yet in a sunny hour fall off. 

Like sliips that have gone down at sea, 

When heaven was all tran<iuillity ! 

A something light as air, — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 
0, love that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch like this has .shaken ! 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin ; 
And eyes foi-get the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they .said ; 
Till fast declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone. 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken rdouds, — or like the stream. 
That snuling left the mountain's brow. 

As though its waters ne'er could .sever, 
Yet, ei-e it reach the plain below, 

Ureaks into floods that part forever. 

O you, that have the charge of Love, 

Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
As in the Fields of Bliss above 

lie sits, with flowerets fettered round ; — 
Loose not a tie that round him clings. 
Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
For even an hour, a minute's flight 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
I^iki' that celestial bird, — whose nest 

Is found beneath far Eastern skies, — 
Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, 

Lose all their glory when he flies ! 

THOIIAS Moore 



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228 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



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AUX ITALIEKS. 

At Paris it was, at tlie opera tlioro ; 

And slip looked like n queeu iu a book that 
night. 
With tho wreath of pearl in her raven hair, 

And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all tho operas that Verdi wrote. 

The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ; 

And JIario can soothe, with a tenor note, 
Tho souls iu purgatory. 

Tho moon on tlio tower slept soft as snow ; 

And who was not thrilled in tho sti-.ingest way, 
As we hcanl him sing, whilo tho gius burned low, 

" Non H scordar di me " ? 

The emperor there, iu his box of state. 

Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen 

The red llag wave from tho city gate. 
Whore Ids onglos in bronie had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye : 

You 'd have said that her fancy had gone hick 
again. 

For one nunneut, under the old blue sky. 
To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well ! there in our front-row box we sat 
Together, my bride betrothed and I ; 

My giize was fixed on my opera hat. 
And hers on the stage hard by. 

And both were silent, and botJi were .sad ; — 
Like a queen she leaned on her full white anu, 

With that regnl, indolent air .she had ; 
So confident of her charm ! 

1 have not a doubt she was thinking then 
Of her former lord, good sou! that ho was, 

Who died the richest and roundest of men. 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

I hope that, to get to the kingilom of heaven. 
Through a nceiUc's eye he had not to pass ; 

1 wish him well for the jointure given 
To mv ladv of t.'nrabas. 



Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) ; 

And her warm white neck in its golden chain ; 
And her full solt hair, just tied in a knot. 

And falling loose again ; 

And the jasmine tlowor in hor fair young breast ; 

(0 the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower I) 
And the one bird singing alone to his nest ; 

And tho one star over the tower. 

I thought of our little quarrels and strife. 
And the letter that brought nio back my ring ; 

And it all seemed then, iu tho waste of life. 
Such a very little thing ! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill. 
Which the .sentinel cypress-tree stands over : 

And 1 thought, " Were she only living still. 
How 1 could forgive her and love her I" 

And I swear, as 1 thonghtof her thus, in tliat hour. 
And of how, after all, old tilings are best, 

That 1 smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 
Which slie used to wear in her breast. 

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 
It made me creep, and it made mo cold ! 

Likcthe scent tliat stCiUs from the crumbling sheet 
Where a nuiinmy is half unrolled. 

And 1 turned and looked : she was sitting there. 
In a dim box over the stage ; and drest 

In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair. 
And that jasmine iu her breast ! 

I was here, and she was there ; 

And tho glittering horseshoe curved bet ween ! — 
From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair 

And her sumptuous scornful mien. 

To my early love with her eyes downcast. 
And over hor primrose face tlie shade, 

(In short, from the future back to the past,) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
j One moment 1 looked. Then 1 stole to the door, 
I travei-sed the passage : and down at her side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 



Meanwhile, 1 was thinking of my fii'st love My thinking of her, or the music's strain. 

As I had not been thinking of aught for yeai-s ; Or something which never will be exjirest. 

Till over my eyes tliere began to move Had brought her liack from the grave again. 

Something that felt like tears. With tlie jasmine in hor breast. 



I thought of the dress that she wore last time. 
When westood 'neath the cypress-trees together. 

In that lost land, in that soft cliiue. 
In the crimson evening weather ; 



She is not dead, and she is not wed ! 

But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! 
And the very first word that her sweet lips said, 

JIv heart grew vonthful again. 

— ^ ff 



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AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



229 



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The marchioness there, of Carabas, 

Slie is wealthy, and young, and handsome still ; 
And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass ; 

.She may marry whomever she will. 

But I will marry my own first love, 

With her primrose face, for old things are best ; 
And the llower in her bosom, I prize it above 

The brooch in my lady's breast. 

The world is filled with folly and sin. 
And love must cling whore it can, 1 say : 

For beauty is easy enough to win ; 
But one is n't loved every day. 

And 1 think, in the lives of most women andmen. 
There 's a moment when all would go smooth 
and even, 

If only the deail could find out when 
To come back and bo forgiven. 

But 0, the smell of that jasmine flower ! 

And 0, that nnisic ! and 0, the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 
A'o'i ti scordar di me, 
Non ti scordar di me I 

Robert Bulwek lvtton. 



THE BELLE OF THE BALL. 

Yeaks, years ago, ere yet my dreams 

Had been of being wise or witty, 
Ere I had done with writing themes. 

Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty, — 
Years, years ago, while all my joys 

Were in my fowling-piece and filly, — 
In short, while I was yet a boy, 

I fell in love with Laura Lilly. 

I saw her at the county ball : 

There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle 
Gave signal sweet in that old hall 

Of hands across and down the middle. 
Hers was the subtlest spell by far 

f If all that sets young hearts romancing : 
She was our queen, our rose, our star ; 

Andthenshedanced, — OHeaven ! herdancing! 

Dark was her hair ; her hand was white, 

Her voice was exfjuisitely tender ; 
Her eyes were full of liquid light ; 

I never saw a waist so slender ; 
Her every look, her every smile. 

Shot right and left a score of arrows ; 
I thought 't was Venus from her isle, 

And wondered where she 'd left her sparrows. 



She talked of politics or prayers, 

Of Southey's prose or Wordsworth's sonnets, 
Of danglers or of dancing bears, 

Of battles or the last new bonnets ; 
By candlelight, at twelve o'clock — 

To me it mattered not a tittle — 
if those bright lips had quoted Locke, 

I might have thought they murmured Little. 

Through sunny May, through sultry June, 

I loved her with a love eternal ; 
I spoke her praises to the moon, 

I wrote them to the Sunday .loumal. 
My mother laughed ; I soon found out 

That ancient ladies have no feeling : 
My father frowned ; but how should gout 

See any happiness in kneeling ? 

She was the daughter of a dean, — 

Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic ; 
She had one brother just thirteen. 

Whose color was extremely hectic ; 
Her grandmother, for many a year. 

Had fed the parish with her bounty ; 
Her second-cousin was a peer. 

And lord -lieutenant of the county. 

But titles and the three-per-cents. 

And mortgages, and great relations, 
And India bonds, and tithes and rents, 

0, what are they to love's sensations ? 
Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, — 

Such wealth, such honors Cupid chooses ; 
He cares as little for the stocks 

As Baron Kothschild for the muses. 

She sketched ; the vale, the wood, the beach, 

Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading : 
She Vmtanized ; I envied each 

Young blossom in her lx)udoir fading : 
She warbled Handel ; it was grand, — 

She made tlie Catalina jealous : 
She touched the organ ; I couhl stand 

For hours and hours to blow the bellows. 

She kept an album too, at home. 

Well filled witli all an album's glories, — 
Paintings of butteiflies and Kome, 

Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories. 
Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, 

Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, 
And autographs of Prince Lceboo, 

And recipes for elder-water. 

And she was flattered, worshiped, bored ; 

Her steps were watched, her dress was noted ; 
Her poodle-dog was quite adored ; 

Her sayings were extremely quoted. 



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230 



POEMS OF mSAPPOINTMENT 



^ 



Slu> liuifihod, — tmd ovory hfiirt wus glad, 

As ir llu' taxes woro iibolislioil ; 
She IVmviU'd, iiiid I'ViTy look wus sad, 

As it till' opiTii Hi'iv doiuoUsluHi. 

Slu' siuilwl on mimy just I'oi' I'un, — 

I know that tlipiv was iiotliiiij; in it ; 
1 was llio til'st, tlu> only ono 

lli'i' lu'art had thonjjht of fov a miniito. 
1 know it, lor sho told mo so, 

In iihraso wluili was diviiu'ly nioldi'd ; 
Shii wroti' a elianninj» hand, and O, 

I low swoi'lly all her notes wore I'oUU'd ! 

Our love was like most oilier loves, — 

A lillle -low, a little sliivel-, 
A ros,'l,na and a pair of .gloves, 

And " lly Not Vet." upon llie river; 
.■^onu' jealousy of sonn' one's heir, 

.Sonu' hopes of dyinj; luvken-hearted ; 
A uiiniatniv, a look of hair. 

The usual vows, — and then we parli'd. 

We parted ; months and years rolled hy ; 

We nu't ajp\in four suumu>i's after. 
Onr imrtinj; was all soli and si{;h, 

(l\ir uu'etiiij; was all mirth and laughter ! 
l''ov in my heart's most seerot eoU 

Theiv luul 1)0011 many olhor lodgers ; 
And sho was not the Imll-niom's bello, 

Uut only Mi's. — Somothinj;— 1{oj^m's ! 

\Vl\ntKOt' MACKWOKVH I'KAUlX 



\\'iioM lirst Hi' love, you know, wo seldom wed. 
'I'imo rules us all. .\ud life, indeed, is not 
'["he thinj; we planned it out oiv hope was dead. 
.\nd then, we women eannot elioose our lot. 

Mneh must bo borne whieh it is liaixl to liear ; 
Mueh j;iven away whieh it were sweet to keep. 
Ood help us all ! who need, indeed, his eau' : 
.\nd yet, 1 know the Shepheni loves his slieop. 

My little boy begins to hibblo now 
Tpon my knee his earlie.st infant prayer, 
lie has his father's eager eyes. I know ; 
.\nd. they say, too, his mother's sunny hair. 

lint when he .sleeps and smiles upon my knee. 
And 1 ean feel his light bivath eome and go, 
I think of one (Heaven help and pity me !) 
Wlio loved me, and whom I loved, long ago ; 

Who might have been — ah, what 1 dai\<not think ! 
We aiv all ehanginl. (>od judges for us best. 
Cod help us do our duty, and not shrink, 
.■\nd trust in Heaven humblv for the i-est. 



Hut hlaine ns women not, if some aiipear 
Too cold at limes ; and some too gay and light. 
Somegriel'sgnawdoop. Some woesareharil to bear. 
W'ho knows the past ( and who eanjudge us right ! 

Ah, were wo judged by what we might have been. 
And not by what we are — too apt to fall I 
My little ehild ■ he sleeps and smiles between 
These thoughts aniline, hi heaven we shall know 
all! 



"COME NOT, 'WHEN I AM DEAD." 

CoMK not, when I am dead. 

To drop thy foolish tears upon luy grave, 
To trample limnd my fallen lead. 

.\nd vex the unhappy dust llum wouKlst not 

There lei llie wind sweep and the plover ery ; 
liul thou, go liy 1 

(."hild, if it wem thine error or thy erime 
I eare no longer, being all nnblest ; 

Wed whom tlion will, but I am siek of Time, 
And 1 desiiv to rest. 

Pass on, weak heart, and leave lue where I lie : 
t1o bv, go bv ! 



TRANSIENT BEAUTY. 

As, rising on its purple wing, 
The iiiseet-queon of Kasteru spring. 
O'er emerald meadows of Kushmeer, 
Invites the young pursuer near. 
And leads him on fixim Mower to lUnver, 
A weary eliaso and wasted hour. 
Then leaves him, as it soul's on high. 
With iwiiting heart and tearful eye ; 
So Ueauty luivs the fuU-gitiwii child. 
With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; 
A chase of idle hopes and Teal's, 
Hegnii in folly, closed in teal's. 
If won, to eipial ills betrayed, 
AVoe waits the insect and the maid ; 
A life of pain, the loss of peace, 
Fiinn infant's play and man's I'aprice ; 
The lovely toy, so tieiwly sought. 
Hath last its charm by being caught ; 
For every touch that wooed its stay 
Hath brushed its brighest hues away, 
Till, ehariu and hue and beauty gone, 
"r is left to lly or fall alone. 
With wounded wing ov bleeding bivast. 
Ah ! wlieiY shall either victim ix>st • 



tg. 



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A XJJ EHTllA KGEMENT. 



2:u 



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Can tills with fiidwl iiiiiioii mM 
rrom rose to tiilii) an belore ( 
(Jr Huauty, l)lif{liti:(l in an hour, 
Find joy witliin her broken Ijowcr ? 
No ; gayer inscctH ilutteriiig l>y 
Ne'er droop the wing o'ei- llioMe tliat die, 
Ami lovelier things have nierey shown 
To every failing Ijut their own, 
And every woe a tear can elaiin, 
Except an erring «i»ter's Bhanie. 

LOKD UVKOH. 



WOMAN'S INCONHTANX'Y. 

I l-oVKii thee once, I '11 love no more, 
Thine he the grief hb in tlie hlaine ; 
Thou art not what tlioii WiUit before, 
What reaHon I should be the sjinie ( 
Me that can love unloved again. 
Hath better store of love than l)rain ; 
Ooil Ben<l nie love my debts to ])ay. 
While unthrifts fool their love away. 

Nothing could have my love o'crthrown. 

If thou hadst still continued mine ; 
Yea, if tliou ha<lst remained thy own, 
I might perchance have yet been thine. 
l!ul thou thy freedom did recall. 
That if thou might elsewhere inthrall ; 
And then how could I but disilain 
A captive's captive to remain f 

When new desires had coii<|uered thee. 
And changed the object of thy will. 
It had been lethargy in me, 

Not constancy, to love thee still. 

Yea, it had Vjeen a sin to go 

And jirostitute affection so. 

Since we are taught no prayers to say 

To such as must to others pray. 

Yet do thou glory in tliy dioice. 

Thy choice of his good fortune boast ; 
I '11 neither grieve nor yet rejoice. 
To see him gain what I have lost ; 
The height of my di«<Iain shall be. 
To laugh at him, to blush for thee ; 
To love thee still, but go no more 
A lagging to a beggar's door. 

SIK R0I;I:IIT AVTO.N, 



THE TRUE AND THE FALSE. 

Wuri'.K shall the lover rest 
Whom the fates sever 

From his true maiden's breast, 
Parted forever ? 



Where, through groves deep and high 

.Sound.s the far billow. 
Where early violets die 

Under the willow. 
Kleu loro 

Soft shall be hi.', pillow. 

There, thiough the summer day, 

<.'ool streams are laving : 
There, while the tcm]iests sway. 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There thy ir;st shalt thou take, 

Parted forever. 
Never again to wake 

Never, never ! 
Kleu loro 

Never, never ! 

Where shall the traitor rest, 

He, the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Iiuin, and leavi; her '. 
In the lost Imttle, 

Dome down by the Hying, 
Where, mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying ; 
Kleu loro 

There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle (lap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His wann blood the wolf shall lajj 

Krc life V; parted : 
Shame and dishonor sit 

liy his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall h.-dlow it 

Never, O never ! 
Kleu loro 

Never, never I 

SIK waltek sc/r 



LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 

A S'.O'ITIsn SfjtiO. 

Bai.ow, my babe, ly stil and sleifKi ! 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; 
If thou 'st be silent, I 'sc be glad. 
Thy maining maks my h(«irt ful sad. 
lialow, my Ixjy, thy mither'sjoy I 
Thy father breides me great annoy. 

lliilov;, my hafte, ly slil and alcipc I 
It fjricvr,H me mir lo sec Uicc v'cipe. 

When he began to court my luvc. 
And with his sugred words to muve. 
His faynings fals, and flatt/^riiig cheire. 
To me tliat time did not appeire : 



-^ 



fl- 



232 



POEMS OF DISAPPOINTMENT 



n 



u 



But now I soe, most cruell hee, 
Cares neither for ray babo nor moo. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe I 
It grieves me aair to see thee weipc. 

Ly stil, my darlingo, sleipe awhile, 
And when thou wakost sweitly smile : 
But smile not, as thy father did, 
To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! 
But yette I fciro, thou wilt gao iieire, 
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe I 
It grieves me sair to see tlie weipe. 

I cannao chuse, but ever will 
Be hiving to thy father stil : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 
My luvo with him maun stil abyde : 
In Weil or wae, whair-eir he gae. 
Mine hart can neir depart him frao. 

JSalow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe I 
It grieves me sair to sec thee wtipc. 

But doo not, doe not, prettie mine, 
To faynings fals thine hart incline ; 
Bo loyal to thy luver trew, 
And novir change liir for a new ; 
I f gude or faire, of hir have care, 
For women's banning 's wonderous sair. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee toeipe. 

Bairno, sin thy cruel father 's gane, 

Thy winsome smiles maun eiso my paino ; 

lly babe and 1 '11 together live, 

Ho '11 comfort me when cares doe grieve ; 

My babo and I right saft will ly. 

And ijiiite forget man's cruelty. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleii>e I 
It grieves vie sair to sec Hue weipe. 

Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth 
That over Icist a woman's mouth ! 
I wish all maids be warned by niee, 
Nevir to trust man's curtesy ; 
For if wo doe but ch.ance to bow, 
Thoy '11 use us than they care not how. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe I 
li grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

ANONVMOt 



MY HEID IS UKK TO REND, 'WILLIE. 

My held is like to rend, Willie, 
My heart is like to break ; 

I 'm wearin' alf my feet, Willie, 
I 'm dyin' for your sake 1 



O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, 
Your hand on my brieet-bane, — 

0, say ye 'U think on me, Willie, 
When I am deid and gane ! 

It 's vain to comfort me, Willie, 

Sair grief maun ha'e its will ; 
But let me rest upon your briest 

To sab and greet my fill. 
I.et nie sit on your knee, Willie, 

Let me shed by your hair. 
And look into the face, Willie, 

I never sail see mair ! 

1 'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, 

For the last time in my life, — 
.\ puir heart-broken thing, Willie, 

.\ mither, yet nae wife. 
Ay, press your hand upon my heart. 

And press it mair and mair. 
Or it will hur.st the silken t%vine. 

Sac Strang is its despair. 

0, wae 's me for the hour, Willie, 

When we thegithcr met, — 
0, wae 's me for the time, Willie, 

That our first tryst was set ! 
0, wae 's mo for the loanin' green 

Whore we were wont to gao, — 
And wae 's me for the destinie 

That gart mo luvo thee sae ! 

0, diuna niinil my words, Willin, 

I downa seek to blamo ; 
But 0, it 's hard to live, Willie, 

And dree a warld's .shame I 
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek. 

And liailin' ower your chin : 
Why wcop ye sae for worthlcssnoss, 

For sorrow, ami for sin ? 

I 'm weary o' this warld, Willie, 

And sick wi' a' 1 see, 
1 canna live as 1 ha'o lived. 

Or he as. I should be. 
But fauld unto your heart, Willie, 

The heart that still is thine. 
And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek 

Ye said was rod langsyne. 

A stoun' gaes through my h6i<l, Willie, 

A sair stoun' through my heart ; 
0, hand me up and let me kiss 

Tliy brow ore we twa pairt. 
Anitlier, and anither yet ! — 

How fast my life-strings break ! — 
Fareweel ! fareweel ! through you kirk-yard 

Step lichtly for my sake ! 



^- 



AND ESTRANGEMENT. 



233^ 



The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, 

That lilts far ower our heid, 
Will sing the morn as mcmlie 

Abuno the clay-oauUl deid ; 
And this green turf we 're sittin' on, 

Wi' dew-draps shimmcrin' sheen, 
Will hap the heart tliat luvit thee 

As warld has seldom seen. 

But 0, remember me, Willie, 

On land where'er ye be ; 
And 0, think on the leal, leal heart. 

That ne'er luvit ane but thee ! 
And O, think on the cauld, cauld mool; 

That file my yellow hair. 
That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin 

Ye never sail kiss mair ! 

William Moth 



43-^- 



WiEii blackest moss the flower-plots 

Were thickly crusted, one and all, 

The rusted nails fell from the knots 

That held the peach to the garden-wall. 
The broken sheds looked sad and strange, 
Unlifted was the clinking latch, 
Weeded and worn the antdent thatch 
Upon the lonely moated grange. 

She only said, " My life is dreary. 

He Cometh not," she said ; 
She said, "I am aweary, aweary ; 
I would tliat I were dead ! " 

Her tears fell with the dews at even ; 

Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; 
She could not look on the sweet heaven, 

Either at mom or eventide. 
After the flitting of the bats. 

When thickest dark did trance the sky. 
She drew her casement-curtain by. 
And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 
She only said, "The night is dreary. 

He cometh not," she said ; 

She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 

I would that I were dead ! " 

Upon the middle of the night, 

Waking she heard the night-fowl crow ; 
Thi^ cock sung out an hour ere light : 

From the dark fen the oxen's low 
Came to her : without hope of change. 

In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. 

Till cold winds woke the fip-ay-eyod mom 
About the lonely moated grange. 



She only said, "The day is dreary, 

He cometh not," she said ; 
She said, "I am aweary, aweary. 

And I would that I were dead ! " 

About a stone-cast from the wall 

A sluice with blackened waters slept. 
And o'er it many, round and small. 

The clustered marish-mosses crept. 
Hard by a poplar shook alway. 
All silver green with gnarled bark, 
For leagues no other tree did dark 
The level waste, the rounding gray. 
She only said, " My life is dreary. 

He cometh not," she said ; 

She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 

I would that I were dead ! " 

And ever when the moon was low. 

And the shrill winds were up and away, 
lu the white curtain, to and fro. 

She saw the gusty shadow sway. 
But when the moon was very low. 

And wild winds bound within their cell. 
The shadow of the poplar fell 
Upon her bed, across her brow. 

She only said, "The night is dreary. 

He cometh not," she said ; 

She said, "1 am aweary, aweary, 

I would that I were dead ! " 

All day within the dreamy house, 

The doors upon their hinges creaked. 
The blue fly sung i' the pane ; the mouse 

Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked, 
Or from the crevice peered aliout. 

Old faces glimmered through the doors, 
Old footsteps trod the upper floors, 
Old voices called her from without. 
She only said, " My life is dreary. 

He cometh not," she said ; 

She said, " I am aweary, awcan', 

I would that I were dead 1 " 

The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. 

The slow clock ticking, and the sound 
Which to the wooing wind aloof 

The poplar made, did all confound 

Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour 

When the thick-moted sunbe.am lay 

Athwart the chambers, and the day 

Was sloping toward his western bower. 

Then, .said she, " I am very dreary, 

He will not come," .she said ; 

She wept, " I am aweary, aweary, 

God, that I were daad ! " 

ALFKKn TKNNVsr>N 



^ 



rR- 



234 



POEMS OF DISAPPOIXTMEXT. 



-a 



A WOMAN'S LOVE. 

A SKNTiNEL uugel, Sitting high in glory, 
Heiuil this sluill wjiil ling out I'unu l^^^■g!lto^y ;, 
'■ llttvo meivy, mighty angel, hoar my story ! 

" 1 lovixl, ■ — and, blind with jwssioiiato love, I 

fell. 
Love bixiught me down to death, and death to 

Hell ; 
For God is just, and death for sin is well. 

" 1 do not rage against his high decree, 
>i or for myself do ask that grace shall be ; 
But for my love ou eartli who mourus for me. 

" Great Spirit ! Let me see my love again 
And comfort him one hour, and I were lain 
To pay a thousand yeai-s of tiiv and paiu." 

Then sjiid the pitying angil, " Nay, repent 
That wild vow I Look, the dial-tiuger "s bent 
Down to the last hour of thy punishment ! " 

But still she wailed, " 1 pray thee, let me go ! 
1 cannot rise to jwace and leave him so. 
0, let me soothe him in his bitter woo ! " 

The bi-azen gates ground sullenly ajar. 
And upwanl, joyous, like a rising star. 
She rose and vanished in the ether far. 



But soon adown the dying sunset sailing. 
And like a wounded bii\l her pinions trailing, 
She llutteivd Ixiek, witJi bi-oken-hearted wailing. 

She sobbed, ' ' I foimd him by the summer sea 
Keelined, his head upon a maiden's knee, — 
She curleil lus hair and kissed hun. AVoe is inc ! " 

She wept, "Now let my punishment begin ! 
1 have K'en fond and foolisli. Let me in 
To e.\piate my sorrow and my sin." 

The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher 1 
To be deceived in your true heart's desire 
Was bitterer than a thousand yeai-s of lire ! " 

John hav. 



DEATH AND THE YOFTH 

"Nor yet, the llowei-s are in my jiath. 

The sun is in the sky ; 
Not yet, my heart is fidl of hope, 

1 cannot bear to die. 

" Not yet, I never knew till now 
How pre>cious life could be ; 

My heart is full of love, Death ! 
I cannot come with thee ! " 

But Love and Hope, enchanted twain, 
Passed in their falsehood by ; 

Death came ngsiin, and then he sjiid, 
"I 'm re'ady now to die ! " 

LETITIA E. LANU 



U^ 



-^ 



[f^- 



n 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



SORROW AND ADVERSITY. 



EETKOSPECTION. 

FROM ■' THE PRINCESS." 

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. 
Tears from the depth of some divine desjmr 
liise in the heait, and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the hapjiy autumn fields, 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the fii-st beam glittering on a sail, 
That brings our friends u)) from the under world ; 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge, — 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The ca.sement slowly grows a glimmering sfiuare ; 
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remembered kisses after death. 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others ; dceji a-s love. 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, — 
Death in Life, the days that are no more. 

ALFRED TEN.\ySO,V 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 

Break, break, break. 

On thy cold gi-ay .stones, sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

well for the fisherman's boy 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 
well for the sailor lad 

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on. 
To the haven under the hill ; 

But for the touch of a rani-shed hand. 
And the .sound of a voice that is still ! 



Break, break, break. 

At the foot of thy crags, sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

AVill never come back to me. 



MOAN, MOAK, YE DYIKG GALES. 

Moan, moan, ye dying gales ! 
The saddest of your tales 

Is not .so sad as life ; 
Nor have you e'er tjegan 
A theme so wild as man, 

Or with such sorrow rife. 

Fall, fall, thou withered leaf ! 
Autumn sears not like grief, 

Xor kills such lovely flowers ; 
More tcnible the storai, 
More mouniful the deform. 

When dark misfortune lowers. 

Hush ! hush ! thou trembling lyre, 
Silence, ye vocal choir. 

And thou, mellifluous lute, 
For man .soon breathes his last, 
And all his hope is pa.st, 

And all his music mute. 

Then, when the gale is sighing, 
And when the leaves are dying. 

And when the song Ls o'er, 
0, let us think of those 
Whose lives are lost in woes, 

W^hose cup of grief mns o'er. 

IIE.NRV neele. 



HENCE, Ali TE VAIN DELIGHTS. 

Hexce, all ye vain delights. 

As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly ! 

There 's naught in this life sweet, 

I f man were wise to .see 't 
But only melancholy, 
0, sweetest melancholy I 



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fl-. 



'2St5 



roHMS ()>' SOliliOfV AND DEATH. 



43- 



WVIwmo, I'i.ia.Ml nnim, ,ui.l IK,V1 ov.«. 
A ai^ll Mint pioiviun mortilU^, 
A look Hint '» liiMtoiioil U. tlio ^•i'..\iml, 
A timgiiti olmiimil »|> willioul ii soiiml ! 

Kouiituiii-liiimU mill luilliloiu grovtM, 

IM«oiM wliioli |uiU' |iHSftiim liivoa I 

MiK.iiliKlit vvalk.H, wlioii nil tlio Ibwla 

All- wuiiiily IiohmihI kiivo li«b uiiil I'wl.i ! 

A mi.liu^lil lioll. II piiiiiiiKK'i"«" 1 

'I'litiMK 1110 till! MKIIiiils WO I'lunl iiimii ; 

Tlioii stinti'ti oiir lioiiiw in ii still gluoiiiy viilloy ; 

Nolliiiij; '» no ilninly »\viuit ii-i lovoly mi'iiiiu'lioij'. 



Ul.UW. lIlllW, I'llOll WINTICU WlNll 

llMiw. Mow. Hum ttiiiloi' wliul, 
Tlum »il not ao imkiiul 

Aa mini's iiijji'ntitiiilo ; 
Tliy tootli in iiol ao koon, 
Huomiao llioii Hit not soon, 

Altlioviffli tliy ImvhHi Iw nulo. 
llnijili-lio I aiiij; lioigli lio ! nulo tlio git<ou holly 
Moal lViiiiiilalii)ii,Hl'iiif;iiiii^. moat loving nunwl'olly 
Tlion. lioigli ho, thu holly ! 
'I'hia lil'o ia moat jolly ! 

Kttwjo, Ih'oBp, Ihon hiltiM' aky, 
'I'hon iloat not hito ao nigh 

Aa himolita loigol : 
Though thou tho wiitoi-a wi\ri>. 
Thy ating ia not ao ahiup 

A» tVioml itinu'ml'i'ivil not. 
lUighho ! aing lu'igh-ho ! nnto tliogivon holly 
Mont lVionilahi|>i» I'liigniiig, moat lovingmoiv folly : 
Thun, lipigh-ho. tht> holly ! 
Thia lifp ia moat joUy ! 

SHAKVapUAHll. 



ODK TO A NIOHTINOALK, 

INVf^ten III III* «)M[hl|E |4 itliv, whvn tiilt»iUv£ hvMU |itlysU-«l iWi-io* 
*Ki». Ih» |vi*<viikiM i»f hU ilMlh. wliiwh h*l'l>eueil *vM-n Artui ] 

Mv htwrt ivohos, nuil h ilwway numlmoas jv^ina 

My aenao, «a though of humlook I ln\»l iln\uk, 
Ov en>i>t it'll aomo ilnll o(>irttti to {Xw iliixina 

One minnto )><iat, tinil l.<^th^l\^al■^\ h*il aunk. 
'T i» not thr\>ngh onvy of thy happy hit, 

lint boing too hftppy in thy happiinwia, 
Thnt (hou, light-\vi\>g^(l Ovvail of tho titnw, 
Tn aomo molwliovia plot 

Of VxHvhon giVK-n, mul ah«ilowa nunilwildaa, 
Singtwt of Swinwuir in f\\llthriMit>Hl «>««i, 



O for ft ilrnnglit of vinliig.' 

Coolwl » Umg Hgo in llio iloup .U'lvi-.l .«rtli, 
Tiiating of Flora iiiul llm country gn'i'ii, 

liaiu'iMiiiill'iovi-nvaUong.omUiiiil'iu ill Mill 111' 

for a himknr lull of llm wiiriii South, 

Knll of Iho Iruo, Hio Muahllil llipponimi'. 
With hoailoil liiihliloa winking at Iho hiiiii, 
Ami purplo-ataiuiNil monlh, 

That 1 niiglililrink.anilloavothoworl.l luiiii'ii. 
Ami with thi'K faihi away into tlio foiral .luiv . 

Kaihi far iiwiiy, iliaaolvo, ami iiiiite forgil 

What lliou among llio loavoa haat uovit known, 
Tho wnariuoaa, tlm IVvnr, anil tlio fi'ot, 

lloiv, wluMo nii'U sit ami hoar naoh othnr groan ; 
Whoio palay alinkua a low ami, la.at gray hail's ; 

Wlu'io youth growa palo, anil apivlor lliiu, ami 
M«» ; 
\Mio«> hut to think ia to ho full of aorrow 
Ami loailon-oyoil iloapaira ; 

Whoro liiianty oanuol kooii hor UiHlrouH oyoa, 
l>r now l.ovo pino at llioiii hoxouil to moiiow. 

Away ! away ! loi 1 will ll> to llioo. 

Not I'hari'otoil hy Uaoi'lina ami hia panU. 
lint on tho viowloaa wiuga of I'ooay, 

Though tho ilnll brain porploxoa ami lolanla : 
Alivaily with thoo ! tomlor ia tho night, 

Ami haply tho nuoon-inoon ia on hor Ihioiio, 
iTuatolt'il anmml hy all Inr atariy taya ; 
Hut hoio Ihoiv la no light, 

Snvpwhul from lioavon iawilhtho hrooroa hlown 
ThlHiugh voiiluious glooms aiul wiiuling nuvaay 
waya, 

1 oannot ao«i what lloweiii aiv at my foot, 

Norwiiat aolt inoonao hanga upon Iho Knigha ; 
Itut, in oinlwlmM ilarkuoas guoaa oai'h swoot 

Whoivwith tho soaaonahlo month onilowa 
'l"ho giaaa, tho thiokot, ami tho fruit-tioo wilil, 

Wliito hawthorn aiul tho jvastonil oglnntiuo ; 
Kaat- failing violots, i-ovoiwl up in hvivoa ; 
Anil miil-May'a ohloal child, 

Tho I'oiniug muak-ivao, t\ill of ilowy wiiui, 
Tho munnuroua haunt of lUoa on auuimor ovoa. 

Darkling 1 liaton ; ami for many a tinu> 

1 havo IwMi liiUf in lovo with oaaoful Poath, 
("alloil him aoft namos in many a muaM iliymo. 

To tako into tho air my uniot hivath ; 
Now, moiv than ovor, aeoma it vioh to ilio, 

To ooaao uiwn tho miilnight, with no (viin. 
Whilo thou art \XMiring forth thy aoul ahixwil 
In suoli an ooataay ' 

Still wouhlat thou aing, ami 1 havo o«ra in vain. 
To thy high i'»n«iem Kvome » soil. 

Thou wast not Iwn for doath, in>mort»l Wnl ! 
No liun|;vy g»ner*fions tixwd tho* down ; 



^ 



Hninioiy A. 



Mil'EllHirV^ 



^^ 



TIio voico I bear lliin jMuming iii^lil waa hoard 
III aiicioiit (luyn by oiii|)iiior miil iJuwn : 

I'lii'tjapH t)ii: Wilftiiimi! riijii){ lljiit louiiil ii puUi 
'I'IiixukIi Uic null Ijiiai-l of llutli, wliuii, hU-M for 

Hill- utooil ill tuum uiiiiil till- ulimi colli ; 

'I'lii; HiiiiKi that ofttiiiiiiH hiith 
I liiiniiud iiiu^ii; caiKinieiitii o|ii:iiiiig on Ihii foam 
Of jyt'iilouii BcuB, In faery lundii forlorn. 

l''oi|./rii ! thi) very wonl in liko a hull, 

To toll iiic back from then U> my Hole self ! 
AilnMi ! till! I'micy cannot chcicl no witll 

All shii in faiiicil to do, deceiving elf. 
Adiwi ! lulicii I thy plaintive untlieni fadeu 

I'ii.sl tlie near meudowB, over t)ie uliil ulieuni, 
Up the liillitiili: ; ami now 't in buried dceji 
In the next vallcygliuliw ; 

Wb« it a vijiion or a waking dream f 
Fled in that niuaic, — do I wake or ii\fi;\i f 

)OMl( KHATS, 



0, poun upon my soul nfjain 

'I'hat Huil, uneurthly utrain 
'I'hut heeiiiii from oilier worldn to 'jdiiin I 
'I'hUH falling, UiWuifi^ fn/in afar. 
An if dome nieliincholy Btar 
iliui mingled with her light her iiighii, 

And droppi;d tliem from tin; nklcK, 

No, never came from aught In low 

Thin melody of woe, 
Tliiil makcH my heart to overlhiw. 
Ax from a tlioii«aiid gunhing Hpriiigit 
I'nknowii before ; that with it liriiign 
'I'hin nanielens light— if light it be - 

That veilB the world I see. 

For nil I iir;e around me weam 

Tint hue of other spheres ; 
And Bomelhing blent of BmileH and tears 
Comes from the very air I breathe. 
0, nothing, sure, tlie stars beneatli, 
Can mould a siwlness like \j) this, — 

80 like angelic bliss ! 

80, at that dreamy hour of 'lay. 
When the last lingering ray 

Wl/jps on the highest cloud t'l play, — 

80 thought the gentle Uor-alie 

As on her m.'iiden revery 

first fell the strain of him who sti.le 
In music to her soul. 

washihgtow ai.ijtom. 



on' IN THIS HTIIJ-Y NIOHT, 

Opt in th« stilly night, 

KiB ulumhei's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me : 
The smiles, the tears. 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love tlien spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Now dimmed an<l gone. 
The rheerful hearts now broken. 
Thus in the stilly night, 

K,ie slumber's chain has Iwund me, 
8ad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends so linked together 
I 've seen around me fall, 

liike leaves in wintry weather, 
I feel like one 
Who treads alone 
Some han'|uet-hall descrtwl, 
Whose lights arc (led, 
Whose garlands dea«l, 
An.l all but he rieparted. 
Thus ill thr^ stilly night, 

y.n; slumber's chain has bound mn. 
Had Memory brings the light 
Of other days around mo. 

THOUAS MOOI 



THOHB EVENINO HELLil. 

TiioHK evening bells ! those evening hells 
How many a tale their music t'dls 
Of youth, and home, and thai swet time 
When hist I heard their soothing chiim: '. 

Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
And many a heart that then was gay 
Within the tomb now darkly dwidls. 
And lieais no more those evening hells. 

And ivi 't will be when I am gone, — 
Th.'it tuneful peal will still ring on ; 
While other l)«rdfl shall walk these dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells 



THK KIJN IS WARM, THE BKY Vi C'l.KAIt. 

STANZAS WKITTEM IM OEJEATIOW WKAH WAPI.eS 

TllK sun is warm, the sky ia clear. 
The waves are dancing fast and Wght, 
Dine Isles and snowy mountains wear 
Tlie purplij iwon's transparent light ; 



-^ 



ilas 



roKm OK aoKHiW ano luiArn, 



'ri\t> iSl^v's \\>ivv itswlf U !n\lt Uki> vSk»I\|>hIo'», 
\Vitl> jji\Hv>\ rtinl |>v»nU> «>>« wwvls ShMWU i 

I !«>(> t\w WI>\<V( m>.\« ll\<> sIlvMV 

l.\k<> Hjilvl ili!is\>\\rtl ill M«i^!il»n\\\vw tln\>\M\ ; 

Alas ! I U«v<> «i>v Uo|v luxf Uts^\llv, 

'fhi' *,-«sv >« (uisUt.'UikVW l\>\>uvl, 
A>\>1 walktHl \v>lt» \«>\\«i\l _>i\>\vv \'>\»\v\(rtl. 
Ni\>' l\»»h>, «w \s>\v«M\ u>M' U>v<s >vm- l<>isH»v 
Oth<\wi \ Mv \\\\\\\\\ Ovi>*> s«n\«\uv< ; 
5<»\vU\«V}5 <>><\v >>v\s «>\\l »\»U UtV ndsisiiw ; 
"IV «v>> \\\M oy\\\ U*» l«H>« »Uv*l« iu tM»KtUi>f (Wivswvu'xv 

Wt MOW vlt«HV>U' >ts<>lf is \HiM 
K\»>H OS tUi> wilwls OUk) wauvw »«x> ! 

\ vvv>Ul \v>' vU>\\«v liKo * uu>l oluUI, 
A»vl \\«>i» i«\vt»\ (Ui< \itV vv|\\'«>v 
WUioU I li*V(> K\t\\<s *«>l \A't <H«s( Wv«\ 
'IMl vU\«iU \ik<< sliH'j* \Hvs''>' "'•^■♦l *^» >«<>> 
A<vvl \ >«is'>' •>'«'* >" ''«* «*vu\ aiv 
My oh<vk j;''*>^v »vUI, w\vl Ut\«>- ih«> s<n* 



MV SHIP, 

IV»\V\ t\x tl»i« \vl\*vvxvi. *» th* Sim »!>vs >U»\v>v, 
A»vl (l\<> vl,\vlvsU«'s tuiitnli *H»I vlrtst »uti vlh» 

\VUi>»v »I«\NS, \iV.<> liUt^S» U<> l»<MU|ui%, 

Au.i •,' 






4v. 



O, ii\ii)o wiw n vtwsiil \<f sl\vuj;lli mill Initli, 

IIpi' suits winv whito twt it ,vi>«»j; lim\li's ll(i»i><i, 
Sl>iv sHilmi Kvivj} siooo t\\»» ttiii l>mi mI" \\«ill\, 

llov IHHStot' \V«a I.OVC, «H\l l\<'l- IIIMHO Wtts ISnUHV 

Auil Uki> «U K'IomhI iti\il Ihvi>\iioi«»s tlitiv^, 

Sllli ft>>li'il ill vlislnUi'o lU\vl lliUlllt «W«y, - 
Wttll UMly- U l\VH\l\ll> >\|'s\n\\V_V wiiv^ij* 
Kltl> lltVI(<Hl, S\VAU'l(kt>, HvloWtl ll)l> Uv,V, 

»\>l'l'\i»,»; with l\o>' i> l»wi»\is l\\vtj;|it. 
All I Utul ){ttt IikixhI I>y y«>i^ nl' jviiii ; 

A l\'i>\|>li\>js )v»t«<> tv> \iw y\\mU\ I'Vh', 
Ami still I \v«t»>U IW ln>>- l«ok t»j{t\i» ; - 

\Y«tv'l\ ft\\\>i tUo <v«vliiwt \«v>minj; lijjUt 
'rill tU<> |v«lo siiXN j;(i<>vi> >i'<>i' iKo vlyin,i; My, 

'IV ».mv'l> (\w ,>;K>»m W Ucc i'<iuv»» wloio 
A>«»\>j; (III' isltuitls whioli >{«'«> iIik Iv»j'. 

UhI »I«' \>Mntvs H>>t yot. slio will >\<>vo>' >'>m«<< 
IV )<litiUlo» Hvy <\Viw i«iul uvv sniHt )«>>»> ; 

A«>1 >»> li««'l s>\>ws I>v\|>.>l<v4s and l\>i»l Hud tlH(«l\ 
As I woit s>\vl wait >»« (ho l>v\»wv»\»o s|ux»v, 

Ku»wi«>js that ^^^^^^^H\st »«vl tii\»o a«il stv\n» 
llnvvwtwkiHl aHvl sl\:»ttv>>xxl \«y K><\>u<s>«slv\\-k; 

MauK «\>>\v«hIs v>>v<>v Hov wastin^i; I'wim, 
A»vt Uo»~ sails a>v ^att^>^^^l awvl slaiH^l iu»l ilaik, 

Uwt thi> tW<> »H«H(vs H)\ au>\ tUi> tuW svwt viowiv. 

A>»1 t\\f »laylvj{U« l\xlU»\vsth<invj!l>t's tvlijvsts— 
Au^l still wilK tl»> sailvM-s, taiwinl »u\l lv>\>\n\, 

I wail vxn tl><> wl>an<^a auvl watvh llu- sUi|>s, 

A«vl still with a ^^ati^^H^v that is )n>t h»|x\ 
Kvvf v»iu »\\\\ <'>«i<ly it Umij; l>atl< Iw^Mv 

I sit »\« the «\ntj»h sh»\(vV twky »^^>^^v 
Ami \v»toh tv> siH> ir «\y *hi)> kvtutvs itt. 



AfWK IN t-MK tXKSiKKW 

A>\VK i« tl\(> >Uv\wt I lo>0 tv> vi>l<\ 

\Vitl> tl»<> siWt l^iishlvv sUmu' I\v n\y sivW ; 

\VI\.M» tho SVMWWS wflilV tW Svx«l o"w^*st. 

Auvl> si>-k ixf tlvt> )M\vs<>nt, \ oUtvj; tv> th«> iv»st ; 
WUon tU<< <*yx> is s»tll\)stsl with t\'^<vtt\U txxsis, 
Kv\\>» tlu> r>«ul \\s\vll<s'tivv«s \\t" tWw<-»- yiv<»«» , 
A«vl Al\a»U>ws >\t' thiiv,tfi that l>aw Uuvjt *i»«v tl«l 
KUl »>YW th«> h)>«ht. Ivk<> th<> j;h>vsts \Mf the vWil. — 
l^'Vsht \i!iiv\»ks v>«' j«U\)v that vaoishisl tv><x S\>>\t> ; 
IVaj -klivaws. that vlo\v«-t<sl <<iv uianhvHxrs «i>>\\» j 
Attaoh\H«\ts hy t!»to vw titls^)lvyHl >vt> ; 
VV\v>\v«»u\«>s vvt" (Nat-ly vlays Uxst >« m ; 
A<»>l uvy tvstivv U»vl, wh>w nva^Hk) »»*»«<' 



4< 



IV ' 



HOUUOIV AND A/jy/aiH/'/y. 



2'.'/.) 'r 



b- 



'Ctiir Imiiif lit iity iMIiIUihA ; t)i« iiuiiitlM of (/ly 

All l.)(« fnumiiiiis mill tUAWM iil (Jiat (nij/tM/oHK ti/<i/r 
Wli«(i U«! fwili/igs WW* yomii^ «//'! (.)/<: w<//l'l 

(yik<! t,(i<! f»<!i*)i Iwy/wm 'yf I^Mii iiiiMiiUin l/> view ; 
All, all now formkitii, (nrnntU-.n, (nn-^'iiii; '. 

A/I'l J, a \llllt; i:Xi\i: IHIIIlrllltilUiA 1)1 I II II II',, 

A)y liif(l) «!((« hImiiiUiiiijI, my ii;iiA «/;(* ii;»- 

<l(/;<'!, 
Aw««/7 "Cttll f.l(at is H/i'li;)' lli': sun, - 
VVilJi Dial w<4;ii!*« of l««;t y/t)i/;J) ii/i »irniiiii;r 

limy m'Mi, 
1 (ly l/j U)<! i\t:tvtl1. nfiil fliilii liiii.li. 

Mar i/j i\ii: i^fMiX I \i,'/i: Uj (i/l«, 
Wit!) lie: »il<!/il I'/iJsli-Uy al///i<: t/y Hiy «i/l<;f 
VVIiKii itift wi|/l lurdioil (/f tl)i)i wiiaris/zH//; l)f<;, 
Willi its >i<«i«* of munissiAiiii, li'imifiiiiiii, aii/l 

st/ifft, 
'l'i»« (/r<(ii/l man's frown, mul tli/j Iwk; i/iao'a 

f«ar, 
'I'll/! ni'/iriwyti hits')!, K-iiif t'"' aufffif'tr'e t<«r, 
An'i iii'AW:, mill iinMiinitnti, umi fAnf.ii'i'A, ao/l 

MIy, 
iJinjc/wi i(i<! l/< friii8iiij({ ad'l 'lack iiiAuiirinAy ; 
WtiKii my SDmnii ia foil, ai/'l iny tli>/iiglit« <trft 

Awl iny w/iil is »il/:k wit.li t.li<: ifniitmnn'H xij/li,— 
O, tli/:H ).)i<:f<! in fi-JH-Aiiiii, mill j'/y, a/i') j/ii/l/:, 
Afar id tt«! •l/jWfrt al'/fi<! t/( »i*l/; ! 
'I'll';)'- i» r!«|;l.iir<: f/i y'aillt oo tlo; ';liaf()J;l(ij(irt/!'-yl, 
Ali/I t/; l«;ri)|i| av/ay with tli/i <'a((Ii;'s aju-i/l, 
Witt) t)i« lU-sttU-fmis/Ui fSn-.Wk Ui i/iy iiad'l, - 
'I'lx; '/nly law of tlift Mirtmtt fMni '. 

Afar i» t.fi<! <I«w;rt I lovft to ri<l/;, 

Willi liift «il(;nt hiitshiioy niow fiy my Mn, 

Away, a.way from tin; 'Iwftllinj^i <i( iinrii, 

l',y llii; wll'l <lw;f's fiaiiril, l/y tli<: (/iiffalo's fipiii ; 

liy vall/;ya iKinniM wficru thft oriW fiUyv, 

Wli<rr<! till! ({Till, til'; fpiwill'i, a«/l Ukj hmiJ-in-Mnt. 

Vf-ii'm, 
Aw! tJie k'i'lii ari'I ftUn'l iinhiinteJ rwilin/; 
I5y Dili f)ki(t« of (fray f/;r'»!l o'eriimiK with wlW 

ylH<! ; 
Wliirm th/! i:li<fi\iitii1. iirowm^n al f««i/* in hi» wccl, 
An'l iUi:rhi:rAinrt!): i^uiiinU iiiiiv.hh-A in tin-. HikA, 
And Itift niighly riiSuiii'Mon wallows at will 
In till; f>;n wSii'.Tit t\ii: wil'l axti ix 'irinkin;^ litis 

till. 

Afar in thu <l/«»rrt ( l//V« ro »i/!*, 
Willi ili/j sil/rnt (Jiusli-lxiy al//n« t/y my tsiil/;, 
0'i;f tde l/rown karr'yv, wlntr* tin; l»l«atin({ 'rry 
Of III/; BidinfflKik'ii fawn Hfiumlx i<lalntiy';ly ; 
An'l till! tiniofOH»')iiaj(i^'» sliiill wli)?,llin({ n«ij{li 
I* liirar'l liy l)i« fountain at twilijjjit (jray ; 



W)ii;ri; till! ii«li)« wanUmly t/rtwflt (lit /nam-. 
Wild wil'l lioof lujiHriiijt til* 'l<:«<ilat<-, |/)«in ; 
Ami Id/-, ))<-*lf','/l/->l mUiih oiki tin; wmtf*: 
iifn-j'/lit liki! a doiwman wd// t(av<:l» in daAt<;, 
IliMiin away 1/; tl/<; li//;/ii; </f li/tr /'ml, 
Vliuiif, kIi/s anil d«r niaUj day*; vvnumi ld/;ii n«»t, 
Ka* )ii/l f/'im lli« (/itil««) f,luiiili:ii;i'it t'lKw 
ill till; jwtdliflw '(/;(/ld* of Idi! \Mi:iifA iintrifi. 

A fill ill tilt; 'll«/;rt ( )oV<; t/i /j/|/;. 

Wild Id'-. iiil/!«l IJiisd-lioy aloni! t;y my Mi;, 

Away, away, in td/j wil'l/rin'iws ya*l 

Vi'iii;ii; Id'! wliit/i man'i! f'M dalli n';Vir( J'tt«e'-'l, 

All') id': 'jniyifC'-/) < 'irniiiin. oi li<r'di)an 

(laid raf'-ly ''r'/ws"-/) wild din rovinff <lan, - 

A ii;{/)iiii '/f 'rnijiliii'^M!, dowlinj/ an'l 'Icar, 

Wlii/:l) man dald ninmiioinA from fmiiiiii' uiiii 

t-tir ; 
Wiiii'ii Id'! snak': an'l td« lizar'l inlialiil alon" 
Wild Id': Iwilixlil liat fcmi id': yuwiiiiiii >.u,u' 
Wd'-r'! nmm, nor li';rii, nor ednid tak'fl* fc/)., 
Hay: {niMinoiiit iiioriiK idal (/i'-*':/- tl": f'y/l ; 
An') III/: iiHU;i-iiif\oir for f'yl an'l '(rink, 
l« ill': |'il{{(ini t ■,M(ik ; 

A liffioll 'if 'Ic I' :, 

.'i"l /i('J'lin<{ l/r 

Wd/:r': w/l(fy /"'ol, noi it"i,i,Ui4ii, )/,i.«l, 

Nor Ir'-A, n'/r ':Iopi'), nor mi<ty /nonnl, 

A)'|K««r>i, t/i r';f»'«d tin: »/:diii(( ':y<! ; 

l/iil til': li«r«:n isiftd an') tin: imniiiiK nicy. 

Am) til': ('lank iioii'//iii, roiiii'l am) foiiwi, 

HfiiifMi, io\ii '/f livinj( iiij^dl '/I viHini, 

l\wi d'-i<:, wdil': id'! ni;{dtwin'l» /'inn') m« uijffi, 

Am) llii: etarB durn l/rit/dl in tti<: mi>)ni((lit leky. 

As ) «il ajiart dy tde linntrX iiUiiii;, 

),ik': KJijad at )('/r<;)''» ':ay';, al/in/:, 

"A utill >:nial) vnim" •■jiHn» tiinmi/fi tli»; wid) 

II/&.I; a tatd'rr 'y/nicili»i<{ diit fr'Afn) ';di)')/, 

W)ii':d daniiilK!* intU^numi, wratd, am) t'«r, 

HayiiiH, - Man in ')i»t«»t, init Oo*) i>, n/:af ! 

'/«//M*5 ('*)ll',(,fc 



MA.iifi'nv in Mii'.y.ir/ , 

fim/.A'l Uoimri-ii oftiu; Worl/), from wdow: C'/wm 

Hfirings 
'I'd/! i'lAM.ni-y am) ('ow':r i/f Kin{f«, 
llwwl till! )£/iyal Wo* my Hiilti;rinir »ift((* ; 

Am) t/!!</:h my t/injfiU!, tdat <;y<;r ')i/) '/inlini; 

It* fa/fiiltl** In Tmld't Ki^/ajidi/: J,in<!, 

To tra/;k td'j TnauKms of tdy f'/ias an') mi/i/-. 



N'at'ir"; ami law, i/y Idy Uivin* I,>'!/,'r<',« 
'Tdc '/nly )!/i"l of )Sij^it*//«» ll//ya)li/:; 
Wild tdi8 'lim lhMi':iii invftty/l im: : 



.-li 



a- 



240 



IVUMS OK SORSOir AND DEATH. 



■^ 



■\Vitii it tlio saciinl Sceptor, riujilo Uobo, 
Tho Holy Uuotiou, luul tho UoyhI tilolv: 
Y»t oiu I U'voUod with tho lifo olMoli. 

Tho fioiTost Furies, that do ilivily troiul 
Upon my Oi'iof, my Gray Pis-crowiuVl Head, 
Aro thoao that owo my Bounty for thoir Uitvul. 

Thoy raisp a War, and Christon it TVii' (^iiii,«, 
Whilst sacrilegious hands havo host applause, 
riuudor and llunlor ait> tho Kinjjvloni's l^aws ; 

Tyranny Iwii-s tho Title of 'J'tiMition, 
l!ovonj?> and Kohbory ai\< J{i-f\>riniilwn, 
l^ppit'ssion gains tlio nanio of Ai/Mioi/rd/iim. 

My loyal Siibjoi'ts, who in this Imd season 
Attend mo (by tho law of Ood and Uoason), 
They dari> imiioaoh and punish for High Tivason. 

Next at tlio Clergy do their Kurios fivwu ; 

Pious Kpisooiwey must go down ; 

They will dostiMy tdie Ci\)sier and tho Civwn. 

t'hun'hmen arp chained and Schisniatieks are 

freed, 
Mochanicks pivaoh, and Holy Fathei's bleed. 
The Civwn is crucified with tlio Civod. 

Tho fhuivh of F.ngland doth all factions foster. 
The pulpit is usurped by each impi.>ster, 
Extfmivre excludes the rater Xostrr. 

Tho I'lYffiiitfr and rmif/itnJt-nt siMxi 
Springswithbi-oiid blades ; to make Keligiou bleed, 
Heixid and Pontius Pilate ai^o agiiHHl. 

Tho corner-stone 's misplaced by eveiy Pavier : 
With such a blotxly method and In^liavionr 
Their Ancostoi-s did crucify our Sjiviour. 

JMy Koyal Consort, fivm whose fruitful Womb 
So many Princes logsUly have oome. 
Is foired in Pilgrimage to seek a Tomb. 

Oivat l>ritain's lioir is foTOKi into France, 
Whilst on his father's head his foes advmice : 
Poor child ! Ho weeps at his Inhoribuice- 

With my own Power my Miyesty thoy wound 
lu tho King's nametho Kinghimself'suncrowne^l: 
So dotli the Dust destivy the l")iau\oud. 

With Propositions daily they onchiuit 
My People's oai-s, such as do reason daunt. 
And the Almighty will not lot me grant. 

They prvMuiso to er»ct my Kojiil Stem. 
To n\iikc Mo givat, t' ad\i»nce my Diadem, 
If 1 will tii-st fall down, and worship thom. 



Uut, for refusiU, they devour my Throiu's, 
IMstivss my Children, and destroy my bones ; 
1 tear they '11 fcrcc im- to make broad of stones. 

My Lite they pri/.e al such a slender rirto 
That in my absence they draw liills of hate, 
'I'o prove the King a Traytor to the State. 

Felons obtiiin more priviledge than 1 : 
They are allowed to answer ere thoy die ; 
'Tis deatli for me to nsk tho reason Why. 

Uut, Sacred Siiviour. with thy wonls 1 woo 

Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 

Such as thou know'st ilo not know what thoy ilo. 

For since they fixun their l.onl are so disjointed 
As to contonni those Kdicls he appointed. 
How can they prize the Power of his .\uoiuted t 

.Vuguu'Tit my Patience, nullitie my Hate, 
Pit'sorve my l.ssue, aaid inspire my Mate : 
Yet, though We perish, bless this Clunvh and 
Stale. 

CHAKLBS niK FIRST. 



lTNr>EK THE CROSS. 

1 CANNOT, cannot say. 
Out of my bruised and bnaking heart. 
Storm-driven along a thorn-sot way. 

While blooti-drejvs stnrt 
From every pore, as 1 drag on, 

" Thy will, God, bo done ! " 

I thought, but yestei\iay. 
My will was one with God's deai- will ; 
.•\ud that it would be sweet to say. 

Whatever ill 
My happy sl:itc should smito upon, 

" I'hy will, my God, bo done ! " 

Hut I was weak and wrong, 
Hotli weak of sonl and wrong of heart ; 
.Viul Pride alone in me was strong. 

With cunning art 
To cheat nu' in the golden sun. 

To say " God's will be done ! " 

O shadow dresu" and cold. 
That t'right.s mc out of foolish pride ; 

llootl, that through my basom rolled 

Its billowy tide ; 

1 said, till ye your ]iower made known, 

"Go<Vs will, not mine, bo done ! 



durio); his captivity .tt Carisbrook castle. Anno CVmh. 



©-.- 



-EP 



[£}-■ 



HDHIWIV AND ADVERSITY. 



241 



■a 



6 



Now, faint niid Kore adaiil, 
Under my croHn, heavy ami nule, 
My yiolH in the asijeH laid, 

Like aHliex «tiv;wed, 
Tin; holy v/imh my jiali; lips hhuii, 

"0 God, thy will he done I" 

Pity my woes, God, 
And toueh my will with thy warm breath ; 
I'lit in my tn-mhlinf; hand thy rod, 

'I'liat iiuieketiH death ; 
'i'liat my dead faith may feel thy sun, 

And Hiiy, "Tliy will he ilone ! " 

WII.I.IAM CARIiV KJCIIAKIJ 



LOVE NOT. 

\,u\v. not, love not, ye hajilens sonH of eluy ! 
Hope's gayent wreaths are maxle of eartlily flow- 
ers, — 
Things that are made to fade and fall away 
Ere tliey have hlossomed foi' a few short hours. 
Ijove not ! 

Love not ! the thirig ye love may change ; 
'J'he losy lij) may eease to smile on you. 
Tin; kindly-heaming eye grow coM and strange, 
'J'hi! heart still warmly beat, yet not lj<; true. 
Love not ! 

Love not ! the thing you love may die, - 
May jjeiish from the gay and glaiJsome earth ; 
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky. 
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its Vjirth. 

LoVr; not ! 

Jjove not ! warning vainry said 
In pn M ril hours !is in yeais gone by ! 
l.oM- lliii;/-: a halo round the dear ones' head, 
Faidlli-;'!, immortal, till they change or die. 
Love not ! 

CaKOLISU li, NOkTCS. 



SAMSON AGONISTEH. 

A i.rrii.K onward lend thy guiding hand 
'I'o these dark steps, a little fartlier on ; 
For yoniler bank hath choice of sun or shade : 
There I am wont to sit, when any chance 
Relieves me from my task of servile U)W, 
Daily in the common prison else enjoined me, 
Where I a pris')ner, chained, scarce freely draw 
The air imprisoned also, close and damp. 
Unwholesome draught ; hut here I feel amends. 
The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and 

sweet, 
With day-spring bom : here leave inc to respire. 



This day a solemn feast the pwple hold 

To iJagon, their sea-idol, and forbid 

Laborious works : unwillingly this rest 

'i'heir superstition yields me ; henee with leave 

lietiring from the pojjular noise, I seek 

This un)rei|uente<l place U> find sf>nie ease, — 

i'jtse to the Viody some, none t« the mind 

l''rorn restless thoughts, that, like a ileailly swann 

Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone, 

iJut rush upon me thronging, and jiresent 

Times p.'ist, what once I w;is, and what am now. 

O, wherefore was my birth from lleavin foretold 

Twice by an angel, who at last in sight 

Of both my parents all in (lames asieuded 

From od'the altar, where an olleriug burned. 

As in a fiery column, chari'iting 

His gwllike prewMice, and from some great iu;t 

Or benefit revealed to .Miraham's race? 

Whj' was my breeding ordered and prescribed 

As of a ]>erson separate to (Jrjd, 

Designc'l for great ex|iloits, if I must die 

Ijetrayed, captivcd, ami both my eyes put out. 

Made of my enemies the scoiti and gaze ; 

To grind in brazen fetters uinler task 

With this Ileaveii-giftcd strength ? O glorioui 

strength, 
Put to the labor of a Ixjast, rietiased 
Lower than Isindslavc ! Promise was that I 
Should Israel from I'hilistian yoke deliver ; 
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him 
P^yeless in fJaza, at the mill with slaves. 
Himself in Is^nds umler I'hilistian yoke ! 

loss of sight, of thee 1 most comjilain I 
liliii'l among enemies, O, worse than chains, 
iJiingeon, or beggary, or decrejiit age I 
Light, the prime work of flod, to me is extinct. 
And all her various obj<;cts of delight 
Annulled, which might in iKirt my grief have cased. 
Inferior to the vilest now Ixicome 
Of man or wonn ; tlie vilest here excel me ; 
They creep, yet see ; I, (lark in light, ex[i08<;<l 
To ilaily fraud, contempt, abuse, anrl wrong. 
Within doors or without, still as a fool. 
In [wiwei' of others, never in my own ; 
Sirarcc half 1 seem to live, flciid more than half. 
dark, dark, ikrk, amid the bkze of noon. 
Irrecoverably dark, tfHal eclipse. 
Without all hoiie of day ! 



HELECTIONH FROM " I'ARADLSK LOST," 

KVI'.'.S I.A.MK.ST. 

UNKXi'Kcri'.l) stroke, worse than of death I 

Must I thus leave thee. Paradise ? thus leave 

Thei-, native soil ! these happy walks and shades. 

Fit haunt of gods ; where I had hope to speml. 



& 



fl- 



242 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



-a 



tl- 



Quiet, though sad, tho rusiiite of that day 
Tlmt must be mortal to us botli ? O llowers. 
That never will in other climate grow, 
My early visitation, and my last 
At even, which I bred up with tender hand 
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names ! 
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank 
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ? 
Thee, lastly, imptial bower ! by me adorned 
Witli wluit to sight or smell was sweet, from tliee 
llow shall I part, and whither wander down 
Into a lower world, to this obscure 
And wild ? how sliall we breathe in other air 
Less pure, accustomed to immortiil fruits ? 

THE EXILE PUOM PARADISE. 

ADAM TO MICHAEL. 

Gently hast tlu)U told 
Thy message, which might else in telling wound, 
And in performing end us. Wliat liesides 
Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair 
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring ; 
Departure from this happy place, our sweet 
Recess, and only consolation left. 
Familiar to our eyes, all places else 
Inhospitable appear and desolate. 
Nor knowing us nor known ; and if by prayer 
Incessant I could hope to change the will 
Of Him who all things can, I would not cease 
To weary him with my assiduous cries. 
But ju-ayer against his abs.iliitr decree 
No more avails than lncatb :ii;.iin^l the wind. 
Blown stifling back on him lli:il I'lcalhes it forth; 
Tliereforo to his great bidiliug 1 submit. 
This nu)st afllicts me, that, de])arting hence, 
As from his face I shall be hid, deprived 
His blessM countenance, here I could freipient 
With worship place by place where ho vouclisafed 
Presence divine, and to my sons relate, 
On this mount he appeared ; under this tree 
Stooil visilile ; among tliese pines his voice 
I hoard ; here with him at this fountain talked ; 
So many grateful altars 1 wouhl roar 
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone 
Of luster from the brook, in memory 
Or monument to ages, and thereon 
Olfcr sweet- smelling gums, and fruits, nndtlowers. 
In yonilcr nether worhl wliero shall 1 seek 
His liriglit appearances, or footstep trace ? 
For tliough I rted him angry, yet, recallcil 
To life prolonged and promised race, I now 
(Madly behold though but his ntmost skirts 
Of gliiry, and far otf Ins steps adore. 

Henceforth 1 learn that to obey is best. 
And love with fear tlie only Ood, to walk 
As in liis presence, ever to observe 



His providence, and on him sole depend, 
Merciful over all his works, with good 
Still overcoming evil, and by small 
Accomplishing great things, by things deemed 

weak 
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise 
By simply meek ; that suffering for truth's sake 
Is fortitude to highest victory, 
And to the faitliful death the gate of life : 
Taught this by his example, whom 1 now 
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest. 

EVE TO ADAM. 

With sorrow and heart's distress 
Wearied, I fell asleep. But now lead on ; 
In nie is no ilelay ; with thee to go. 
Is to stay here ; without thee here to stay. 
Is to go hence unwilling ; thou to me 
Art all things under heaven, all places thou. 
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. 
This further consolation, yet secui-e, 
1 carry hence ; though all by me is lost. 
Such favor I imworthy am vouchsafed. 
By me the promised Seed shall all restore. 

THE DEPARTURE. 

I N either hand the hastening angel caught 
Our lingering parents, and to tlie eastern gate 
I,ed them direct, and down the cliff as fast 
To the sulijc(^tod plain ; then disappeared. 
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 
Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. 
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them 

soon ; 
The world was all before them, wdiere to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. 
They, hand in hand, witli wandering steps and 

slow. 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 



WOLSEY'S FALL. 

FROM '■ HENRY VHI." 

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man : to-day he puts furtli 
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
Aw\ bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And — when lie thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening — nips his ront. 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
Tins many summers in a sea of glory ; 



But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 



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c& 



HOURiJir AND ADVERHITY. 



243 



^ 



At Ifiigth l)roke under me ; and now lias left me, 
Weaiy and old with service, to tlie mercy 
< M' a rude stream, that must forever liide me. 
Vain pomi) and glory of this world, 1 hate ye : 
I Icel my heart new opened. 0, how wi-etched 
Is I hat poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwi.xt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruiu. 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have : 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

SlIAKESI'EAKE. 



CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL. 



CiiciMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; l)Ut thou hast forced me, 
Out of thy honest truth, to play tlie woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Crom- 
well ; 
Ami — when 1 am forgotten, as I shall be. 
Anil sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 
( )f mc more iimst lie heard of — say, I taught thee. 
Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — 
Found thee a way, out of his wieck, to rise in ; 
A .s\n-e and .safe one, though thy master missed it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. 
Cromwell, 1 charge thee, fling away amljition ; 
By that sin fell tlie angels ; how can nuui, then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't '. 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate 

thee : 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To .silence envious tongues. Heju.st, and fear not : 
Let .-dl the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
Thy (;od'.s, and trutli's ; then if thou fall'st, 

Cromwell ! 
Thou fall'.st a blessed martyr. 
S{'rvc the king ; and — pr'ythee, lead mc in : 
TlicTc take an inventory of all I have, 
To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
1 dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
Ibid 1 but served my God with half the zeal 
1 served my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 

SHAKESPEAKH. 

THE LATE SPKIXd. 

She stood alone amidst the April fields, — 

Brown, sodden fields, all desolate and bare. 
"The spring is late," she said, "the faithless 
si)ring, 
That should have come to make the meadows 
fair. 



y-^- 



' ' Their sweet South left too soon, among the trees 
The birds, bewildered, flutter to and fro ; 

For them no green boughs wait, — their memories 
Of last year's April had deceived them so." 

She watched tlie homeless birds, the slow, sad 
spring. 

The barren fields, and shivering, naked tn-es. 
" Thus God has dealt with me, his child, "she said; 

' ' I wait my spring-time, and am cold like these. 

"To them will come the fullness of their time ; 
Their spring, though late, will make the mead- 
ows fair ; 
Shall I, who wait like them, like them be blessed ? 
I am his own, — doth not my Father care ?" 
Louise CHANDi-t-k moulton. 



A LAMENT. 

O WORLD ! O Life ! O Time ! 
On whose last steps I climb. 

Trembling at that where 1 had stood before ; 
When will return the glory of your prime ? 
No moi'e, — O neverntoi'c ! 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight : 

Fre.sh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
No moie, — O nevemiore ! 

PERCY BVSSHE SHELLKV. 



"WHAT CAN AN OLD MAN DO BUT DIE?" 

Si'iiiNO it is cheery, 

Winter is dreary. 
Green leaves hang, but the brown nmst fly ; 

When he 's forsaken. 

Withered and .shaken, 
What can an old man do but die ? 

Love will not clip him, 

Maids will not li]) him, 
Maud and Marian pass him by ; 

Youth it is sunny. 

Age has no honey, — 
What can an old man do but die ? 

.June it was jolly, 

for its folly ! 
A dancing leg and a laughing eye ! 

Youth may be silly, 

Wisdom is chilly, — 
Wliat can an old man do but die ? 



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e- 



244 



POKMS OF SORHOiF AND UKATH. 



b'riomls th<>Y mv »o«nty, 

Hi>jjjju>!> (n't' i>lfnty, 
ir lio lins followoi's, I know wliy i 

U»lil ".I ill his oUitvhos 

(,Ui>y>i>,»C liii" i'r«lvlit>s ! )^ 
\Yl\i<t i>im nM oM nmii do buliUnl 

THOMAS IKXlft 



WIIKN MUAl.l. \VK Al.l. MKKT AOAIN? 

WilKN sliiill \v<i nil tuwt »j;uii> ! 
Wlion sli!»U wo all mcot iijisiiiv f 
0(X shull jtlowini; I>»|h> <>\|>>i~<s 
Oft sUall wouiiHl U>v<' (viiiA 
Ort sUnll >l«»tli Hwil sonvw ivijjii, 
K>v wo M shivll moot )»jp\iu. 

'riu>ii,i;li hi ilistiiut liiuils wo si^lt, 
r«>vlioii K>iu'<itl> ti hiwtilo sky ; 
'riimi^h tho vlw)! IvtwtH'it us mils, 
bVio>ulsU>|> shall imito our souls. 
Still in Kanoy's vioh >Uunaiu 
Oft shall wo all uuvl it^iiu. 

Whou tho (Iftsuus ofUlo aiv llo«l. 
Whou its wasloil latu^s aiv ilwul ; 
W'hou in I'ohl ohliviou's sliaihs 
l><>aulY. innvov, aiul I'aiuo aiv laid i 
Wlioiv iunuoital siviiits ivi^nu, 
Tlunv shall wo all uuvt a^uu. 

ANvXNVSIOl'S. 



THK LAST l.KAF. 

1 SAW liiui oiiiv ly-l'vMV, 
As ho jv>sstHl by tho (low ; 
Auil n^ip\i« 

Tho IviVYOIUOUl-StOUCkS IXVSvMUld 

As ho tot tot's o'ov tho i;iv>ui\vl 
AVith his oaito. 

Thoy sj>y that in his juimo, 
Kiv tho n^■«uiuJ^kl\i^o of thno 

Out h\u> >lowu. 
Not a l^ttor uiau was fouuil 
Uy tho ovior ou his ivutul 

Thivu^h tho town, 

\>\it now ho walks tho sti>?ots, 
.\ud ho looks at all ho mo«<ls 

So t'oi'lon\ ; 
.\u>l ho shakos his iVvWo hoavl. 
That it stw\is as if ho said. 
"Thoy a>v j!\>iio." 

Tho tnossy tnacMos ivst 

On tho lins that ho has jhvsspvI 



lu thoii' klooni ; 
And tho nanuw ho lovwl to hww 
llavo Ih>ou oavvod I'oi' many a y<>ar 

t>n tho tonili. 

My (iinndmaumia has said — 
1\hu' old lady I .sho is dwid 

l.onjj a>^> — 
That ho had a Kontnn noso, 
,\nd his ol»H>k was liko a i\>a« 

In tho snow. 

Hut now his mvso is thin, 
And it iiwts \HH>u his ohin 

l.iko a stall' ; 
Ai\d a oi\H>k is in his Ivaok, 
And a luolauoholy o^iok 

lu his lati^h. 

1 know it is a siu 
Kor \no to sit and );i'iu 

At hiu> hoiv, 
liut tho old thivo-oornoivd hat. 
And tho hl-otH'ho-s -and all that, 

.\|V so ((UlH't' ! 

And if 1 should livo to l>o 
Tho last loaf U(x>n tho tivo 

In tho si>rinjr, 
l.ol thon\ .suiilo, as 1 do now. 
At tho ohi I'oi'sakon Kuijjh 

Whoiv I oliiijj. 

OllMlK WllNOiai. IICU.MVS 



■niK Al'»M;OAOtl Ob' AlJK, 

KKIWI •' lAl-BS l>l' TItK lUl.l,," 

Six ywtfs had j>assotl, and tovty oit< tho six, 
Whou Tinu> Ih\sp>» to j>lay his usual trioks : 
Tho hvks luuv oonu-ly in a virj;iu's sij;ht. 
Locks of i>ui\> htvwu, disjdaywl tho onoivsxohinj; 

whito ; 
Tho hUnvl, ouoo I'orvid, now to wol K^jpxu, 
Atul I'into's stivn^ij (vit'ssuix" to suKluo tho luau. 
I ivdo or walkod as I was wont K't'oiv, 
liut now tho lH>undinjj spirit was \io uuuv ; 
A luvHloKito ivut> would now iny Knly h<>at, 
A walk of nnxlorato loujtth distftvss tuy tW>t, 
I showisl n\y stmu^swr j^\>>st tluvw hills sul>linio, 
\5«t siiid. "Tho viow is iH>or, wo «o<>l not oHuiK" 
At a iViond's \na\ision 1 K'jpiu to dnvul 
Tho ivUl uistt (vnlor and tho jray glaAnl KhI ; 
.\t hoiuo I folt a tnoiv d<vid<Hl tasto. 
And must havo all thiujts iu luy onlor |\h»iHHl, 
1 o«>stHl to hunt ; my hoi'siw |>h>as«l nu> Uvss, — 
My diunor tnoiv ; I loivrnod to ^>lt>y at ohoss, 
^l t>vk my dv>jj and jtun, hut ,<«»• tho lu'Uto 



1^- 



HOnUOW AND ADVERHITY. 



Wax <li»»jyj>oiiiM tliaf, 1 'll"l unl »\i<M. 

My iiKirniuK walks I ivm (>;ul<) Ixsir Uj I'^j, 

A i/'l MifflWJ'J tlii!!(li</w<rrthat ({ay<! i/k; not t/< •■Motmt. 

Ill (;w;t, I felt a huntniit «ti»»liii({ on ; 

'I'Ikj a/;tiy<; ano, th<! aj^il"! )i:i()<l, wi;r<! ({one ; 

Hmal) iliiily iu:tUili» lulu ha);ils K'';Vi 

Ai)il ;i'.-w <li«llki; 1/1 (iiriiix and liwliioi)* ixm. 

I Iovim) Hiy triM!* in iminr Ui i|i»|K/W! ; 

1 iiiiiiitxiiwl \ii:!itMi:>i, Itxiki-A li'jw !il/x;kj! ar'/w: ; 

7'oW til/: (sajijft Btory oil, — in »))';it, Uijian t// j/r'^;. 



y^ 



IJy tin; v/aysi/l'!, on a iiimiisy sUitio, 
Kat a liwiry i/ilgrini, /sadly nmtiing ; 

Oft I iitiirh-A )iiii> (sitting t)i(;r<; al</n<!, 

All tlw; lai)'l,v:a|)'!, lik/; a I<a({<;, [mriixinii ; 
yifir, unknown, 

J{y tli« wayxi/lf, on a tiiittmy hUiW!, 

I'li/.kl'!/] kiK^jaii'l stiW!, and \iriitulhi\iiiiii'-A luit ; 

',oat ax «jw;i*nl a» tli« form 't wa» folding ; 
Kilv<;r l/utt/^rus, nw.ui;, mid •■Aiut\i>-A i;iavat ; 

Oak<;n istalf liiss ('(j/jI/Ib hand uplioMing ; 
'I'txjr'! III! xat ! 
JJij'jkl's'l km* and (slu/c, and lir<wM;(i hi niiyl lial. 

Vx-MUiiA it ]/iti(ul he xhonld xit th';r';, 
No on<; (synij/athi/ing, no oni; li<x-yling, 

None Uj Iovi; liiin for liiji thin t^'iy hair, 
And til/: furrowx all m niMUsly [ihsxling 
Ag"; and <«ir<; ; 

Hfj;iii>A it pitiful 111; (should (sit tlj/;r<;. 

It Willi »umni<;r, and wn W",-nt Vi vhinA, 
l;ap|i<;r 'iijuntry I;i/1» and litth; niai/l<!n>s ; 

Taught tin: niott/; of tlie " Duiuv-.'k HUhA," — 

Itjs giavi! iw\K)rt (Still my fanfjy laihuos, — 

"ll<;r<;'» a fo*^! !" 

It W(os timiiwur, and w<; w';nt tr; wiho*)!. 

When th<s «trang';r <i«<;rne<l t'l mark our play, 
Bonn; of uis were joyom, S'lnie Jsa/l-lieart/;'!, 

I remenil«<r well, t^^ well, that <hiy ! 
OtWitimefi the t/^ars iinhi'M<;n HtHtUA, 
Would not (Stay 

When the (stranger aiMiiitA U> mark our pUy, 

f)ne tsweift (spirit hroke the (silent <ii><;ll, 
0, to rne her name wa» alwayis H'«iven ! 

Bhe Vr(S';nght him all hi« grief t'l tell, 
rl wa» then thirt/^n, an4 (sli/s eUven,) 
Iisalcil ■ 

One Kweet (sjiirit hroke tins siknt lijiell, 

"Angel," isaW Ik; (sa/lly, " I arn old ; 
Earthly Iwpe no longer I' <••■ ■< ir.'/rrov/ ■ 



Yet, why I (sit here thou (shalt lie l/ihl." 
'i'hen hi(s eye lietray<!<l a |K:arl of w/rrow, 
iJown it rolle'l ! 
"Angel," (sal/l he isa/Jly, " I am ohL 

" I liave UitU-.nA Iwsre to I'lok own: iiuitk 
Oil the phsi.'sanl ss'ajnx where I deligliUjil 

In the 'arelessis, Iwippy days of yore, 
Kre tin; ganhm of my li/;art wax hlighl/!/! 
To tlw; ez/re ; 

1 have t/;tt<!re'l lx;re Uj hx<k on<» moie. 

" All the pieture now tfi m/s how d/sir ! 

KVn thhs gray old r'xrk where I am ttimttA, 
Id a jewel worth my journey here ; 

Ah tliat (sij/:h a (s/i/ine niusst In: •■.iiui\>\>:UA 
1 With a t/sir ! 

All tlw: pi/:ture now t/j rn<; how d'sir ! 
I 

"Old (st/;ne »<:lir)Ol-hoiUie! — it i)i (still tlw; (sanw:; 

' There '» the very (st/;p I so oft tinmuUA j 

Tlj<:re '(4 the window ermking in its frame. 

And tlu! U'jU:\ii:f, that I eut and t/niiiUA 

Vi)i the game. 

Old (stf/ne (s'lho'il -hou»:, it i>s (still the mii:' , 

"In the e»/ttage yoii<lt;r I was )/;rn ; 

l/ong my liapj/y home, that hunihle dwelling; 
There the field* of elover, wli/at, and w/m ; 

There the (spring with limpi'l n/y.-fcur iswi-lling ; 
Ah, tiitUirii ', 
In tlw: <Mtage yowiiir I was l«ni. 

"'/'hots'; two gat/;way isyeamores y</u (sc; 

Then were \ihuiitA just (so far asunder 
Th;rt long well-()ole from the )>ath to fr'«, 

Aiwl the wagon t/< i>a*is safely un'h:r ; 
Nin'dy-thr'K ! 
'lllrtS': two gateway syainwyres you ««'>:, 

"There 's the orehard where we iwseyl t/i elimh 
When my uinX/^>i and I were Ic/ys t/ig<;tlM.'r, 

Thinking nothing of the flight of time, 

K'siring iimis^it hut work and rainy weather ; 
I'ast its prim* ! 

There '» the oreliard where we lused t« elimb, 

"There the nid*;, three-':/>rnered ehestnut-rails, 
li</und the pasture where the flwksweregrazing. 

Where, so sly, I u*eil to wat/:h for <)ua.ils 
In tb* croj/s of \iiuskwiuM w-. were raising ; 
Tra((» arwl trails ! 

There tb« rude, tbre':-'»mere<l elieirtnut-ralh). 

" Tlwsre 's the mill that ground our yellow groin ; 
I'ond and rivei still w:i'rije!v flowing; 



^ 



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246 



POJSMS OF SOSKOir AND DEATH. 



■a 



l\it lUoiv ut'slliuj; ill tlio slmdwl liuu', 

Whoiv tlu' lilv of \i>y lirart wiis Wowing, — 
Man' J alio ; 
'I'lioiv '» tho mill that jiiviiiul our yollow j;iiiiii, 

'•'riit>iv'» tJio jpi't* 1^11 whioli I tisod to swiiij;, 
liiMok, iMul ^>lul}^^ luui Uiiii, iiiul old iv»l stuMo ; 

r>Ht iiliis ! no iiioiv tho moiii slinU hiiiii; 
'I'hiit Uoju' j;ivup uivviiul my t'lU hoi's tal>U> ; 
Takoii wiiij; ! 

Thoiv 's tho jpito oil whioh I iiswl to swiiij;. 

" I am Ih'oiii^, — all 1 lovod liiivo Ihnl, 
You jsiYoii moailow \v«s our i>huo for playinj; ; 

That oKl tivo oim toll of swoot thiiijps .-aiid 
NVhoii rtivuiul it Jauo and I woiv straying ; 
Sli<> is doad I 

I am llooiujj. all I lovod havo Hod. 

" Voii whito s(>iiv, a (HMioil on tho sky, 
'IVaoiiig siloiitly lifo's ohaiij«t>ful stvry, 

So familial' to my vlim old oyo, 

Toiuts mo to sovoii that aiv now in glory 
'riioiv oil high ! 

Yon whitti sj«rt>, « \Hnu-il on tho sky. 

"Oft tho aislo of that oUi oluuvh wo tiwl, 
t.>uid<Hi thithor by an iuig\>l niothov ; 

Now sho sl<H>j>s Ixniwith its .sjioixhI sod ; 
Silt' tuul sistoi's, iuid my littlo bivthor, 
Gono to IuhI ! 

iM't tho aislo of that ohl oluuvh wo tivd. 

" riioiv I lu>«i\l of Wisdom's (tltvasiint ways ; 

Uh>8s tho holy lostiim! — hut, all, novor 
Shall 1 hoar agsiin tlioso songs of jvmiso, 

Tlu>so swwt vvvioos silont now forovor ! 

roiiooful days ! 

Thoiv 1 ho!U\l of Wisdom's ph'sisjiiit ways. 

•'Thoiv my Mary hlost mo with hor hand 
Whon our souls drsiiik in tho nuptial Mossing, 

Krx' .slio )ia.<ton<sl to tho spirit-laud, 
Youdor turf hor gv-iitlo Kwom pivssiiig ; 
Uivkoij hmd ! 

'I'hoiv my Mary hlost mo with hov hand. 

•■ I havo K-omo to s<v that gt«vo omv moro, 
.Vnd tho sjionxl placo whoiv wo dolightwl, 

Whoiv wo woi'shiiHsl, in tho days of yoiv, 
Kiv tho gai\lou of luy li<>art was liligliti\l 
To tho .-("in" ! 

1 havo oomo to s<h> that gravo onoo moiv. 



Mow, why I sit horo thou hiist boon told," 
In his oyo nuotlior poiirl of -sorivw, 
Uowii it ixdlod ! 
'" .\iigi>l," snid ho sKidly, " I am old," 

Ity tho waysido, on u nuvisy stouo. 
Sat tho luvary pilgrim, .iiully uuising : 

Still 1 iiiarkod him sitting thoiv aloiio. 
All tho landsoapo, liko a p<igo, porusiiig ; 
I'oor, unknown .' 

Uv tlu' wavsido, on a mossy stoiio. 



I'llK WlUOWS MIVK. 

A winow — sho had only ono ! 
A puny and dooivpit son ; 

Uut, day and night. 
Though fix-tfiil oft, and woak and small, 
A loving oliihl, ho was hor all — 

Tho Widow's Mito. 

Tho Widow's Mito — ay. so siistainod, 
Sho bt»ttl«l onward, nor oomplaiiiod. 

Though flionds woiv fowor ; 
And whilo sho toihvl for daily faiv, 
A littlo orutoh upon tho stair 

Was musio to hor. 

1 s)»w hor thon, — and now I sw 

That, thongh iivsignod and ohoorful, sho 

Has sori\>wo<l muoh ; 
Sho has, Uo gavo it tondorly, 
Muoh faith ; and oai'ol\illy laid by, 

Tho littlo orutoh. 

KRlll>RKlCK U'CkUR. 



&^- 



" Ang«>l," Sivid ho sadly, " I am old ; 
Earthly hojH< no loug«>r h«th a morrxiw. 



THK DRKAMER. 

FROM "IX^KMS PV A SPAMSTRBSS." 

Not in the h\«ghii\g Iwwvi-s, 
A\'horp by green swinging elms a ploasjuit sliado 
.Vt snmraor's noon is made. 

And whoiv swif^-t"oot<Hl horn's 
Stoal tho rioh bivath of onamorixl llowoi^, 
Proiun I. Nor whoiv tho goldoti glorios W, 
I .\t sunsot, laving o'or tho llowing .soa : 
I .\iid to puiv oyos tho faculty is given 
To trai"e a snuH^th asi-ont from Earth to }loawn ! 

Xot on a wuoh of ease, 
I With all tho appliaiioi<s of joy at hand, — 
I S<>t1 light, swtH't fniirrsiiu'o, tvanty at oommand ; 

Y lands that might a gvHllike (vilato please, 
I And mnsio's soul-o«\»tivo oi'stasios, 

l">iv,ini I, Nor ghviting o'or a wide tvstato, 
I Till the fnll. self-ivinplaoont ho<\r» elate. 



^ 



& 



HORROW AND ADVERSITY. 



247 



n 



Well KatusficiJ Willi \iUm of iiKiital Wrtli, 
Sigliii for ail immortality on Kaitli ! 

I'lit wlit-rc- tlift iiii;e»((arit <liii 
Of iioii liaii'lx, and r'Kjr of hraw.-n throatu, 
Join tlic-ir unrniii^^Jiid not^rit, 

Wliilr; tli'r loH({ mmtiuir <lay !« |>oiiiiii;( in, 
Till day in gone, an<l <Iarkn<;(iii ilolli Uigin, 
iJri.-am I, — as in tli<; mrw-r wliirn; I li<;. 
On wintry nights, juiit wverwl from tin; sky !^ 
Sucli is my fat<:, — and, Ijarrcn though it s(;/;ni, 
Yet, thou hiind, soulkss niMniKr, yet 1 drfKim ! 

And yet I dream, — 
Dream wliat, were men more jiist, I might have 

W-n ; 
How strong, how fair, how kindly and serene, 
Glowing of heart, and glorious of mien ; 
The e/jns':ious erown V) Nature's blissful Hinaia, 
In just and e<|u;il hrotlierhvxl V> ghain. 
With all mankind, ezhaustLess jileasure keen, — 

Kueh i« my dream ! 

And yet I dream, — 
I, the despise*] of fortuw!, lift mini2 eysi, 

liright with the lustJjr of integrity, 
In una|)[;<;aling wreV.h'^lin^ss, on high. 
And the last mge of Destiny defy ; 
lies<jlved alone t/t live, —alone U> die. 

Nor swell the tide of human misery ! 

Awl yet I dr<«jm, — 
Dream of a sle<-p wh'-re d reams no more shall eome. 
My last, my first, my only w(de'>nie home ! 
lU^st, unl;<held sin'-e Life's U-ginning stage. 
Sole remnant of my glorioius heritage, 
Unalienable, I shall find thee y<rt. 
And in thy wjft embrat* the Jrast forget ! 

Thus do I dr'sim ! 



A EOT/OH RHYME ON A EOUOH MATfKK. 

TUP I;K01.ISH GAME J.*v/j 

Thk merry brown hares came l<sii|<ing 

Over the crest of the hill. 
Where the clover and com lay sleeping. 

Under the moonlight still. 

Leaping late and early. 

Til! under their bite and their trea/i. 
The sweiles, and the wheat, and the tiarley 

I^y eankere'I, and trarnplcl, and d<;a<l. 

A poacher's widow sat sighing 

On the side of the whiUr chalk )>ank. 

Where, under the gloomy fir-ww^ls. 
One spot in tlie lea throve rank. 



Hiu: wat/;he<l a long tuft of elovei, 

Wluire rabbit or liare never ran. 
For its blaek sour haulm c;vi.-r<.-<l over 

The bloo<l of a mur'lercl m;in. 

She tiuiught of tlje dark plantation, 

And the hares, and her husl^nd's bhwl, 

And the voi'^e of lier indignatiijn 
l{/<se up u> the throne of Go<l : 

" 1 am h«)g j;a«t wailing and whining, 

I have wept tuo much in i/iy life : 
I 've luKJ twenty years of pining 

As an Kngllsh Ulx/rer's wife. 

"A lalxyrer in Christian Kngland, 
Where they eant of a Saviour's name. 

And yet wa«tx; men's lives, like the vennin's. 
For a few more hra'x- of game. 

' ' Tliere 's blood on your new foreign sh rul«, s") ui re, 
Tliere 's bliiO<l on your j/i/intei's f<*t ; 

There 's bhjod on tlu: game you sell, »<(uire. 
And there '» Uo<jil on the game you eat. 

"You liave w>U the lab<>ring man, Sijuirc, 

Hoth Ixnly and mn\ Ut shame. 
To [lay for your wait in tlu; House, S'juire, 

And Ui j«y for the fe<;<l of your game. 

" You ma<h; him a f>oacl»er yourself, s'juire. 
When you 'd give neitlier work nor nusit, 

And your t/arley-f<j<l Iiarcs t»)i))fA the garden 
At our st;irving children's fi«t ; 

" When, j/aeke<l in one poking chaml/<;r, 
JIan, mai'I, mother, and little ones lay ; 

While the rain i«itt';re/l in on the rott/;n bri>Je-(j<;il, 
And the walls Jet in the day ; 

" When we lay in the burning fever. 

On the mud of the wld clay fhwr. 
Till you imrU-A us all for thre<; months, S'juire, 

At the cursed workhouw; door. 

"We rjuarr<;li;<l like brutes, and who wond<;rs f 

What s';lfr';Si>i;ct could we keep, 
Worw; hoiis'd than your ha/jks an'l your icyintz-iis. 

Worse fi;'l tlian your h'jgs and your sh'j<;p ? 

" Our daught/frs, with base-I«n) I>abifrs, 
Have wan<lercd away in their shame ; 

If your misses had slej/t, S'juire, where they did, 
Your misses might do the same. 

"Can your lady patch hearts that are bieakinj?. 

With han'lfuU of ';oal» and ri/;e. 
Or by d(^ling out flannel an<l slieeting 

A little below <»Kt price ? 



--& 



[& 



248 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



-a 



h 



"You may tire of the jail and tlie workhouse, 
And take to allotments and schools, 

But you 've run up a debt that will never 
Be repaid us by penny-club rules. 

"In the season of shame and sadness, 

In the dark and dreary day, 
When scrofula, gout, and madness 

Are eating your race away ; 

' ' AVhen to kennels and liveried varlets 
You have cast your daughters' bread, 

And, worn out with liquor and harlots, 
Your heir at your feet lies dead ; 

"When your youngest, the mealy-mouthed 
rector. 

Lets your soul rot asleep to the grave, 
You will find in your God the protector 

Of the freeman you fancied your slave." 

She looked at the tuft of clover, 
And wept till her heart grew light ; 

And at last, when her passion was over. 
Went wandering into the night. 

But the merry brown hares came leaping 

Over the uplands still. 
Where the clover and com lay sleeping 

On the side of the white chalk hill. 

Charles Kingsley. 



LOUIS XV. 

The king with all the kingly train had left his 
Pompadour behind. 

And forth he rode in Senart's wood the royal 
beasts of chase to find. 

That day by chance the monarch mused, and turn- 
ing suddenly away. 

He struck alone into a path that far from crowds 
and courtiers lay. 

He saw the pale green shadows play upon the 

brown untrodden earth ; 
He saw the birds around him flit as if he were of 

peasant birth ; 
He saw the trees that know no king but him that 

bears a woodland ax ; 
He thought not, but he lookeil .about like one 

who still in thinking lacks. 

Then close to him a footstep fell, and glad of 

human sound was he. 
For, truth to say, he found himself but melancholy 

company ; 



But that whichhe would ne'er have guessed beforo 

him now most plainly came ; 
The man upon his weaiy back a coffin bore of 

modest frame. 

' ' Why, who art thou ? " exclaimed the king, "and 

what is that I see thee bear / ' ' 
"I am a laborer in the wood, and 't is a coffin 

for Pierre. 
Close by the royal hunting-lodge you may have 

often seen him toil ; 
But he will never work again, and I for him must 

dig the soU." 

The laborer ne'er had seen the king, and this ho 

thought was but a man. 
Who made at first a moment's pause, and then 

anew his talk began ; 
' ' I think I do remember now, — he had a dark 

and glancing eye, 
And I have seen his sturdy arm with wondrous 

strokes the pickax ply. 

" Pray tell me, friend, what accident can thus have 

killed our good Pierre ?" 
"0, nothing more than usual, sir, he died of 

living upon air ! 
'T was hunger killed the poor good man, who long 

on empty hopes relied ; 
He could not pay Gabcllc and tax, and feed his 

children, so he died." 

The man stopped short, and then went on, — "It 
is, you know, a conunon story, 

Our children's food is eaten up by courtiers, 
mistresses, and glory." 

The king looked hard upon the man, and after- 
wards the coffin eyed, 

Then spurred to ask of Pompadour, how came it 
that the peasants died. 

JOHN Wilson 
(Christopher North). 



THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE. 

St.\y, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, 

And hear a helpless orphan's tale ; 
Ah, sure my looks must pity wake, — 

'T is want that makes my cheek so pale 
Yet I was once a mother's pride, 

And my brave father's hope and joy ; 
But in the Nile's proud fight he died. 

And 1 am now an orphan boy ! 

Poor, foolish child ! how pleased was I, 
When news of Nelson's victory came, 

Along the crowded streets to fly. 
To see the lighted windows flame ! 



-^ 



SORROW AND ADVERSITY. 



2411 



To force me home my mother sought, — 
She could not bear to hear my joy ; 

For with my father's life 't was bought, — 
And made me a poor orphan boy ! 

The people's shouts were long and loud ; 

i[y mother, shuddering, closed her ears ; 
" Itejoice I REJOICE !" still cried the crowd, - 

My mother answered with her tears ! 
" 0, why do tears steal down your cheek," 

Cried I, " whUe others shout for joy .'" 
She kissed me ; and in accents weak. 

She called me her poor orphan boy ! 

" What is an orphan boy ? " I said ; 

When suddenly she gasped for breath. 
And her eyes closed ! I shrieked for aid. 

But ah I her eyes were closed in death. 
My hardships since I ivill not tell ; 

But now, no more a parent's joy. 
All ! lady, I have learned loo well 

What 't is to be an orphan boy ! 

0, wore 1 by your bounty fed ! 

Nay, gentle lady, do not chide ; 
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread, — 

The sailor's orphan boy has pride. 
Lady, you weep ; what is 't you say ? 

You '11 give me clothing, food, employ ? 
Look down, dear parents ! look and see 

Your happy, happy orphan boy ! 

Amelia Opie. 



THE ORPHANS. 

My chaise the village inn did gain, 
Just as the setting sun's last ray 

Tipped with refulgent gold the vane 
Of the old church across the way. 

Across the way I silent sped. 

The time till supper to beguile, 
In moralizing o'er the dead 

Tli.it moldercd round the ancient jiile. 

There many a humble green grave showed 
Where want and pain and toil did rest ; 

And many a flattering stone I viewed 
O'er those who once had wealth possest. 

A faded beech its shadow brown 

Tlirew o'er a grave where son'ow slept, 

On which, though scarce witli grass o'ergrown. 
Two ragged children sat and wept. 

A piece of bread between them lay, 

Which neither seemed inclined to take, 

And yet they looked so much a prey 
To want, it made my heart to ache. 



"My little children, let me know 
Why you in such distress appear, 

And why you wasteful from you throw 
That bread which many a one might cheer ? ' 

The little boy, in accents sweet. 

Replied, while tears each other chased, — 
" Lady ! we 'vo not enough to eat, 

Ah ! if we had, we should not waste. 

" But Sister Mary 's naughty grown, 

And wQl not eat, whate'er 1 say. 
Though sure I am the bread 's her own. 

For she has tasted none to-day." 

"Indeed," the wan, starved Mary said, 
' ' Till Henry eats, 1 '11 eat no more, 

For yesterday I got some bread. 
He's had none since the day before. " 

My heart did swell, my bosom heave, 
I felt as thougli depriveil of speech ; 

Sdent I sat upon the gi'ave, 

And clasped the clay-cold hand of each. 

With lOoks of woe too sadly true. 

With looks that spoke a grateful heart, 

The shivering boy then nearer drew. 
And did his simple tale impart : 

" Before my father went away. 

Enticed by bad men o'er the sea, 
Sister and I did naught but play, — 

We lived beside yon great ash-tree. 

" But then poor mother did so cry. 
And looked so changed, I cannot tell ; 

She told us that she soon should die. 
And bade us love each other well. 

"She said that when the war was o'er. 
Perhaps we might our father see ; 

But if we never saw him more. 
That God our father then would be ! 

"She kissed us both, and then she died. 

And we no more a mother have ; 
Here many a day we 've sat and cried 

Together at poor mother's grave. 

" But when my father came not here, 
1 thought if we could find the sea. 

We should be sure to meet him there. 
And once again might happy be. 

"We hand in hand went many a mile. 
And asked our way of all we met ; 

And some did sigh, and some did sraUe, 
.\nd we of some did victuals get. 



4 



f;^ 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



■^ 



!B- 



" liiil nlu'ii we riiiiolunl tlic wii mid rouiul 
"!' H as mil' grout wiitor nmnil us spiviul, 

Wr lluni^lil timt liillmr must In' drownoil, 
Ami iiinl, iiiui wisliwl wd Imth were doad. 

"S,i wii ri'tunicil to mother's griivo, 
Ami only longod with \wx to lio ; 

Kor (Jniuly, when this liri'iul sho gave, 
Siiiil rnlliiT dii'il lii'vuml llui sua. 

"'I'lii'ii siiu'e nil imrcint wu Imvc lioro, 
W'l' '11 go and .soivrch I'or Clod ai-ounil ; 

l.^idv, (iriiy, nm you ti'U us wlu'rn 
'I'ii.it l!od, ovU'"l''ialiiT, nmy ho round? 

" 111' lives III heaven, our mother said, 
And tioody says that mother's there ; 

So, it she knows wo want his aid, 

1 lliiiik perhaps she'll send him hero." 

1 elaspid the pratllers lo my hreast. 

And erieil, "Come, liolli, ami live with mo ; 

I 'II elullie you, I'eed you, give you rest, 
And will a se.eond motlier he. 

".\iid tJoil shall he yonr Kiilher still, 
"r was he ill luerey sent me here, 

Ti. liiuh you to ol.e'v his will, 

Vour sleps lo guide, your hearts to eheer." 



LONDON CHURCHES. 

1 .STOOII, one Sunday morning. 
Before a large ehureh door. 
The eoiigregation gathered 
Aiul earriages a seore, — 
From one out stepped a lady 
1 oil had seen hetore. 

Her hand was on a prnyer-luiok, 
And held a vinaigrette ; 
Tlie sign of man's redemption 
t'lear on the hook was set, — 
Hut iihove the Citisa thoro glistened 
A golden t\)i'ouet. 

For her tho obsonuious headlo 
The inner door Hung wide ; 
Lightly, as uj> a IwU-room, 
Her footsteps seemed to glide, — 
There might he good thoughts in her. 
For all her evil piide. 

But alter her a woman 
Teeped wistfully within. 
On whoso wan faee was graven 
Life's Imnlest diseipline, — 
Tho tiiiee of the sad trinity 
Of weakness, pain, tuul sin. 



Tho low frco-seats wore urowded 
\V hero sho could rest and pray ; 
With her worn garb contrasted 
Eai'li side in fair array, — 
" Clod's house holds no poor sinners," 
She sighed, and crept away. 

KlCHARLl MONCKTON MILNES. 



TWO WOMEN. 

TiiK shadows lay along liroadway, 

"r was near the twilight-tide. 
Anil slowly llieie a lady fair 

Was walking in her pride. 
Alone walked sho ; hut, viewlossly, 

Walked spirits at hor siile. 

IVaie rharmed the street heneath her foot, 

.\iid Honor eharmod the air ; 
And all astir looked kind on her, 

And called her good as fair, — 
For all Cloil ever gave to her 

She kept with chary care. 

She kept with care her beauties raro 

From lovers warm and true. 
For her heart was cold to all lait gold, 

And the rich came not to woo. — 
lUit honored well are charms to soil 

If priests the selling do. 

Now walking there was one more fair, — 

A slight girl, lily-pale ; 
And she had unseen company 

To nnike the spirit i[uail, — 
"I'wixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn. 

And nothing could avail. 

No mercy now can clear her brow 
For this world's peace to pray ; 

For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, 
Her woman's heart gave way ! — 

Rut the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven 
By man is cursed alway ! 

NAril.VNlt-L I'AKKIK WiLLISL 



BEAUTIFUI, SNOW. 

O TUK snow, the beautiful snow. 
Filling the sky and tho earth bolow ! 
C>ver the honse-tops. over the street, 
C^ver the heads of the people you meet 
Dancing, 
Flirting. 

Skimming along. 



-^ 



a- 



SOKROIV AND ADVEHHITY. 



liT^ 



&-- 



r.i aiilil'iil Hiiow ! it can ilo nothing wrong. 
I'lj'ing to kisB n fair lady's fheok ; 
(-'linging to lips in a rrolicsoino freak ; 
liuantiful .snow, from the heavens above, 
I'lU'c; as an angel and fickle as love I 

II llif snow, tlie heautifill snow ! 
liuw tlio flakes gather and laugh as they go I 
Whirling aliont in its maddening fun, 
1 1 Jilays in its glee with every one. 
Chasing, 

Laughing, 

i lurrying hy, 
ll li^dils ii|i the face and it siiarkh^s tin' eye ; 
And I'Ven the dogs, with a hark and a Ijoiuid, 
.Sua]! at the crystals that eddy around. 
The town is alive, and its heai't in a glow. 
To welcome tlu; condng of beautiful snow. 

ll.Av the wild .r-.w.l go swaying along, 
Hailing eaidi olher with humor and song I 
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by, — 
liright for a moment, then lost to the eye ! 
Kinging, 

Swinging, 

Dasliing tliey go 
Over the crost of the Iteautiful snow : 
Know so pure when it falls from the sky. 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by ; 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousandsof feet 
'fill it blends with the horrible lilth in the .street. 

ihicf I was pure as the snow, - Imt I IVll : 
Fell, like the snow-flakes, from lieavcn to hell ; 
I'VII, to he tramped as the fdth of the street : 
I'Vll, to bo seofTed, to be spit on, and beat. 
Pleading, 
Cur.Hing, 

Urcriding Iodic, 
Selling my soul to wdiocver would buy, 
|tc;ding in shame for a morsel of bread. 
Hating the living ancl fi-aring the dead. 
Meri.dful God ! liave 1 fallen so low ? 
And y<'t I was once like this beautiful snow ! 

I hicc [ was fair as the beautiful snow, 
Willi an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow ; 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace, — 
Flattered and sought for the ehann of my face. 
Father, 

Mother, 

Sisters all, 
(iod, and myself, I have lost by my fall. 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by 
Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh ; 
For of all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing that 's pure but the beautiful 
snow. 



How strange it should bo tliat this beautiful 

snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! 
How strange it would bo, when the night comes 

again, 
If the snow and the ice struck my ilespcrale 

brain ! 

Fainting, 

F'reezing, 

Oying .'done, 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
'I'o be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
'ione mad in its joy at the snow's coming down ; 
To lie anil to die in my teirible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow I 

JAMI.S W. WAISON. 



THE liKIUGE OK H10H8. 

" Drowned I flrowncd I " — IlAMLa r. 

Onk more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
liashly im[iortunato, 
Gone to her death ! 

'i'ake her up tenderly, 
lift her with care ! 
Fashioned so slenderly. 
Young, and so fair ! 

1,00k at her garments 
t/linging like i-en^nents, 
Whilst the wave imnslantly 
Drijis from her clothing; 
I'ake her uji instantly, 
l>oving, not loathing ! 

Touch her not scornfully I 
Think of her mournfully, 
(icntly and humanly, — 
Not of tJie stains of her ; 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny, 
liash and undutiful ; 
P.ast all dishonor. 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, — 
One of Kve's fandly, — 
Wipe those poor li]is of Iicrs, 
Oozing so clammily. 



£h: 



252 



FOEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



-f|. 



:B-- 



Ksciiiu'il rrciin llid cdiiiI), — 
llor I'liir aiiburii Ii'uhhiih, — 
Wliilat woudiMiiiunt f^uiiasos 
■Whom WIIH ll,T liuiuo f 

Who WIW llrl liillicr? 
AVlio was licr iniillior ( 
llii,l «li.i II sister ( 
lln.l sliiMV Iii'dUioi'? 
Oi' was IIku'ii a iloaior oiio 
Klill, anil a iiounir oni) 
Yet, tli.tii all iiili.'i'y 

Alus! liir llio laiily 
Ol'Clirisliaii .■liaiily 
Undo.' III.' HMii I 
(), it was pilil'ul ! 
Niiai- a wliulii c'ity lull, 
Homo slui luni iKiiii'. 

Sisterly, lnollnTly, 
Fntlioi-ly, iiKillii'ily 
Kw>liiij!s lia.l uliMiii,'.',!, - 
1,()V0, Uy linrsh i.vidc^ni'n, 
'riii-owii I'l-Diii its imiiiKiiU'ii ; 
Kvon (iml's iiioviileiu'o 
Hiwming ostmiif^wl. 

WliiTo Iho 111. lips iiuivm- 

S.. Iiir ill llh' nvrr. 

With many a liglil 

Kriini wimliiw ami ciisiimont, 

Kl'oni jjiinvl to liasniiu'nl, 

Slu) stood, Willi iuiia/.ii|iu'iit, 

llouaoloss liy iiiy;lil. 

The bleak wind of Miirc^h 
Mado lior ti'unililii and sliivor 
Hut not tho dark iindi, 
Or till' Mark llowiuf; rivor j 
Mad IVoni lil'ii's history, 
Glad to dwvth's uiyatory, 
Swil't toholmrlod — 
Anvwlii'iv, anywhoro 
(Hit olllo- wnlui ! 

In slio iilun^jod liohlly, — 
No niattor how coldly 
The ronf^h rivor ran — 
Over the brink of it I 
Vioture it — think ol' it, 
Dissolute man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if yon ean ! 

Take her up tondorly, 
Lift hor with care ! 



Fashionud »o slenderly, 
Voun^!, and so fair ! 

ICre her linili.s, trixidly, 
Stillon too rigidly, 
Deeeiilly, kindly, 
Smooth ami eomiiose them | 
And her eyes, elose them, 
Stariii),' so blindly ! 
DreaiUully stiirin;,' 
Tlirouj{h niuildy iniiMirity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of des]iairin^' 
Fixed i.ii liiluiily. 

I'orisliin- ;,dooniily, 
Spniiod by eoiilniiiely. 
Cold iiihnmanity, 
lUuning insanity, 
Into her rest I 
t'ross her hands humbly. 
As if pniyiiiK dumbly, 
Over her breast I 

(hMiiii',' her weakness. 
Her evil behavior. 
And leaving, with nu'cknoss, 
Hor sins to lior Savioui' ! 

THOMAS iioou 



THE LITTLE MATOII-GIRL. 

TjIPTLIC Oretchen, little C.retohen wanders u]> mid 

down the street ; 
The snow is on her yoUow hair, the frost is on 

her foet. 
The rows of long, ilark liousos without hu.k ould 

aiul damji, 
Uy the struggling of the nuxinbeani, by tin' llieker 

of the lamp, 
The elouds ride fast as horses, the wind is iVoiii 

the north. 
But no ouo oares for (Sieteheii, and no one lookotli 

forth. 
Within those dark, damp hoiisi's are merry fares 

bright, 
And happy hearts are walehing out the old year's 

latest night. 

AVith the little box of matrhossh.Tunbl not sell 

all day, 
And the thin, tattered nnuitio the wind blows 

every way. 
She elingoth to the Iiuling, she shivers in the 

gloom, — 
There are parents sitting .snugly by thi' lireliglil 

in the room ; 



[i 



p 



SOllROJF AND ADVKESITY. 



25:? 



■a 



And fliililren with grave facoa are whispering one 

luiotlior 
or pirsciitrt for the New Yc-iii, C.r fiitluT nr liii- 

iiiit, no oik; talks to Uretoheii, anil no one hoars 

lii;r speak ; 
No hri-ath of little whisperers eoines wainily to 

her ehe,;k. 

Her home is eol.l aiel desolate ; no sniil.-, no fond, 

no lire, 
But ehildren elaniorous for )/n;ail, unil an impa- 

ti(rnt sire. 
.So she sits ilown in an an{,de where two great 

housc;s nieet, 
And she eurletli up heneuth her for warmth her 

little feet ; 
And she looketh on the eold wall, and on the 

e.,ld.-r sky. 
And wrjnilirs if the little stais are bright lires up 

on high. 
She hcairs the eloc;k striki! slowly, uji high in a 

ehureh-tower, 
With sueh a sad and solemn tone, telling tfe; 

njidnight hour. 

.Slie remeinhorcd her of stories her mother used 

to tell, 
And of the cradle-songs slie sang, when summei^'s 

twilight fell. 
Of good men and of angels, and of tie; Holy 

f'hild, 
Who was eradhtd in a manger when wintej- w.is 

njost wild ; 
Who was poor, and eold, and hungry, and deso- ' ., . ". '' 

l.'itc and lonit ; 
And she thought the song had told her he was ever 

with his own, 
And all the |ioor and hungry and fojsaken onc^s 

were his, 
"How good of him to look on me in sueh a placi' 

as this ! " 



And kindred there were gathered rouml the table 

richly sprearl, 
With heajw of goodly viands, red wine, and pleas- 
ant bread. 
.She eould smell the fragrant odor ; she could hear 

them talk and jilay ; 
Then all was darkness once again— the nuilch 

hacl burned away. 
.Shc! struck another hastily, and now she scculc.! 

to Bi-e, 
Willi in Ihi! same warm chamber a gloi'ious Chrisl- 

lii.istrei,'. 
The branches all were laden down with tilings 

that ehildren prize ; 
liright gifts for hoy and maiden they showed br- 

fore her eyes. 
And she almost seemed to tomli tlniii, and li. 

join the welcome shout ; 
Thin darkness fell aii.und her, for the Ijltic malrh 

was out. 
Another, yet another, she has tried, — they will 

not light; 
Then all her little store she took, and strmk 

with all her might. 
And the whole place around her was ligli led willi 

the glare : 
And lo ! there hung a little Child before hei> in 

the air ! 
There were blood-drops on his for'ehead, a spear- 
wound in his side. 
And cnu'l nail-prints in his feet, and in his hands 

Sliread wide. 
,\nd he looked upon her gentlv, and she felt lli.it 

111- had known 

nger, eold, and sorrow, — ay, eipial lo 
r own. 



t3- 



Colder it grows and colder, hut she does not feel 

it now. 
For the pressure on her bosom, and the weight 

upon lior brow ; 
But slie struck one little match on tlie wall so 

cold and bare. 
That she might look aiound her, and see if lie 

was there. 
The single match was kindled ; and, by the light 

it threw. 
It seemed to little Maggie that the wall was rent 

in two. 
And she could see the room within, the room all 

warm and light, 
With the lire-glow red and blazing, and the ta[iers 

burning bright. 



And he pointed lo the laden board and to the 

Christmas-tree, 
Then up to the eold sky, and said, "WillGretchen 

come with me ?" 
The poor child felt her pulses fail, she fell her 

eyeballs swim. 
And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her 

dead mother's hymn : 
And she folded both her thin while hands and 

turned from that bright board. 
And from the golden gifts, and said, "With tln-e, 

with thee, O Jxjrd ! " 

The cliilly winter morning breaks up in tin- dull 

skies 
On the eity wrapt in vapor, on the spot wlicm 

Oretehen lies. 
In her scant and tattered guniients, with her back 

against the wall. 
She sitteth eold ani-l ligid, she answers to no 

call. 



4 



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254 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



-a 



They lifted her up fcarruUy, and shuddered as 
they said, 

" It was a bitter, bitter night ! the child is frozen 
dead." 

The angels sang their greeting for one more re- 
deemed from sin ; 

Men said, " It was a bitter night ; would no one 
let her in?" 

And they shivered as they spoke of her, and sighed : 
they could not see 

How much of happiness there was after that 
misery. 

From the Danish of HANS CHRISTIAN AN: 



fr- 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread, — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
She sang the "Song of the Shirt !" 

"Work ! work ! work 

WhOe the cock is crowing aloof ! 
And work — work — work 

Till the stars shine through the roof ! 
It 's, 0, to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 

"Work — work — work 

Till the brain begins to swim ! 
Work — work — work 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band. 

Band, and gusset, and seam, — 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep. 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" men with sisters dear ! 

men with mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you 're wearing out. 

But human creatui'es' lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch, 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, — 
Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt ! 

" But why do I talk of death, — 
That phantom of grisly bone ? 

I hardly fear his terrible shape, 
It seems so like my own, — 
It seems so like luv own 



Because of the fasts I keep ; 
God ! that bread should be so dear. 
Anil Hesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

My labor never tliigs ; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags, 
That shattered roof — -and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

" Work — work — work 

From weary chime to chime ! 
Work — work — work 

As prisoners work for crime ! 
Band, and gusset, and seam. 

Seam, and gusset, and band, — 
Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed. 

As well as the weary hand. 

" Work — work — work 

In the dull December light ! 
And work — work — work 

When the weather is warm and bright ! 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to show me their sunny backs. 

And twit me with the Spring. 

' ' 0, but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, — 

With the sky above my head, 
And the grass beneath my feet ! 

For only one short horn- 
To feel as 1 used to feel. 

Before I knew the woes of want 
And the walk that costs a meal ! 

"0, but for one short hour, — 

A respite, however brief ! 
No blessM leisure for love or hope, 

B\it only time for grief! 
A little weeping would ease my heart ; 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn. 

With eyelids heavj' and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. 

Plying her needle and thread, — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — 
Woidd that its tone could reach the rich ! — 

She sang this "Song of the Shirt !" 

THOMAS HOOD. 



4 



SORROW AND ADVERSITY. 



-:;Ta 



[&-. 



GIVE ME THREE GRAINS OF CORN, MOTHER. 

THE IRISH FAMINE. 

Give me three grains of corn, mother, — 

Only three grains of corn ; 
It will keep the little life I have 

Till the coming of the morn. 
1 am dying of hunger and cold, mother, — 

Dying of hunger and cold ; 
And half the agony of such a death 

Jly lijjs have never told. 

It has gnawed like a wolf, at my heart, mother, — 

A wolf that is fierce for blood ; 
All the livelong day, and the night beside. 

Gnawing for lack of food. 
I dreamed of bread in my sleep, mother. 

And the sight was heaven to see ; 
I awoke with an eager, famishing lip. 

But you had no bread for me. 

How could 1 look to you, mother, — 

How could I look to you 
For bread to give to your .starving boy, 

When you were starving too ? 
For I read the famine in your cheek. 

And in your eyes so wild. 
And I felt it in your bony hand. 

As you laid it on your child. 

The Queen has lands and gold, mother, — 

The Queen has lands and gold, 
While you are forced to your empty breast 

A skeleton babe to hold, — 
A babe that is dying of want, mother. 

As I am dying now. 
With a ghastly look in its sunken eye. 

And famine upon its brow. 

Wliat has poor Ireland done, mother, — 

What has poor Ireland done. 
That the world looks on, and sees us starve. 

Perishing one by one ? 
Do the men of England care not, mother, — 

The great men and the high, — 
For the suffering sons of Erin's isle. 

Whether they live or die ? 

There is many a brave heart here, mother. 

Dying of want and cold. 
While only across the Channel, mother, 

Are many that roll in gold ; 
There are rich and proud men there, mother. 

With wondrous wealth to view. 
And the bread they fling to their dogs to-night 

Would give life to me and you. 

Come nearer to my side, mother. 
Come nearer to my side. 



And hold me fondly, as you held 

Jly father when lie died ; 
Quick, i'or 1 cannot see you, mother. 

My breath is almost gone ; 
Mother ! dear mother ! ere I die. 

Give me three grains of corn. 

Miss Edwa 



THE IDIOT BOY. 

It had pleased God to form jioor Ned 

.V thing of idiot mind ; 
■^'i-t to the poor, unreasoning boy 

God had not been unkind. 

Old Sarah loved her helpless child. 
Whom helplessness made dear. 

And life was everything to him \ 

Who knew no hope or fear. 

She knew his wants, she umlcrstood 

Each half-articulate call. 
For he was everything to her, 

And she to him was all. 

And so for many a year they lived, 

Nor knew a wish beside ; 
But age at length on Sarah came. 

And she fell sick and died. 

He tried in vain to waken her. 

He called her o'er and o'er ; 
They told him she was dead, — the word 

To him no import bore. 

They closed her eyes and shrouded her, 
Whilst he stood wondering by, 

And when they bore her to the grave 
He followed silently. 

They laid her in the narrow house. 

And sung the funeral stave. 
And when the mournful train dispersed 

He loitered by the grave. 

The rabble boys that used to jeer 
Whene'er they saw poor Ned, 

Now stood and watched him at the grave. 
And not a word was said. 

They came and went and came again. 

And night at last drew on , 
Yet still he lingered at the place 

Till eveiy one had gone. 

And when he found himself alone 
He quick removed the clay, 



^ 



f 



FOE MS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



^ 



h 



And raised the coffin in liis arms 
And Ixjre it quick awiiy. 

Stniiglit went be to liis mother's cot 

iVnd liiid it on the lloor. 
And with the eagerness of joy 

He liarred the cottage door. 

At once he placed liis mother's corpse 

I'pright within her chair, 
And tlien he heaped the hearth and blew 

The kindling fire with care. 

She now was in her wonted chair, 

It was her wonted place. 
And bright the tire blazed and Hashed, 

Ketlccted from her face. 

Then, bending down, he 'd feel her hands, 

.Vnon her face beliold ; 
"Why, mother, do you look so pale. 

And why arc you so cold ? " 

And when the neighboi's on next morn 

Had forced tlie cottage door, 
Old Sarah's corpse was in the chair, 

.Vnd Ned's was on tlie Hoor. 

It had pleased God from tliis poor boy 

His only friend to call ; 
Yet God was not inikind to him. 

For death restored him all. 

ROBERT SOUTHEY. 



THE MANI.\C. 

St.\y, jailer, stay, and liear ray woe ! 

Site is not mad who kneels to thee ; 
For what I 'm now too well 1 know, 

And what I was, and what should be. 
1 11 rave no more in proud despair ; 

My language shall be mild, thougli sad ; 
But yet 1 firmly, truly swear, 

f am not mad, I am not mad! 

My tyrant husband forged the tale 

Which chains me in this dismal cell ; 
My fate unknown my friends bewail, — 

jailer, haste that fate to tell I 
0. haste my father's heart to cheer ! 

His heart at once 't will grieve and glad 
To know, though kept a captive here, 

/ am not mad, I am not mad ! 

He smiles in scorn, and turns the key ; 

He quits the grate ; 1 knelt in vain ; 
His glimmering lamp still, still I see, — 

T is gone ! and all is gloom amiin. 



Cold, bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light 1 

Life, all thy comforts once 1 had ; 
Yet here 1 'm chained, this freezing night. 

Although not nwd ; no, no, — not mad/ 

'T is sure some di'eam, some vision vain ; 

What ! /, the child of rank and wealth, — 
Am / the wretch who clanks this chain. 

Bereft of freedom, friemls, and health ? 
Ah ! wliile 1 dwell on blessings Hed, 

Which nevermore my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how' burns my 1h\uI ; 

But 't is not mad ; no, 't is not mad ! 

Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, 

A mother's face, a mother's tongue ? 
She '11 ne'er forget your jiarting kiss. 

Nor rouml her neck how fast you clung ; 
Nor how with her you sued to stay ; 

Nor how that suit your siix; forbade ; 
Nor how — 1 '11 drive such thoughts away ! 

They'll make me mad, they '11 make me nuui! 

His i-osy lii>s, how sweet they smiled ! 

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
None ever bore a lovelier child. 

And art thou now forever gone ? 
And must I never see thee more. 

My pretty, pretty, pretty lad >. 
I will be free 1 unbar the door ! 

/ n )rt not mad ; / am not mad .' 

0, hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ; 
He comes, — I see his glaring eyes ; 

Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes. 
Help .' Help ! — He "s gone ! — O, fearful woe, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
My bmu, my brain, — I know, I know 

I am not mad, but soon shall be. 

Yes, soon ; — for, lo you ! while I speak, — 

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 
He sees me ; now, with dreadful .shriek, 

He whirls a serpent high in air. 
Horror ! — the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad : 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; — I feel the truth ; 

Y'our task is done, — I 'm m.\d ! I '.M M.\n ! 
Matthew Gregory Lewis 



THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. 

Tread softly, — bow the head, 
In reverent silence bow, — 

No passing-bell doth toll. 
Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 



& 



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aOliliUlV AND ADVERSITY. 



257 



•^ 



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Stranger ! however great, 

With lowly reverence bow ; 
There 's one in that poor shed — 
One by that paltry bed — 

Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 
Lo ! Death doth keep his state. 

Enter, no crowds attend ; 

Enter, no guarils defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold, 

No smiling courtiei's tread ; 
One silent woman .stands. 
Lilting with meager hands 

A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound, — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppre.s.sed, — again 
That short deep gasp, and then — 

The parting groan. 

change ! wondrou.s change ! 

Burst are the prison bars, — 
This moment, there, so low. 
So agonized, and now, — 

Beyond the stars. 

change ! stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod ; 
The sun eternal breaks. 
The new immortal wakes, — 

Wakes with his liod ! 

Caroline Anne Bowles 

(Mrs. SOUTHEYl. 

THE PAUPER'S DRIVE. 

TnEP.E 's a gi-im one-horse hearse in a jolly round 
trot, — 

To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot ; 

The road itis rougli, and thehears<' liasno springs ; 

And hark to the dirge which the mad driversings : 
RaltU his bones over the stones I 
He 's only a pauper whom nobody oitnis I 

0, where are the mourners ? Alas ! there are none ; 

Hehas left not a gap in the world, nowhe 's gone, — 

Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, oi' man ; 

To the gi'ave with his carcass as fast as you can ; 
llnltle his hones over the stones I 
He 's only a pauper whom nobody owns I 

What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and 

din ! 
Thewhip.howit cracks ! and the wheels, how they 

spin ! 



How tlie dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is 
hurled ! — 

The pauper at length makes a noise in the world ! 
Ilattle his bones over llie stones I 
He 's only a pauper whom nobody oiais/ 

Poor pauper defunct ! he has made some apjiroarl] 
'I'o gentility, now that he 's stretched in a coach ' 
He 's taking a drive in his carriage at last ; 
I'.ut it will not be long, if he goes on so fast : 
Riiltle his bones over the stones J 
He 's only a paujier whom nobody owns I 

You bumpkins! who stare at your brother con- 
veyed. 
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid ! 
And be joyful to think, when by death you 're 

laid low. 
You 've a chance to the giave like a geiurnan to go ! 
Itattle his bones over th: stones ! 
He 's only a pauper whom nobody o'lmst 

But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is sad. 
To think that a heart in humanity clad 
Should make, like the brute, such a desolate end. 
And depart from the light without leaving a friend ! 

Bear soft his bones over the stones/ 

Tlumyh a pauper, lie 's one w/wm his Maker yet 
oimis I 



FOR A' THAT AND A' TILA.T. 

Is there for honest poverty 

Wha hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward slave, we pass him by ; 

We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, — 

The man 's the gowd for a' tliat. 

What though on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ? 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wi»e, 

A man 's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a that, — 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 

He 's but a coof for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that ; 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks aiul laughs at a' that. 



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e-r 



I '0 KM Si i>y SOKROiy AND DJiATH. 



n 



A jminco oan inak a bolttnl ki\is;lit, 

A luaniwis, tluko, ami a' that ; 
l>ut an hoHnst man 'a almou his inislit, — 

Onid faith, ht> luaunna fa" tlmt ! 
Fm- a" tliat, aiul a" that ; 

'rhuir ilij'iiititis, ami a' that, 
Thf i>ith o' si'uso, ami priiU" o' worth, 

Aiv hi^hw ronks than a' that. 

Thwi U>t ns pray that cwne it may, — 

As rome it will tW a" that, — 
That s<>ns<> and worth, o'w a' the oarth. 

May Iwu' the gi'ee, ami a' that. 
Fw a" that, and a' tliat. 

It 's coming yet, tor a' that, — 
AVhon man to man, the warld o'or, 

Sltall ltt-oth(H'S Ih> tW a' that ! 

KOBKKT Bl'KNS. 



THE BUND BOY. 

O, s,\Y, what is that thiiij; valUd laght, 

Whioh 1 must ne'er eiyov ' 
Whtit an^ the Wessinjis of the sijjht, 

0, tell your jnior blind imy ! 

Yell talk of woudivus thiu^ you see. 
You sjiy the sun sl>im<s bright ; 

1 feel him warm, but how can he 
Or n\ake it day or night ' 

My day or night myself I nuake 

Whene'er 1 sJeep ov jJay ; 
And I'vniKl 1 ever keep awake 

With me "t were always day. 

With heavy sighs 1 often ht^ar 

You njouru my hapless woe ; 
Uut s>ire with jxatienee I ean bear 

A loss 1 ne'er ean know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 

My eheer ot mind destivy : 
Whilst thus 1 sing, 1 an\ a king. 

Although a ikhxt Wind l>oy. 

COttBV CIBBBR. 



DIVKRSITIKS OF FORTUNE. 

fKO-M "MISS KItMANSBC.O." 

What diHVi-ent dooms onv birthdays bring! 
For instam-e, one little manikin thing 

Survives to wear many a wrinkle ; 
While death forbids another to wake. 
And a sim that it took nine moons to make 

Expires without even a twinkle : 



q-]-- 



Into this world we come like sliips 

Lannched ftwn the docks, and stocks, and sliiv). 

For fortune fair or fatal ; 
Aiul one little craft is cast away 
In its very lirst trip iu liibbiconn? l»ay, 

While another rides safe at Tort Natal, 

What dilfenrnt lots o\ir stai-s accoixl ! 

Ttiis Kibe to be hailed and wooed as a loi\l. 

And that to be shuunetl like a leper ! 
One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, 
Another, like Oolchrater native, born 

To its vinegiir ojily, and pepper. 

One is litteivd tinder a roof 
Neither wind >ior water proof, — 

That 's the piwse of l.ove in a cottage, — 
A puny, luvktnl, sliivering wivtch. 
The w liole of whose birthright would not fetoh, 
Though Uobius himself divw up the sketch, 

The bid of "a \uess of jiottago." 

Born of Fortuuatus's kin. 
Another coiues tenderly uslieivd in 

To a piwspect all bright and bnrnisheil ; 
No tenant he for life's Iwck slums, — 
He couu's to the world as a gtnitlemau comes 

To a Uxlging ivady ftirnishe»l. 

And the other sex — the tender" — the fair — 

What wide rever-stvs of fate aw there ! 

Whilst Mai'garet, charmeil by the Bulbul rare, 

la a g!»i\len of l<ul reixwes, 
Poor lVgg.v hawks nosegays frem street to sti'eet 
Till — tliiuk of that, who find life so sweet ! — 

Slie hates the smell of i-oses ! 

TuoMAS Hood. 



THE END OF THE PIJVY. 

Tub play is done, — the curtain di\>i>s. 

Slow falling to the prompter's WU ; 
A moment yet the actor stops 

And Uwks around, to S!«y fawwell. 
U is an irksome wonl and tjvsk ; 

And, when he s langhevl and sjiid his say, 
He sliowsi, as he removes the nu»sk, 

A face that 's anything but gay. 

One wo»\l, ere yet the evening ends, — 

Let 's cU«t> it with a jvirtiug rhyme ; 
And phnlge a hand to all young friends. 

As tits the merry Christnras time ; 
On life's wide scene you, too, have jvirts 

That fate erelong sliall Wd you play ; 
OwhI night ! — with honest, gentle hearts 

A kindly greeting go alway I 



e 



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HORROIV AND ADVERSITY. 



259 



13] 



Good iii^ht ! — I M say tlu; griels, the joys, 

Just hiiitwl in this niimi'; page, 
Tlic triumphs and defeats of Ixjys, 

Are but repealed in our age ; 
1 'd say your woes were not less keen. 

Your hojjes more vain, tliaii tlios« of men, — 
Your pangs or pleasures of (iftwn 

At forty-five played o'er again. 

I 'd say we suffer and we strive 

Not less nor more a« men than Ixiys, — 
With grizzled tjcards at foity-live. 

As erst at twelve iu eorduroys ; 
And if, in time of sacred youth, 

We learned at home to love and pray, 
Pray Heaven that early love and truth 

May never wholly i)ass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I 'd say how fate may change and shift, — 
The prize lje sometimes with the fool, 

The ra<;e not always to tin; swift ; 
The strong may yield, the gooil may fall. 

The great man l>e a vulgai- clown, 
The knave Ix; lifted over all, 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Wlio knows the inscrutable design? 

Blessed !« He who took and gave ! 
Why shouhl your motln;r, Charles, not mine, 

Be weeping at her <Jarling's giave ; 
We Ikiw tf> Heaven tliat willeil it so, 

That darkly rules the fate of all. 
That sends the respite or the Ijlow, 

Tliat 's free to give or U> ro.all. 

This crowns his feast with wine and wit, — 
Who brought him to tliat mirth and state? 

HLs bettiirs, see, below him sit. 
Or hunger hopeless at the gate. 



Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel 

To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? 
Come, brother, in that dust we '11 kneel. 

Confessing Heaven tliat ruled it thus. 

So each shall mourn, in life's a<lvance. 

Dear hoix-s, dear fiiends, untimely kille<l ; 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance 

And longing p»assion unfulfilled. 
Amen ! — what^'vcr fate 1« sent. 

Pray dxi the heart may kindly glow, 
AUIiough the hea<l with cares 1j« Ix-nt, 

And whitened with the winter snow. 

Come w<-alth or want, come nmxi or ill, 

I^;t young and old awjept their part. 
And 1><)W l^rfore tin- awful will. 

And l>ear it with an honest hrart. 
Who niissi-.s, or who wins the prize, — 

Go, lose or conquer as you can ; 
But if you fail, or if you rise, 

Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

A gentleman, oi old or young I 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays;) 
The sacred clioius first was sung 

CjKin the fii-st of Christmas days; 
The shei)herd» heard it overhead, — 

The joyful angels raised it then : 
Glory to Heaven on high, it said. 

And peace on earth to gentle men ! 

My song, save this, is little worth ; 

1 lay tlic weary jR-n a^ide. 
And wish you health and love and mirth, 

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 
As fits the holy Christmas birth, 

Be this, good friends, our car<jl still, — 
Be peaee on earth, Ije |>ea';e on earth, 

To men of gentle will. 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 



f:..-;,. 



roKMn OF aotmm'^ Axn ukatu. 



■a 



1? i<; H. 1*; A V K M w N r and d e a t ii . 



KKSUINAI'ION, 

TnKUK if «>> lUvk, l>i<w<>v<'i- wntolio.l aii<l ton.li'il, 

lint <vm> >l«>vl li»i>li is tluMV ! 
'rin'ix' is »<> liivs\>li>. Imw si>t''t>l' liolViniiul, 

Iviil litis »iu> viioiuU v'lmii'l 

'V\w iiif isi M\ of liiivwolls tv> llio ilyiivjt. 

Aiul uiomiiiiijpi fvM' llii< ilwul ; 
'V\\c lipiiit of Kiioliol, t\>i' lu'V oliitvlivu oiyiiij;, 

Will iiol l>* comtVicUHl ! 

l.(>t Hs K> \>!iti<mt ! 'rU<w<> si'voiv ulUii'tioiis 

Not t^^>^« tlio >;iwni>l iicisi'. 
Um »ft<>ul(m<<s >H'li^iti»l iH'iXHiiotiows 

AssiuHo this liiivk ilissxi""*- 

Wo s»H> Imt <li\i\l,v tliivilsli lh<' <i«sls '»»! ViU'NM'S ; 

Aniiil tluvio <>»vtlil,Y (liiiims 
Wlml siH'iii to us Imt s<i.l, iVmcwil l;ii><-i's 

Mivj' lx> li«ivi>ii"s liistam liiiinvi, 

'riunv is no IVitli ! Wlmt stHvius so is tmusition ; 

'Hits lifo of movtal tnwitli 
U Imt » s«\\Hv\> of tlu' lifi' plysisiu, 

AYluvso i><>il!il wo >\>U IVilh. 

Slio is iivit >l<\\vU - tlio oliili\ of oHV alUvtion. -■ 

Um ,i;\Mio \mto that soIuhiI 
Wlioiv slio HO loUi!x>v ii<hh)s our i>o*M' jMvtivtivWi, 

Ami rtifist liiu\5»>lf viotli niKv, 

\u tlial giwit oloistor's stilltuvs^ aiivl siv)usiv>«, 

l\v jiuawUiui iuij5<>ls 1<hI. 
S<ifo iVuu to«mtat\o\i, sato I\\>ih siu's \)o\iutioii, 

Slio >iv«>s whom wo v^ail ilwul, 

Oay afloi- vlay, wo think what sho is lioiujj 

\n thivso lx\\i;lit <>i\iluis of aiv ; 
Yisiv al'toi- y««', hov tomlov stojis {"ursviiivi;. 

Uoliolvl hov jjiMwti mow fair. 

Thus vlo w* w»lk with hor, ami k<vi> uiihivkou 

Tho Ixwiil whioh watuiv j;iv<\s, 
Thiiikiuj; that our ivuioiuhintu'r', thoujjh uu- 
s)yxko\i. 

May \vaoh hov whot-o sho liTtvs, 

Not as a ohlhl shall wo ajp«\u IvlioM hov; 

For whou with wntuitvs wiUl 
l« our ouxhwi-os wv a^iiti oufvtlvl lior, 

Sh« will «ot V « ohiW ; 



ISut ii l';iii' iiiiiiilou, ill hor Katlior's uiansioii. 

iMollvoil with ooUvitiiil gmoo; 
Ami Ix-aulilMl with all tlio soul's oxixuisioii 

Shall wo K'liohl hor ftioo. 

Aiiil tliou,>;h. at limos. iuiiH-tiums with oiuotioii 

Ami auj<uish loujj sujuiivssoii, 
Tlio swoUiujs hwirt liwivos iiuvauiii}; Uko I lio oooiui. 

That oatiuot Ih> at ivst, - 

Wo will K' imtioiit, ami assuaj^v ilio fooliuj; 

Wo may not wholly stay ; 
Uy silouoo saiiotil^iiij;, not ooiuwiliuj;, 

Tho jjiiof thill must havo way, 

ItKNKV WAlVi\Vv»KlM l,\»N\;»'BLl,0\V. 



iii'i;iKi> i\> i>.\Y, 

ll\'UlKl> lo-ilay ; 

Whou tho .soft j!i\w\ luuls atv hurstiujt out. 
Ami ui> ou tho .south-wiiul >>oim>s a shout 

tV villaj?' Iviys and jtirls at ("lay 

lu tlio mihl suvilij* owiiiiiji jsiiiy, 

'l\ikou away, 

Stui\ly of luwt aiul st>'\it oflimK 

l-Vun oy<\s that vli-i-w half thoirlij*lit t\\>t\i hiui. 

.Vtul (lut low, low iiiiiloru«ilh tho olay, 

Ih his sjiriujj, - o\i this sjiriuj; day, 

I IVsstw awj\y 

I All tho luivlo of K\v-lifo Iwjjuii. 

' .\ll tho liojio of lifo wt to run ; 

; Who (laivs to nmvstiou whou Oiio stulli "Nay." 

Murmur not, only (miy, 
I 
i Rutors to-day 

Auothor Kxly in ohuivhysird s»hI, 
Auothor s»to1 ou tho lilo \« 0»hI, 

His I'hrist was huriwl - ativl Uv<'« alwwy ; 

IVust llitu, auvl j{v> yvnvr wsiy, 

I \MNA« Ml'lAX-i: CRAIK. 



HKiVtii's that uowr a^is<> to y<>ani ' 
O hrimiuiivi! t<\ii-s that uo'or av\' .Irii^l 

Tho vltvnl. thoujth thoy do)vnt, ivturii 
As though thoy had not ditvl 1 



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[&■ 



HKIIICAVKMKNT A Nil liKATII. 



2<'.] 



'I'Ui: Uvfnff are thfl wily Amil j 

'I'tii! >I<««1 live, — uiivi-niinri: tii i{\» ; 

Ami ii(U:ii, wbftii wit iiniiiiii Umiki fl/:'), 
'J'Jujy <)<;V<:r wi!i<; mi iii^\i '. 

AjkI t.)i»Mgli tlicy lii; lM;ii<:atli tin: WAV';)), 
Or b|i;<!() willilii tin; i:liiir';liyiti<l <Jliii, 

(AU ! lliloil«li liow l(i!i/iy <lifr<;l<;lil giavcii 
(y<)<r« i;)ill'li<;l» K') (// Mm !; 

Vet i-.vi-.ry uriivc, itivim iij) il.« 'li;(i/l 
Km it i» 'ivf.rifi'iiv/ii »it)i ({i.i»» ; 

'i')«;i) wliy hIiomI'I tio[«l<:«» Ukkis I« sIk;'!, 
Or /iw/l wij <!(y, " Al;t» " ; 

(yr why «h/jri|il M<;H)</ry, v<;il<;'] witli glw/wi, 
AikI lik/; u ijiiiiiv/iiij/^ iii'/iii'ii>;r i.iajwl, 

Hit w<«;|)i(i;< «i;r uk <:i/i|jty Ujiiih, 
WImW! i;a|itlvi:» liavi; Ktf.ufH'A I 

"I' in hut a r((/)iU)'l, — arnl will Ik; unmifAV 
Wlii;iie'<!r tin; »ii/m/i<;r ({lass a|;jn!ar» ; 

TIk! IovwI, tl)«il({li w<;|)t, ar<; l)<;V';l l'/«l ; 
Wi! only low: — «iir tcaiw ! 

Nay, Jl'iin; fiiay wIiibjh;!' willi llio <li;a/l 
l»y U'.iiiiiiin r</iwiii'il wli(;(i; tlii;y ar<! ; 

lint M<;n(«iy, will) a l/iu;kwiii'l ti';ii/l, 
',''/iiimii»i« with tlu.-ni afar. 

TIk: j'/y» wc l</W: ar"! I/Ut l'oiw:a»t, 

AikI w<: liliull iiiirl tlicr/i all <//ii.<; /iior<; ; 

W<: look U;hl.j.| .!« for til.; I'Jifit, 
liiil lo ! 't ifl all l..;(ori! ! 

AWOM'/MOIJi, 



t 



TOE MOI/RNKIOl «AMK AT KRKAK O*" DAY, 

'I'lIC, iiioimii;r.-i <:aiii<; at l<r<rak of ilay, 

1,'iit/) lli<: j^iiriUm is<!|)uliln:r, 
Witl( P!a<l>l<;/i(:<l Irftartx to w<»![> aji'l (iray 

For lllld, tli(; lovwl 0(«;, l/liri<yi tli<;rr;, 
Wliat ra/liaiit li«lit <liH|«-l)i tin; ulifilii '. 
Atl angel nils l/<;»i/l<: tll>; ti/liil). 

'I'll'! cartli 'iolli iiioiirii li<;r Uf.iWMn'ii lo,it, 
All *t:\i\\\i\ii:yij\ Ixj/iftatli tli<; Bdow, 

Wli(;ri wintry wiii<l» ami <;liillin« front 
llavf! laid lii;r »iiinin';r jilni'm \iivi ; 

'I'll'- »((rinf{ rftturoB, tl«; (low<;r<;t>( hl/joiH, — 

All an((i;l Siltii lx:hi/l"; tlw; tolllti, 

Thi!ii mourn w« not Iwlowl 'Iwfl j 
K'<:n v/hil<! we f;om'! t/i w<;<;|( ami l<ray, 

TIk: happy spirit hath hut flwl 

To hri(/lit«r rcalinc of lii:av<!nly 'lay ; 

hnni'/rtal ho|«; 'li>ij/<:l» th<: (zioom, - - 

An aiigftl xitii Ix;!:)'!'; Ih'; toiiih. 



70 (Mil UhbViltVi/P "hUUm," WtVl l/lklJ A'l UII.AH, 
I JOWt ',,,*!., 

" /cvib Mitli llfit/ilmr, Wt/tMh. <Wliy Mi^^tAtf lll//Mt >Al»//Hi K^K 

>,lf, il tiuM fl«V« l^rfll^ llllli ||itl(/>;, U.-II MM Wlwn llf/U l.«al l.Mj/1 
I,.".. >A// «. IV 

Ik ill'; lair gar'l<:n» of <;4!h:i,tia| pi-a/;/! 

Walk<;lh a gaiil/:m:r in iii<-^-kni;6« <:l;i/l ; 
I'aii ai<: ih': flow<:r» that wii:ath'; hi» ih-wy herkn, 

Ami hi» Hiy»t';rioiu! i:y<:» ari; »w<«;t ami »m[, 

I'aii ar': th<; hik-nt fohlldgii of his rolxra, 
(•ailing with saintly <:alnim-« t// I.Ib f.':t ; 

An'l wh<;n hi: walks, lai/ih (loW';i':t U, his will 
With ll'/ing pulw: iif nwMl luii/ii'i 'lolh Ural, 

Kv';ry gi'wii hraf thrills U, its t/ni'l'i Inait, 
In thi: niil'l Biiinmi;! railiam;/: of his 'ryi; ; 

N'/ fi:ar of storiii, or 'rohl, or \ilWi fi'rtt, 
Kha/hiw.-. tlw; llowi;r':t« when tlnrir sun is nigh, 

An'l all our pleasant haiiiits of i-arthly lov: 
An: niirB<:/ii:« ill lh'»s(: gaiiliiim of Ihi; air ; 

An'l his (ar-'larliiig cyi;, with stairy Usim, 
VVat/,li/;« till; growing of his lr'«isur';» lli'ri':, 

Wi; ';all thi;rn ours, o'ltrw'-pt with s<;llish t'iirs, 
0'':rv,at<:h';il with rf»ll':»« longings night aii'l 
'lay ; 

Koig'lliil of the high, mystirrioiis light 

lie liol'ls Ui lisir our eherislii;/! phiiits away, 

Iliit wlnrii some sunny sjKit in th'/M: hright liel'ln 
N'l'ls I he (ail pievrnei! of an a'hle'l Iti/wer, 

Oown sw';'-|»s a tlarry angel in lh<r night : 

At morn the r'w has vaniilnvl (loni our lui'/iiir ', 

\Vher<; st/Kxl our trei;, our (lower, tln-re is a giavi; ! 

(ilank, sihrnt, VHfjiiit ; hut in worl'ls alxtve, 
I.ike a new star outhl'/ss/ime/l in the skhrs, 
t 'Che angels hail an aihle<( (low*r o( love, 

0':ar fiieml, no more U(ion that lonely moiiml, 
' Htrev/<:'l with the ri-'l an'l yellow autumn leaf, 
I (>rop th'/u the Uim; hut rai»<: the (ainting eye 
IVryoii'l the autumn mists of earthly grief. 

I Thy gai'len r'/s<;t/ii<l hore within its hieast 

Those my»l/;ries of cilor, warm an'l hright. 
That the hieak eliniat/; of this low':i spli':ie 
I CouW never waken Iiit/* form an'l light, 

Y'rti, the uweet Gardener hath fiorne her hene»;, 
! ,Vor must thou ask tu take her th/;iiee away ; 
I'hou shall Iwrholil her, in fniic <»yming hour. 
Cull yAimfimtA i« hi* (iel/l« of eloiiilii«» 'lay, 

I HAMKII-.T liUli/:HtliL ST'/WK, 



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[&-: 



262 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



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FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of day are numbered, 

And the voices of the night 
Wake the better soul that slumbered 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the iitl'ul firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the foiTus of the departed 

Enter at the open door, — 
The beloved ones, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 

Nol.ile longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished. 

Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore. 

Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the being beauteous 
^\'llo unto my youth w^as given. 

More than all things else to love me. 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine ; 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes. 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like. 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended. 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

0, though oft depressed and lonely, 

All my fears are laid aside 
If 1 but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 

Henry wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. 

I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions. 
In my days of childhood, in my joy ful school-days ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 



I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her, — 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

1 have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend aljruptly ; 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my child- 
hood. 
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, 
Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother. 
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling ? 
So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 

How some they have died, and some they have 

left me. 
And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

CHARLES LAMB. 



THE BURIED FLOWER. 

In the silence of my chamber. 
When the night is still and deep, 

And the drowsy heave of ocean 
Mutters in its channed sleep, 

Oft 1 hear the angel voices 

That have thrilled me long ago, — 
Voices of my lost companions, 

Lying deep beneath the snow. 

Where are now the flowers we tended ' 
Withered, broken, branch and stem ; 

^\^lere are now the hopes we cherished ? 
Scattered to the winds with them. 

For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones ! 

Nursed in hope and reared in love. 
Looking fondly ever upward 

To the clear blue heaven above ; 

Smiling on the sun that cheered us, 
Pising lightly from the rain. 

Never folding up your freshness 
Save to give it forth again. 

O, 'tis sad to lie and reckon 
All the days of faded youth. 

All the vows that we believed in. 
All the words we spoke in truth. 



[&_.— 



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WHITTIER'S HOME AT AMESBURY. 

{Birthflnce at Hnn-rhUl.) 

"And sivcet homes nestle in ihcsc dales, 
And perch r.long these wooded swells. 
And, blest beyond Arc.-idiaii vales, 

They hear the sound of Sabbalh bells." 



f 



lei:ea]'emext axd death. 



263 



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Severed, — were it severed only 

By an idle thought of strife, 
Such as time may knit together ; 

Not the broken chord of life ! 

0, I fling my spirit backward. 
And I pass o'er years of pain ; 

All 1 loved is rising round me, 
All the lost returns again. 

Brighter, faii'er far than living, 

A\'ith no trace of woe or pain. 
Robed in everlasting beauty, 

Shall 1 see them once again. 

By the light that uever fadeth. 

Underneath eternal skies. 
When the dawn of resurrection 

Breaks o'er deathless Paradise. 

William Edmonstow.ne aytqu.n. 



& 



THE FUTURE LIFE. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 
The disembodied spirits of the dead. 

When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
And perishes among the dust we tread I 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were 
given ; 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven '. 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing 
wind, 

In the resplendence of that glorious sphere. 
And larger movements of the unfettered mind. 

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? 

The love that lived through all the .stormy past. 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore. 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last. 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light. 
Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right. 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, 
Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; 



And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightfid scar upon my soul. 

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky. 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name. 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelierinheaven'ssweetclimate, yet thesame l 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home. 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ! 

William Cullen Bkvant. 



THE AUGEL OF PATIENCE. 

A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. 

To weary hearts, to mourning homes, 
God's meekest Angel gently comes : 
No power has he to banish pain. 
Or give us back our lost again ; 
And yet in tenderest love our dear 
And heavenly Father sends him here. 

There's qiuet in that .\ugers glance. 

There 's rest in his still (-ountenance ! 

He mocks no grief with idle cheer. 

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear ; 

But ills and woes he may not cure 

He kindly ti-ains us to endure. 

Angel of Patience ! sent to calm 
Our feverish brows with cooling palm ; 
To lay the storms of hope and I'ear, 
And reconcile life's smile and tear ; 
The throbs of wounded pride to still. 
And make our own our Father's will ! 

thou who mournest on thy way. 
With longings for the close of day ; 
He walks with thee, that Angel kind. 
And gently whispers, " Be resigned ; 
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell 
The dear Lord ordereth all things well ! " 



FRIENDS DEPARTED. 

They are all gone into the world of light. 

And I alone sit lingering here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my sad thoughts doth clear ; 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, — 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the sun's remove. 



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264 



POEMS OF SOKROir AND DEATH. 



■Q 



t 



I see tlu'iu wnlkiiij; in an iiir of glory, 

Wliosi' \\iihl doth tniniple on my ilays, — 
My ii:iys wlui-li mo at bust lint dull and hoary, 
Mciv glinnuoriug and docays. 

< I holy hope ! and high huntility, — 

1 1 igli as tho (u-ching lienvons abovo ! 
Tlu'si" aro your walks, and yon havo showed thoin 
ini', 
To kindlo my cold lovo. 

Hoar, lioavitoous death, — the ji-wul of thojust, — 

Shining nowhoii' but in tin' dark ! 

AVhat mysti'rios do lio boyonil thy dust, 

Could num outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found sonip Hedged bird's nest nuiy 
know, 
At first sight, if the biixl bo llown ; 
Hut what fair dell or grove he sings in now. 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as angels in some brighter divams 

tall to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
themes, 
And into glory peep. 

If a star were confined into a tomb. 

ller eaptive llames must needs burn there, 
liut wlu'u the hand that looked her up gives room. 
She '11 sliino through all the sphere. 

O Father of eternal life, and all 

Civated glories under thee ! 
Kosumo thy spirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty. 

Kithor disperse those mists, whioh blot and lill 

My perspootive still as they pass ; 

Or else ronuive me henoe unto that hill 

Where 1 shall need no glass. 



THE FIRST SNO'W-FALL. 

TlIK snow had begun in the gloaming, 

Aiul busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

Witli a silence deep and white. 

Every pine and fir and hemlook 
Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 

And the poorest twig on the elm-tive 
Was ridged ineli deep with pearl. 

From sheds new-roofed with Cari-ara 
Camo Cliantioleer's mulHed crow, 



The stiir rails wore softened to swan's-down. 
And still lluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky. 
And the sudden Hurries of snow-birds, 

Like brown loaves whirling by. 

I thought of a mound in swoot Auburu 
Where a little headstone stood ; 

How the Hakes were folding it gently, 
As did robins the babes in the wood. 

Up spoke our own little Mabel, 

Saying, " Father, who makes it snow ?" 
And I told of the good All-father 

Who oares for us hero below. 

Ag-.iin 1 looked at the snow-fall. 

And thought of the leaden sky 
That arohod o'er oiu' first great sorrow. 

When that nuiund was heaped so high. 

I rememboreil the gradual patience 
That fell from that oloud like snow, 

Flake by H'lke, healing and hiding 
The scar of our deep-plunged woo. 

And again to the ehihl 1 whispered, 

"The snow that hu.sheth all. 
Darling, the meroiful Father 

Alone can nniko it fall ! " 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed hor ; 

And she, kissing Imck, could not know 
That mil kiss was given to hor sister, 

Folded close under deoiwning snow. 

lAMlJS ROSSELL LOWKLL, 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

TllEUE is a Reaper whoso name is Peath, 

And, with his sickle keen. 
He reaps the beaiiled grain at a breath. 

And the llowors that grow between. 

"Shall 1 have naught that is fair?" saith ho ; 

" Havo naught but the boarded grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

1 will give them all back again." 

He gsized at the flowers with tearful eyes. 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Faradiso 

}{•.' bound thoni in his sheaves. 

" Jly Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 
The Keaper said, and smiled ; 



4 



IIEUKAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



2f] 



r^ 



43- 



" Uiiir tokena of tho earth are they, 
W|]i;re lie was once a i.hild. 

'"I'hcy sliall all bloom in liflcj.s of li;;ht, 

'rrMiisplaiitoii by iijy ran-, 
AihI fiiciiits, upon their garirK'iits white, 

Thi-.so sacred bloflaoiiis wear." 

And tlie motlier gave, in tear.i and pain, 
'I'he llowern she njo.st did love ; 

.She knew »he HJiould lind tln'in all af^ain 
In the lield«ofli;;ht above. 

0, not in eruelty, not in wrath, 

The Re-ajier eaine that rlay ; 
'T was an anjjel visited the ;p-ecn earth. 

And took the dowel's away. 

III'-NRY WaOSWOKMI LONGI'llLLOW. 



OVER THE RIVER. 

OvKit the river they lierkoii to nie, 

I,oved ones who 've crossed to the farther side, 
Tiie fjleam of their snowy robes I see, 

lint their voices arc lost in the da.shing tide. 
There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 

And eyes the relleelion of heavi^n's own blue; 
lie r:ro.ssed in the twilight gray and cold, 

And the jjale mist liid liiin from nioi-tal Tiew. 
We .saw not the angels who met him there, 

The gates of the eity we could not see : 
Over the river, over the river, 

My brother stands waiting to welcome ine. 

Over the river tbe boatman jralo 

( 'aiTied another, the liouschold jiet ; 
lier brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Dailing Minnie ! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands. 

And fearlessly entered the phantom baik ; 
We felt it glide from the silver sands. 

And all our sunshine gi'ew strangely dark ; 
We know slie is safe on the farther side. 

Where all the ransomed and angels be : 
Over the river, the mystic river. 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

l'"or none retuni from those quiet shores, 

Wlio iToss with the boatman colil and ]iale; 
Wi: hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of tin; snowy sail ; 
Audio ! they have pa-ssed from our yeanling hearts, 

Tliey cross the stream and are gone for aye. 
We may not sunder the veil ajiart 

That hiiles from our vision the gates of day ; 
We only knc/w that their barks no more 

May .sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 



Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore. 
They watidi, ami lji;i.koii, and wait for me. 

And 1 sit and think, when tho sunset's gold 

Is Hushing river and hill and shore, 
1 shall oiji: day stand by the water cold. 

And list for the .sound of the boatman's oar; 
1 shall watch for a gleam of the flapping .sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
I shall ]iass from sight with the boatman pal.-, 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
I shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will llie meeting be. 
When over the river, the jieaeeful river. 

The angel of death shall carry me. 



THE TWO WAITINGS. 



I)KAlt liearts, you wen^ waiting a year ago 

For the glory to 1«; revealed ; 
You were wondering deeply, with bati.'d breath, 

What treasure the days concealed. 

0, would it be this, or wouhl it be that f 

Woiilil it be girl or boy? 
Wonhl it look like father or mother most ? 

And what shouhl you ilo for joy? 

And then, one day, when the time was full. 
And the sjiring was coming fast. 

The trembling veil of the lioiiy wa« rent. 
And you saw your baby at last. 

Was it or not what you had dreamed ? 

It was, and yet it was not ; 
Hut 0, it was better a thousand times 

Than ever you wislied or thought. 



And now, dear hearts, you are waiting again, 
While the spring is coming fast; 

For the Vjaby that was a future dream 
Is now a ilream of the past : 

A dri'am of sunshine, and all that 's sweet ; 

Of all that is pure and bright ; 
Of eyes tliat were blue .as the sky by d.ay, 

And its soft as the stars by inglit. 

You arc waiting .again for the fnllnens of time, 

And the glory U> Is; revealed ; 
You are wondering deeply with iiehing hearts 

What treasure is now eonee.ilcd. 



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'^t:- 



GO 



POEMS OF SOUROIF ASP DEATH. 



^■^ 



0, will she Vie this, or will she bo that ? 

And whut will there be in her fiieo 
Tliat will tell ymi sure that she is your own, 

When you meet iu the heux'enly [ilaee » 

As it was bclore, it will bo again, 
Kashion yonr ilreani ns you will ; 

When the veil is rent, and the glory is seen, 
It will more than your hope fullill. 



ON AN INFANT'S DKATH. 

A i.i rrLK life, 
Five snnnui'r months of gladness 

Without one eloud of sorrow, sin, or strife, 
Cut slunt liy sudden gloom and wintry sadness. 

A little mound 
15y buttress gray defended. 

Watered with tears and garlandeil all ro\iud, 
Hy loving hands alVeetionately tended. 

A little eot. 
Empty, forlorn, forsaken. 

Silent reniembraneor that ho is not, — 
Gone — past our voioo to lull, or kiss to waken. 

A little froek 
Ilo wore, a hat that shaded 

His iunoeent brow, seen with a sudden shoek 
Of grief for that dear form so i|uiekly faded. 

A little llower, 
Beeause ho touched it eherished. 

Fragile memorial of one happy hour 
Before the beauty of our blossom perished. 

A little hair, 
Serured with trembling lingers, 

.\11 that is left us of our infant fair, 
All we shall see of him while this life lingers. 

.\ little name. 
In parish reeords written, 

.\ passing .sympathy to claim 
From other fathers for a father smitten. 

But a great trust 
Irradiates our sorrow. 

That though to-day his name is writ in dust, 
We shall behold it writ in heaven to-morrow. 

And a great peace 
Our troubled soul possesses. 
That though to embrace him these poor arms 
must cease. 
Our lamb lies folded in the Lord's caresses. 



A little pain, 
To point his life's brief story. 

A few hours' mortal weariness, to gain 
Unutterable rest and enilless glory. 

A little prayer. 
By lips Divine once spoken, 

" Thy will be done !" is breathed into the air 
From hearts submissive, though with accents 
br,iken. 

A little while. 
And Time no more shall sever ; 

But we shall see him with his own sweet smile, 
Aiul clasp our darling iu our arms forever ! 

ANONVMOUS. 



FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE. 

Tiir; night is late, the house is still ; 

The angels of the hour fullill 

Their tender ministries, and move 

From couch to (■oiieh in cares of love. 

They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, 

The happiest smile of Charlie's life, 

And lay on baby's lips a Iviss, 

Fresh from his aiiiv 1 l.r,,ili> r's bliss ; 

And, as they pass, ih, y sc, m to nuike 

A strange, dim liynm, "For Charlie's sake." 

My listening heart takes up the strain. 
And gives it to the night again, 
Fitted with words of lowly praise, 
And patience learned of mournful days. 
And memories of the dead child's ways. 

His will be done. His will he done ! 
Who gave and took away my son. 
In " the far lami " to shine and sing 
Before the Beautiful, the King, 
Who every day doth Christmas make. 
All starred anil belled for Charlie's sake. 

For Charlie's sake 1 will arise ; 

I will anoint me where he lies. 

And change my raiment, aiul go in 

To the Lord's liouse, and leave my sin 

Without, and seat me at his board. 

Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. 

For wherefore should I fast and weep, 

And sullen moods of mourning keep ? 

I cannot bring him back, nor he, 

For any calling, come to me. 

The bond the angel Death did sign, 

God sealed — for Charlie's sake, and mine. 

John Williamson palmer. 



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llEHEAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



2G7 



r-Q] 



"ONLY A YEAR." 

Onk year ago, — a ringing voice, 

A clear blue eye. 
And clustering curls of sunny hair. 

Too lair to die. 

Only a year, — no voice, no smile. 

No glance of eye. 
No clustering curls of golden hair. 

Fair but to die ! 

One year ago, — what loves, what schemes 

Far into life ! 
What joyous hopes, what high resolves, 

What generous strife ! 

The silent picture on the wall, 

The burial-stone 
Of all that beauty, life, ami joy, 

Remain alone ! 

One year, — one year, — one little year, 

And so much gone ! 
And yet the even flow of life 

Moves calmly on. 

The grave grow.s green, the flowers bloom fai 

Above that head ; 
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray 

Says ho is dead. 

No pause or hush of men'y birds 

That sing above 
Tells us how coldly sleeps below 

The foi-m we love. 

Where hast thou been this year, beloved ? 

What hast thou seen, — 
What visions fair, what glorious life, 

Where thou ha.st been ? 

The veil ! the veil ! so thin, .so .strong ! 

'Twi.ft us and thee ; 
Tlie my.stic veil ! when shall it fall, 

That we may see ? 

Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone, 

But present still. 
And waiting for the coming hour 

Of God's sweet will. 

Lord of the living and the dead. 

Our Saviour dear ! 
We lay in silence at thy feet 

Tliis sad, sad year. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 



I CANNOT make him dead ! 

His fair sun.shiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair ; 

Yet when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I tuni to him, 
The vision vanishes, — he is not there I 

1 walk my parlor lloor, 

And, tluough the open door, 
1 hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 

1 'm stepping toward the hall 

To give the boy a call ; 
And then bethink me that — he is not there ! 

1 thread the crowded street ; 

A satcheled lad I meet, 
With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; 

And, as he 's running by. 

Follow him with my eye. 
Scarcely lielieving that — he is not there ! 

I know his face is hid 

Under the colIin lid ; 
Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair ; 

My hand that marble felt ; 

O'er it in prayer I knelt ; 
Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there ! 

I cannot make him dead ! 

"When passing by the bed, 
So long watched over with [larental care. 

My spirit and my eye 

Seek him inijuiringly, 
Before the thought comes, that — he is not there ! 

When, at the cool gray break 

Of day, from sleep I wake. 
With my first breathing of the morning air 

My soul goes up, with joy, 

To Him who gave my boy ; 
Then comes the .sadthoughttlmt — heisnotthere ! 

When at the day's calm clo.se, 

Before we seek repose, 
I 'm with his mother, offering up our prayer ; 

Whate'er I may be saying, 

I am in spirit praying 
For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there ! 

Not there ! — Where, then, is he ? 

The form I used to see 
Was but the raiment that he used to wear. 

The grave, that now doth press 

Upon that cast-ofi' dress. 
Is but his wardrobe locked ; — he is not there ! 



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f 



268 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



--i^ 



He lives ! — In all the past 

He lives ; nor, to the last. 
Of seeing him again will 1 despair ; 

In dreams I see liini now ; 

And, on his angel brow, 
I see it written, " Thou slialt see me there I " 

Yes, we all live to God ! 

Father, tliy chastening rod 
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear. 

That, in the spirit laud. 

Meeting at thy right hand, 
'T will be our heaven to find that — he is there ! 



CASA WAPPY. 

THE CHILD'S PET NAME, CHOSEN BV HIMSELF. 

And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, 

Our fond, dear boy, — 
The realms where soiTow dare not come, 

Wliere life is joy ? 
Pure at thy death as at thy birth. 
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth ; 
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Despair was in our last farewell, 

As closed thine eye ; 
Tears of our anguish may not tell 

When thou didst die ; 
Words may not paint our grief for thee ; 
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea 
Of o\ir unfathomed agony ; 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thou wert a vision of delight. 

To bless us given ; 
Beauty embodied to our sight, 

A t)'jie of heaven ! 
So dear to us thou wert, thou art 
Even less thine own self, than a part 
Of mine, and of thy mother's heart, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thy bright, brief day knew no decline, 

'T was cloudless joy ; 
Sunrise and night alone were thine. 

Beloved boy ! 
This moon beheld thee blithe and gay ; 
That found thee prostrate in decay ; 
And ere a third shone, clay was clay, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Gem of our hearth, our household pride. 

Earth's undefiled, 
Could love have saved, thou hadst not died. 

Our dear, sweet child ! 



& 



Humbly we bow to Fate's decree ; 
Yet had we hoped that Time should see 
Thee mourn for us, not us for thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

We mourn for thee when lilind, blank night 

The chamber fills ; 
We pine for thee when morn's first light 

Reddens the hills : 
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea, 
AU — to the wallflower and wild pea — 
Are changed ; we saw the world through thee, 
Casa W^appy 1 

And though, perchance, a smile may gleam 

Of casual mirth. 
It doth not own, whate'er may seem. 

An inward birth ; 
We miss thy small step on the stair ; 
We miss thee at thine evening prayer ; 
All day we miss thee, — everywhere, — 
Casa Wappy ! 

Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, 

In life's spring-bloom, 
Down to the appointed house below, — 

The silent tomb. 
But now the green leaves of the tree, 
The cuckoo, and "the busy bee," 
lieturn, — liut with them bring not thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

'T is so ; but can it be — while flowers 

Revive again — 
Man's doom, in death that we and ours 

For aye remain ? 
0, can it be, that o'er the grave 
The grass renewed should yearly wave. 
Yet God forget our child to save ? — 
Casa Wappy ! 

It cannot be ; for were it so 

Thus man could die. 
Life were a mocker}', thought were woe. 

And truth a lie ; 
Heaven were a coinage of the brain ; 
Religion frenzy, virtue vain, 
And all our hopes to meet again, 
Casa AVappy ! 

Then be to us, dear, lost child ! 

With beam of love, 
A star, death's uncongenial wild 

Smiling above ! 
Soon, soon thy little feet have trod 
The skyward path, the seraph's road, 
That led thee back from man to God, 
Casa Wappy ! 



BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



2cr^ 



Yet 't is sweet balm to our despair. 

Fond, fairest boy, 
That heaven is God's, and thou art there, 

With him in joy ; 
Tliere jiast are deatli and all its woes ; 
Tliere beauty's stream forever Hows ; 
And pleasure's day no sunset knows, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Farewell, then, — for a while, farewell, — 

Pride of my heart ! 
It cannot be that long we dwell. 

Thus torn apart. 
Time's shadows lilie the shuttle flee ; 
And dark howe'er life's night may be. 
Beyond the grave I '11 meet with thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

David Macbeth Moir. 



TOMMY'S DEAD. 

You may give over plow, boys. 
You may take the gear to the stead. 
All the sweat o' your brow, boys. 
Will never get beer and bread. 
The seed 's waste, I know, boys. 
There 's not a blade will grow, boys, 
'T is cropped out, I trow, boys, 
And Tommy 's dead. 

Send the colt to fair, boys. 

He 's going blind, as I said. 

My old eyes can't bear, boys. 

To see him in the shed ; 

The cow 's dry and spare, boys, 

She 's neither here nor there, boys, 

I doubt she 's badly bred ; 

Stop the mill to-morn, boys. 

There '11 be no more corn, boys. 

Neither white nor red ; 

There 's no sign of grass, boys. 

You may sell the goat and the ass, boys, 

Tlie land 's not what it was, boys. 

And the beasts must be fed : 

You may turn Peg away, boys. 

You may pay off old Ned, 

We 've had a dull day, boys. 

And Tommy 's dead. 

Move my chair on the floor, boys. 

Let me turn my head : 

She 's standing tliere in the door, boys. 

Your sister Winifred ! 

Take her away from me, boys, 

Your sister Winifred ! 

Move nie round in my place, boys, 

Let me turn my head. 



Take her away from me, boys, 
As she lay on her death-bed, 
Tlie bones of her thin face, boys. 
As she lay on her death-bed ! 
I don't know how it be, boys, 
When all 's done and said, 
But I see her looking at me, boys, 
Wherever I turn my head ; 
Out of the big oak-tree, boys. 
Out of the garden-bed, 
And the lily as pale as she, boys. 
And the rose that used to be red. 

There 's something not right, boys, 

liut I think it 's not in my head, 

I 've kept my precious sight, boys, — 

The Lord be hallowed ! 

( )utside ami in 

The ground is cold to my tread, 

Tlie hills are wizen and thin. 

The sky is shriveled and shred. 

The hedges down by the loan 

I can count them bone by bone. 

The leaves are ojien and spread, 

ISut I see the teeth of the land, 

And hands like a dead man's hand. 

And the eyes of a dead man's head. 

There 's nothing but cinders and sand. 
The rat ami the mouse have fed, 
.Vnd the summer's empty and cold ; 
( )ver valley and wold 
Wherever I turn my head 
There 's a mildew and a mold. 
The sun 's going out overhead, 
And I 'm veiy olil. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

What am I staying for, boys, 
You 're all born and bred, 
'T is fifty years and more, boys, 
Since wife and I were wed. 
And she 's gone before, boys, 
And Tommy 's dead. 

She was always sweet, boys, 

Upon his cnrly head. 

She knew she 'd never see 't, boys. 

And she stole off' to bed ; 

I 've been .sitting up alone, boys. 

For he 'd come home, he said. 

But it 's time I was gone, boys, 

For Tommy 's dead. 

Put the .shutters up, boys. 
Bring out the beer and bread. 
Make haste and sup, boys, 
For my eyes are heavy as lead ; 



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tS- 



rui:Ms OF soKRotr and death. 



-a 



There 's something wrong i' the cu[>, boys, 
There 's something ill \vi' the breiul, 
I don't Cftiii to sup, boys, 
Anel Tommy 's deiul. 

I 'm not riglit, I doubt, boys, 
I 've such a sleepy liend, 
I shall nevermore be stout, boys, 
Yon may carry me to bed. 
What are you about, boys ? 
The prayers are all said, 
The tire 's raked out, boys, 
And Tommy 's dead. 

The stairs are too steep, boys. 
Yon may carry mo to the head, 
The niglit 's dark and deep, boys. 
Your mother's long in bed, 
'T is time to go to sleep, boys. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

1 'm not used to kiss, boys. 

You may shake my hand instead. 

All things go amiss, boys, 

You may lay me where she is, boys. 

And I '11 rest my old head : 

'T is a poor world, this, boys. 

Anil Tommy 's dead. 

SIDNEY DOBELL. 



u 



THE MERRY LARK. 

The merry, merry lark was up and singing. 

And the hare was out and feeding on the lea. 
And the merry, merry bells below were ringing, 

When my child's laugh rang through me. 
Now the hare is snared and dead beside the 
snowyard. 

And the lark beside the dreary winter sea. 
And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard 

Waiteth there until the bells bring me. 

Charles Ki.ngsley. 



THE MORNING-GLORV. 

We wTeathed about our darling's head 

The morning-glory bright ; 
Her little face looked out beneath 

So full of life and light, 
So lit as with a sunrise. 

That we could only say, 
" She is the morning-glory true. 

And her poor types are they." 

So always from that happy time 
We called her by their name. 

And very fitting did it seem, — 
For sura as morning came, 



Behind her cradle bare she smiled 

To catch the first faint ray. 
As from the trellis smiles the ilower 

And opens to the day. 

But not so beautiful they rear 

Their airy cups of blui!. 
As turned her sweet eyes to the light, 

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew ; 
And not so close their tendrils fine 

Round their supports are thrown. 
As those dear arms whose outstretched plea 

Clasped all hearts to her own. 

We used to think how she had come. 

Even as comes the flower. 
The last and perfect added gift 

To crown Love 's morning hour ; 
And how in her was imaged forth 

The love we could not say. 
As on the little dewdrops round 

Shines back the heart of day. 



The morning-glory's blossoming 

Will soon be coming round, — 
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves 

Upspringing from the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed 

Renew again their birth. 
But the glory of our morning 

Has passed away from earth. 

Earth ! in vain our aching eyes 

Stretch over thy green plain ! 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air. 

Her spirit to sustain ; 
But up in groves of Paradise 

Full surely we shall see 
Our morning-glory beautiful 

Twine round our dear Lord's knee. 

makia W'HITB loweu. 



ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME? 

E.^CH day, when the glow of sunset 

Fades in the western sky, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing. 

Go trip]iing lightly by, 
I steal e.way from my husbaiul, 

.Vsleep in his easy-ehair. 
And watch from the open doorway 

Their faces fresh and fair. 

Alone in the dear old homestead 
That once was full of life. 

Ringing with girlish laughter. 
Echoing boyish strife. 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



271 



We two are waiting together ; 

Aud oft, as the shadows come. 
With tremulous voice he calls me, 

" It is night ! are the children home ? " 

" Yes, love ! " I answer him gently, 

"They 're aU home long ago" ; — 
And I sing, in my quivering treble, 

A song so soft and low. 
Till the old man drops to slumber, 

With his head upon his hand. 
And I tell to myself the number 

At home in the better laud. 

At home, where never a soiTow 

Shall dim their eyes with tears ! 
Where the smile of God is on them 

Through all the summer years ! 
I know, — yet my arms are empty. 

That fondly folded seven, 
And the mother heart within me 

Is almost starved for heaven. 

Sometimes, in the dusk of evening, 

I only shut my eyes, 
And the children are all about me, 

A vision I'rom the skies ; 
The babes whose dimpled fingers 

Lost the way to my breast. 
And the beautiful ones, the angels, 

Passed to the world of the blest. 

With never a cloud upon tliem, 

I see their radiant brows ; 
My hoys that I gave to freedom, • — 

The red sword sealed their vows ! 
In a tangled Southern forest, 

Twin brothers bold and brave. 
They fell ; and the flag they died for, 

Thank God ! floats over their grave. 

A breath, and the vision is lifted 

Away on wings of light, 
And again we two are together, 

All alone in the night. 
They tell me his mind is failing. 

But 1 smile at idle fears ; 
He is oidy back with the children. 

In the dear and peaceful years. 

And still, as the summer sunset 

Fades away in the west, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing, 

Go trooping home to rest, 
My husband calls from his corner, 

' ' Say, love, have the children come ? " 
And I answer, with eyes uplifted, 

" Yes, dear ! they are all at home." 

Mrs. M. e. m. SA.NCSTER. 



THE LOST SISTER. 

They waked me from my sleep, 1 knew not why. 
And bade me hasten where a midnight lamp 
Gleamed from an inner chamber. There she lay. 
With biowso pale, whoyi'ster-morn breathed forth 
Through joyous smiles her superflu.\ of bliss 
Into the hearts of others. By her side 
Her hoary sire, with speechless sorrow, gazed 
Upon the stricken idol, — all dismayed 
Beneath his God's lebuke. And she who nursed 
That fair young creature at her gentle breast. 
And oft those sunny locks had decked with liuds 
Of rose and jasmine, shuddering wiped the dews 
Which death distills. 

The sufl'erer just had given 
Her long farewell, and for the last, last time 
Touched with cold lips his cheek who led so late 
Her footsteps to the altar, and received 
In the deep transport of an ardent heart 
Her vow ol' love. And she had striven to i)ress 
That golden cij-clet with her bloodless hand 
Back on his finger, which he kneeling gave 
At the Ijright bridal morn. So then- she lay 
In calm endurance, like the smitten lamb 
Wounded in flowery j)astures, from whose breast 
Tlie dreaded bitterness of death had passed. 
— But a faint wail disturbed the silent scene, 
And in its nurse's anus a new-born babe 
Was borne in utter helplessness along. 
Before that dying eye. 

Its gathered film 
Kindled one moment with a .sudden glow 
Of tearless agony, — and fearful pangs, 
Racking the rigid features, told how strong 
A mother's love doth root itself. One cry 
Of bitter anguish, blent with fervent prayer, 
Went up to Heaven, — and, as its cadence sank, 
Her spu-it entered there. 

Morn after mom 
Rose and retired ; yet still as in a dream 
I seenied to move. The ceitainty of loss 
Fell not at once upon me. Then 1 wejit 
As weep the sisterless. — For thou werl fled, 
My only, my beloved, my sainted one, — 
Twin of my spirit ! and my numbered days 
Must wear the sable of that midnight hour 
Which rent thee from me. 

LVDJA H. SIGOURNEV. 



GO TO THY REST. 

Go to thy rest, fair child ! 
Go to thy dreamless bed. 
While yet so gentle, undetiled. 
With blessings on thy head. 



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[fl-^- 



POEMS UF SUliltOlF AND DEATH. 



-a 



ty- 



l''rosh rosea in thy hmut, 
UiuU uii thy piUow liiiel, 
lliiste tVoin this (Uirk mui fearful liiiiil, 
Wliere Ikiweis so quickly fade. 

Kro sin has si'!ii-od the breast, 
Or sorrow waked the tenr, 
Rise to thy throne of cliangeless rest, 
In yon celestial sphere ! 

Keeause thy smile was fair, 
Thy lip and eye so hright, 
Bei'iiiise thy loviny eradle-eare 
Was sneii u dear delight, 

Shall love, with weak enibraco, 
Tliy upward wing detain ! 
No! gentle angel, seek thy place 
Amid the eliernh train. 



"THEY ARE DEAR KISH TO ME." 

'I'liv. farmer's wife sat at the door, 

A pleasant sight to see ; 
.\nd lilithesonn- were tlu' wee, wee Iwirns 

That played aronnd her knee. 

When, bending 'iioath her heavy ereel, 

A poor lish-wife eame hy. 
And, turning from the toilsonni road, 

I'nlo the door drew nigh. 

She laid her burden on the green. 

And spread its sealy stoiv ; 
With trembling hands an<l pleading words 

She told them o'er and o'er. 

lint lightly laughed the young gnidwife, 
" We 're no sae searee o' cheer ; 

Tak' up your eroel, and gang your ways, — 
1 'U buy nae fish sae dear." 

Hending beiu-ath her load again, 

.\ weary sight to see ; 
Kight sorely sighed the poor tish-wife, 

"They are dear fish to me ! 

"diu- boat was oot ae fearfu' night, 
And when the storm blew o'er. 

My husband, and my throe brave sons, 
I.av corpses on the shore. 

" 1 've been n wife for thirty years, 

.\ idiildless widow three ; 
1 in, inn buy them now to sell again, — 

Thev are dear hsh to me!" 



The farmer's wife turned to the door, — 

What was 't ujion her check ? 
What was there rising in her breast, 

That then she scarce could speak '. 

She thought upon her ain guidmau, 

Her lightsome laddies three ; 
The woman's words had pierced her heart, — 

"They lui) dear lish to me ! " 

"Come back," she cried, with nuiveriug voice, 

And pity's gathering tear ; 
"L'onie in, come in, my poor woman. 

Ye 're kindly welcome here. 

" 1 keutna o' your aching heart, 

Your weary lot to dree ; 
1 '11 ne'er forget your sad, sad words : 

' They are dear lish to me ! '" 

Ay, let the happy-hearted learn 

To pause ere they deny 
The meed of honest toil, and think 

How much their gold may buy, — 

IIow much of manhood's wasted strength, 

What woman's misery, — 
What breaking hearts might swell the cry : 

" They are dear lish to me ! " 

ANONVMOUS. 



TROM "THli LAUV OF THE LAKE." 

II K is gone on the mountain. 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a suiumer-dried fountain 

When our need was the .sorest. 
The font, reappearing. 

From the rain-drops shall borrow. 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow I 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary ; 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that aix> searest. 
But our llower was in flushing 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi. 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Ked hand in the foniy. 

How sound is thy slumber ! 



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niCHK.lVEMKNT AND DEATH. 



273 



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Like the ilew on the iiioiiiilidn, 
Like the I'oum on the rivei', 

Like the bubble on the fountain, 
Tliou art gone and ibrover ! 



SiK Walter scor 



& 



IN HEAVEN. 
" Their angels do always behold the face of my Father." 

Silence filled the courts of heaven, 

Hushed were serapha' harp aiul tone. 
When a little new-born cherub 

Knelt before the Kterual Throne ; 
While its soft white hands were lifted, 

Clasped as if in earnest prayer. 
And its voice in dove-like niurinurs 

Rose like music on the ear. 
Light from the full fount of glory 

On his robe of whiteness glistened, 
And the white-winged seraphs near him 

iSowcd their radiant heads and listened. 

" l/ird, from thy thniiie of glory heic^ 

My lii/iiit turns fondly to another ; 
(I I, "I'd my God, the Comforter, 

<.'cimf lit, comfort my sweet mother ! 
Many sorrows hast thou sent her, — 

Meekly has she drained the cup. 
And the jewels thou hast lent her 

llnrepining yielded up. 

Comfort, comfort my sweet mother I 

" Kaith is growing lonely round her ; 

Friend and lover hast thou taken ; 
Let her not, though woes surround her, 

l''eel her.si'lf by thee forsaken. 
Let her think, when faint and weary. 

Wo are waiting for her here. ; 
Let eaeli loss that makes earth dreary 

Make the hope of Heaven more dear. 
Comfort, comfort my swoet mother I 

"Tlmu who once, in nature human, 

Dwelt on earth a little child, 
I'illowed on the breast of woman, 

UlessM Mary undcfiled ; 
'I'lion who, from the cross of sunering. 

Marked thy mother's tearful face. 
And bei|ueathed her to thy loved one, 

Bidiling him to fill thy place, — 

' 'omfort, comfort my sweet mother ! 

"Tliou who once, from heaven descending. 
Tears and woes and conflicts won ; 

Thou who, nature's laws suspending, 
Cav'st the widow back her son ; 

Thou who at the grave of Lazarus 

Wept with those who wept their dead ; 



TIiou who once in mortal anguish 
Bowed thine own anointed head, — 

(,'omfort, comfort my sweet molher!" 

Till' dovi'-like murmurs died away 

Upon the radiant air ; 
But still the little suppliant knelt 

With hands still clasped in prayer. 
Still were those mildly pleading eyes 

Turned to the sapphire throne. 
Till g<dden harp and angel voice 

Rang forth in mingled tone. 
And as tlie swelling numbers llowed. 

By angel voices given, 
Rich, sweet, and clear, the' anthem rolled 

Through all the courts of heaven : 
" He is the widow's God," it said, 

"Who spared not his (iw,\ Son." 
The infant ehernb bowed its head : 

" Thij I'-ill, Loril, l„: dime!" 

Tno.\i.\s WeslwooD. 



MOTHER AND POET.* 

Df.ai) ! one of them .shot by the .sea in the east. 
And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 

Dead ] lioth my boys ! When you sit at the least 
And are wanting a great song for Italy free. 
Let none look at mi^ ! 

Yet 1 was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men .said ; 
But this woman, this, wlio is agonized here. 

The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her Inail 
Forever instead. 

Wliat art can a woman be good at ? 0, vain ! 

What art is she good at, but hurting her breas- 
With the milk teeth of babes, and a smile at the 
pain ? 
Ah, boys, how you hurt ! you were strong a., 
you pressed, 
And I pniud, by that test. 

What art 's for a woman ? To hold on her knee* 
I'.oth darlings ! to feel all their arms round her 
throat 
Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by ilegrees 
And 'broiderthelong-clothesand neat little i-oat; 
To dream and to dote. 

To teach them. . . It stings tliere ! /made tliein 
indeed 
S]ieak plain tli(^ word "country," / tauglit 
them, no doubt. 



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I'OKMS OF SUHIi'Oir AND DEATH. 



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'riiiit a i-oimtiy "s a thing nu'ii almulil ilio for at 
iiowl. 
1 ]ir;ilc'il (if liliorty, rights, ;iiul nhoul 
The lynmt cast nut. 

And wliiMi Ihcir cyi-s ll'islicil. . , (• my )«':uililnl 
I'yr.s ! . . 
I (ixuUo.1 ; nay, U-t thciii go fnrtli at the wlu'cls 
nr tho gnus, anil ihmioil not. ■ — But then Iho sur- 
prise. 
Wln'O our sils ,|uili' aloiir ! 'I'luMi ouo wi'i'ps. 
Ih.'U ouv kurrls! 
— do,! ! how 111,, lioiiso firls! 

At liisl, lKi|i|iy news niiiii'. in gay Iclti-l's nioik'il 

Witli my kissi's. iiriv'im|i-liro, anilgloiyi imilhow 

Thi'v I'olh lovi'il nil', :iiiil soon, i-oniing homo to 

lu- spoil,..!. 

ill ivtuiii \v,iiil,l t;iii olV,.v..rv llv IV.. in iiiv brow 

Willi lli..ii,i,'iv,.ii lau'ivM.,.!!-!!. 

I'll, .11 w:istiiiiiii|.liiil 'riiiiii : "An, .on:! was IVoc ! " 
And.som,.oiu.i.ami.oulorilioth,.,.rsiiith,.stroet 

With a I'aoo [lahi as stone, to say soniotliing to nic. 
— My Ouido was iloaii I — 1 Ml down at his foot, 
M'hih' thoy ohoon.,! in th,' str,.ot. 

1 l.or,. it : IVi,.ii,ls so,.lh,',l in,. : my \'ii,.r looUo,! 
suMim,. 
As llio r.-msoiu of llalv. Oil,' I'ov ii'imiiiii'il 
T,. 1.,. haul on uu.l walki.d with. r,.,.:dlin- llio liiii,. 
Wlii.ii 111,, liisl j;i,.w inim,nlal. wliil,. I.olliof us 
sirainr.l 
To 111,. In i-lil li,. ha,l -mil,.,!. 

Aii,l l,.tt,.rs still i-am,., - shoit,.r, sa,l,l,.r. moro 
.strong, 
Wril now lint in one hainl : " I was not lo I'aint. 
On,. lov,.,l 1110 for two — w,nil,l liowithnicro long: 
Aii.l • \'ivii Italia' /(,■ di,',l for, oni- saint. 
Who forliids our ooniphuiit," 

My Naniii woiil.l a.l.l "li,. was satV, an, I awarp 
or a iirosoii,.,. that tunu'd olflli,. halls -was 
ini|iivst 
It was (inido liiins,.lf, who kiu'w what 1 ,.oul,l 
hear. 
And how 't was impossible, quite disposses.si'd. 
To live on for the rest." 

On whi.'li uillioiil pause up lli,. t,d,.j;rai.Ii Hue 
Sw.'pt smoolhlv til,. 11, 'Xl lU'Ws from (l.'i,.ta : — 
"Sh.it. 
Ti'U hisuiother." Ah. ah, " his " " llieir " mother ; 
not "mine." 
Novoioesays " iiti/ mother"again t,ime. What ! 
You think Guido forgot .' j 



Aresoulsstraightsohappythftt, dizzy with Ilea vim, 
'riieydropeartirsalVections, conceive not of woo? 

I think not. Thoinsolves wore too lately forgiven 
Through that Love and Sorrow which recon- 

,.il,.,l ,so 
Th,. aluive ami ludow. 

f* Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst 
through the dark 
To the face of thy mother ! eousiih'r, 1 pray, 
How wo coiunion mothers stand desolate, uuirk, 
Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes 
turned away. 
Ami no lust word to say I 

Hoth boys dead ! hut that 'sout of nature. Wo all 
Have boon patriots, yet each house must always 
keep one. 
'Twere imbwile, hewing out roads to a wall. 
And when Italy 's imule, for what eml is it done 
If we h.'ive not a .son V 

Ah, ah. ah ! when (hieta's taken, what then ! 
When tho fair wicked queen sits no moro at hor 
sport 
Of the lire-balls of dcatherashingsoulsout of muu, 
Wh,.ii your guns at Cavalli with linal retort 
Have eut tho game short, — 

When Venice and Uomo keep their new jubilee, 

W'hou your Hag takes all heaven for its white, 

green, and red. 

When you have your country IVomiuountain to sea, 

Wh,".n King Viet,u-hasltaly'serowiiouhis head, 

(Ami 1 hav,. my dead,) — 

What then ? Do not mock mo. Ah, ring your 

bi.lls low, 
And hum your lights faintly ! — -Ui/ country 

is llu-ir, 
Above the star prickeil by th,. last p,.ak of snow, 
My Italy's there, -with my brave civic pair. 
To disfranchise despair I 

Forgive mo. Some woinen hear ihiMrcii in 
strength. 
And bite baekthe cry of theiriiaiii in selt's^-orn. 
Hut the birth-]iangs of nations will wring us at 
length 
Into su,'h wail as this ! - and w,. sit on forlorn 
When the man-child is born. 

I'eail ! one of tlu'in shot by the sea in tho oast, 
And one of them shot in the west by the soa ! 

Both ! both my hoys ! — If in keeping the feast 
You want a great song for your Italy free. 
Let none look at 



ti.u.vui;™ HAKRinv nuowNi\c. T 



BEUKAVEMENr AND liF.ATII. 



27 



:ra 



THK OOLDKN KINOLKT, 

IIkiuc is a liltli: Kolrlcli tl-O.H.s 

Of sol'l uiilirai'lcd liiiir, 
Till- 111! lliut'H h-K of Ic.vflini-ss 

'I'lmt 011(^0 wiw tlioiiglit Hii liiii' ; 
Aiirl vol;, tlioiiKli tiriir liritli (liiiiiiK^tl tts hIjoci], 

Tlimiiil] 1.11 licHirl,, ),„t[i ll,,..|, 
I lioM il l„Tr;, a link Ijctwci'ii 

My 'piiit iiiiii tli(^ ilc'iid. 

Vim ! IVotn tlii.s Hliiiiiiif; linjjli'l Htill 

A iniiiirnriil iiiijiiioi'y K])riiif;H, 
'J'lmt ini'lU my lir-iU'l, miil sIiciIh h Uiiill 

'J'liroiiKli ali ilM tn;riil,lirij; Hl,iiiig«, 
I tliilil< ol'lici-, tin; love.l, lli<- tt(|.t, 

U]ioii wlioHc rorolicud I'uir 
For riifflitiicui yoara, lil<r; Hiiiihliiiii:, h1c-|iI, 

'riiin K'll'I'.'ii '■iii'l of liair. 

O HUiiny liTHS ! tin' joyoUh I/row 

Wlic^ic lliou didst liglitly wave, 
Willi all thy Hi»ti:r-tri.wH(;H now 

l.ii'S colli within tlie grave ; 
'I'liMt idii'ck i» of its hlooni Ijeicfl ; 

'I'hat eye no more i.s gay ; 
Of all her lieautieH thou ail left, 

A Bolitary ray. 



EVKLYN HOPE 

I'kai/'I'IFI'L Evelyn Hojie in dcml ! 

Sit and watch by her Hide an hour. 
That i.s lier book -shelf, this hi;i- bed ; 

.She i)hicked that jiiece of geianiiini-llower, 
IJeginning to die loo, m the glass. 

Little Iww yet been elmnged, I tliink ; 
The shiittei'H arc sliiit, — no light may pass 

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when .she di(.-d ! 

I'crliaps she had scarcely heard my name, — 
It uiiH not her time to love ; beside, 

Ibr life liad many a ho|iO and aim. 
Duties enough and little cares ; 

And now was f|iiiet, now astir, — 
Till fiod-s hand beckoned unawares. 

And tlichweet white brow is all of her. 

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ' 

What ! your soul was pure and true ; 
The gorirl stars met in your horoscojie, 

M.'ule you of spii-it, fire, and dew ; 
And just bi'cau.sc 1 was thrice as old. 

And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
Kach was naught to eiudi, must I be told ! 

Wo were fellow-mortals, — naught beside ? 



No, indeed I for (iod above 

Is great to grant as mighty to make, 
And creatc!S the love to reward the love ; 

1 claim you still, for my own love's sake I 
iJehiyed, it may be, for niort! lives yet, 

Tliiough woilds I shall traverse, not a few ; 
Muidi is to h'arn and much to forget 

Kn.' the time bi- conn' for taking you. 

linl the tiii[r. will come — at last it will — 

When, Kvc-lyn Hope, what nn:ant, I shall say. 
Ill the lowi^r earth, - in the yeais long still, 

That Ijody and soul so jiiire and gay ? 
Why your hair was amber 1 shall divine. 

And your nuaith of yourown geranium's red,- 
And what you would ilo with uic, in line, 

In the ni'W lit.' com. ^ in the old oie''s stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much siucir then, 

fiivcn uji myself so numy times, 
Oaini!il mc the gains of various men, 

Ransacki'd the ages, sjioiled the elinK;s ; 
Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full seojie. 

Kit her I missed or itself misscrl me, — 
And 1 want ami find you, Kvclyn Ilojie ! 

What is the issue ? let us see ! 

I loved you, Kvelyn, all the while ; 

My heart seemed full as it could hohl, — 
There was place anil to spare for the frank young 
smile. 

And the I'ed young niouUi, and the hair's young 
gold. 
So, hunh ! I will give you this leaf to keep ; 

.Si;e, I shut it, inside the sweet, cold hand. 
There, that is our seejet I go to slee]i ; 

You will wake, and reinember, and nndersland. 



ANNAIiEL LEK. 

It was many and many a year ago. 

In a kingdoni by the sea, 
That a maiden lived, wdiom you may know 

l!y the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And tills maiden she lived with no other thouglit 

Than to love, and lie loved by me. 

1 was a chilli and she was a cliild. 

In this kingdom by the sea ; 
lint we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and niy Annabel Lee, — 
With a love that the wing!;d seraphs of heaven 

fJoveteil her and mc. 

And this was the reason that long ago. 
In this kingdom by the sea, 



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276 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



"""& 



A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

.My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So tliat her high-bom kinsman came, 

And bore her away from me, 
To sliut her up in ii sepulcher. 

In his kingdom liy the sea. 

The angels, not so happy in heaven, 

\\'eut envying her and me. 
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know) 

In this kingdom by the sea. 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

lint our love it was strongi'r by far than the love 

c II' those who were older than we, 

(If many far wiser than we ; 
.\nj neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the deuious down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

Fill' the moon never beams without bringing me 
dreams 

I If the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes 

I )f the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, my ilarling, my life, and my bride, 

In lier sepulcher there by the sea. 

In her tomb by the .sounding sea. 

EDGAR ALLKN POH. 



FLORENCE VANE. 

1 LOVED thee long and dearly, 

Florence Vane ; 
Jly life's bright dream and early 

Hath come again ; 
1 renew in my fond vision 

My heart's ilear pain. 
My hopes and thy derision, 

Florence Vane ! 

The ruin, lime and boarv. 

The ruin old, 
Where thou didst hark my story, 

At even told, — 
That spot, the hues elysian 

Of sky and plain, 
I treasure in my vision, 

Florence Vane. 

Tliou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime ; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme ; 



Tliy heart was as a river 

Without a main, 
\\'ould I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane I 

But fairest, coldest wonder ! 

Thy glorious clay 
Licth the green sod under ; 

Alas the day ! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain. 
To ijuicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Vane ! 

Tlu' lilies of tlie valley 

lly young graves weep. 
The daisies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep ; 
May their bloom, in beauty vying. 

Never wane 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Vane ! 

I'HiLip I'. Cooke, 



FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 

["A lady of the name of Helen Irving or Bell (for this is disputed 
by the two cl.iiis). daughter of the Laird of Kirkconnell. in DuiDrrics- 
shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two genlli 
men in the neighborhood. The name of the favored suitor wi 
Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick ; th.tt of the other has escaped Ir 
dilion, although it h.as been alleged that he was a UcU of Ulackei 
House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favored by the 
friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet 
in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of Kirkconncll, 
tic spot surrounded by the river iCirtle. During one of these private 
interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on 
the opposite bank of the stream, and leveled his carabine at the 
breast of his riv.tl. Helen threw herself before her lover, re- 
ceived in her bosom the bullet, .and died in his arms. A desperate 
and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in 
which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts sny that Flem- 
ing pursued his enemy to Sp.-iin, and slew him in the streets ai 

Madrid." — Sir Walter Scott.) 

I WISH I were wliere Helen lies : 
Night and day on me she cries ; 

that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirkcoimell lea ! 

Curst be the heart that thouglit the thought. 
And curst the haml that firetl the shot, 
When in my arms bunl Helen ili-opt. 
And dieil to succor me ! 

0, think na but my heart was sair. 

When my love ilropt down and sjjake nae mair ! 

1 laid Iier down wi' meikle care. 
On fair Kirkcounell lea. 

As I went down to the water-side, 

None but my foe to be my guide, 

None but my foe to be my guide. 

On fair Kirkcounell lea, — 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



27' 



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h 



I lighted down, my sword did dmw, 
I hacked him in pieces smu, 
I hacked him in pieces sma, 
For her sake that died for me. 

Helen fair, beyond compare ! 

1 '11 make a garland of thy hair 
.Shall bind ray heart forevermair 

Until the day I dee ! 

that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise. 
Says, ' ' Haste, and come to me ! " 

Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! 

1 f 1 were with thee I were blest, 
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 

On fair Kirkconnell lea. 

I wish my gi'ave were growing green ; 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
And I in Helen's ai-ms lying 
On fair Kirkconnell lea. 

1 wish I were where Helen lies ; 
Night and day on me she cries, 
And 1 am weary of the skies, 
For her sake that died for me ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

\Vi' mony a vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

AVe tore oursels asunder ; 
But, 0, fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sac early ! 
Now gi-een 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 



O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

1 aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And moldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me di^arly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

ROURRT BCRNS. 



HIGH-TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLN- 
SHIRE. 

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers rang by two, Ijy three ; 

" I'ull ! if ye never pulled before ; 
Good ringers, pull your best," (pioth he. 

" Play uppe, play uppe, Boston bells ! 

Ply all your changes, all your swells I 
Play uppe Thr, Bridc.a uf Endcrlnjl" 

Men .say it was a ".stolen tyde," — 
The Lord that sent it, he knows all, 

But in myne ears doth still aliide 
The message that the bells let fall ; 

And there was naught of strange, beside 

The fliglits of mews and peewits pied. 
By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 

I sat and si)un within tlie doore ; 

My thread bi-ake off, I raised myne eyes: 
The level sun, like iiiddy ore. 

Lay sinking in the baircii skies ; 
And dark agnin.st d.-iy's g..M.Mi death 
She moved where Lindis wamlereth, — 
My Sonne's faire wife, Klizalieth. 

"Cusha! Cusha ! C'uslia ! " calling, 
Ere the early dews were falling, 
Farrc away I heard her .song. 
" Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; 
Where the reedy Lindis iloweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the meads where melick groiveth, 
Faintly came her milking-song. 

" Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
" For the dews will soone be falling ; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 

Mellow, mellow ! 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ! • 

Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come ujjpe, Lightfoot ! 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow ! 
Come uppe. Jetty ! rise and follow ; 
From the clovers lift your head ! 
Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come u]>pe, Lightfoot ' 
Come uppe, .Jetty! rise and follow, 
Jetty, to the milking-shed." 



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tp-.Tr 



POEMS OF SORHOiy AND DEATH. 



f^i 






1 r it Ih' luiij; — ny , lonj; aj^i — 
Wlu'ii 1 iH'gimio to think howo long, 

Ajpiiiio I lu'iir tlio Limits lUnv, 
Swift lis III) iiniiwo, shiii'ini mul stroiij; ; 

Aiiil nil tlio iiiiv, it si'ojin'tli mco, 

liin ftill of llwitinj; IhMIs (.snj'tli shot>). 

'rimt ring tlu> tuiio of Kiiiterhi. 

•Mil' I'lvsli t-lio lovol nitstuiv lay. 
Ami not It slunUnvo moto bo scone, 

Si»Yo wlioiv, lull fyvo gi>oil milos invity, 
Tlio stooplo towoivil ftvin out tlio givone. 

Ami lo ! tJio gitvtt Ih'U I'tuiv and wiilo 

Was lioatil in all tho country siilo 

That StUuixlay at ovontiilo. 

Tho s\vannoi\ls, whoiv their scdjjos nit\ 
ilovod on in sunset's jjohleii hiwxtdt ; 

The shoj>hoi\lo lads 1 heard afariv. 
And my sonno's wife, Kliisaheth ; 

Till, lloatinj; o'er tho grassy swi, 

r«tue downe that kyndly inessag«i free, 

Thf Jiridts o/Mnvis liiiiltfrliy. 

Then soroe looked uppo into the sky. 
And all along where Liudis tlows 

To whoiv the gwvlly vessels lie. 

And \vheix> the lowily steeulo shows. 

They saydo, " And why should this thing be. 

What diuigxu' lowers by land or sea ! 

They ring the tune of Hiiiiei-by. 

" For evil news tVun Mahlethorpe, 

Of nyr!>te galleys, wai'iiing down, — 
For shi|n»'s ashoix< heyoiul tho scorpe. 

They have not siwiwl to wake the towne ; 
Uut while tJie west bin ivd to see, 
Atul storms Iw none, and pyrntes flee, 
W hy ring The iJri'rft's o/ Underliji > 

\ looked without, and lo I my soune 
Oanie riding downe with might and main ; 

He raised a shont as he divw on, 
Till all the welkin ratig again : 

" Kliiabeth ! Kli2alH>th ! " 

(A sweeter woman ne'er dix>w bivath 

Than my Sonne's wife, KliraWth.) 

"The olde sea-wall (he cryed) is downe ! 
• The rising tide comes on ajvaco ; 
And iHwts adrift in yomior towne 

t<*> siiiling npiH> tho market-)>lace ! " 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
"IIvhI save yon, mother ! " sta-siight he sjiytli ; 
"Where is my wife, EUralwth ?" 

"Good Sonne, whore lindis winds away 
With her two Iwirns 1 markeil her long ; 



And oiv yon bolls boganne to play. 
Afar 1 hoaixl her inilking-song." 
He looked across tho grassy sea. 
To right, to left, Jh\ KmUrbij ! 
They mug Th( iiri.Us of Kml,;-hi. 

With that he cried and bent liis breast ; 

l'"or lo ! along the river's bo<l 
A mighty oygre ivaivd his cix-st. 

And uppe tho l.iudis raging sped. 
It swept with thundcixniS noises loud, — 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shivml. 

And rearing l.indis, backwanl prissed. 

Shook all her tix-mbling Imiikos ainaine ; 
Thou madly at the eygiv's bivast 

Klung ui>po her weltering walls agjiin. 
Then l-iinkos came downe with ruin and ituit, — 
Then beaten foam llcw ivuud about, — 
Then all tho mighty Hoods woiv out. 

So fariv, so fast, the evgiv drave, 
Tho honrt had hai\llY time to beat 

Before a slinllow seething wave 
SoliN'd in the grsisses at ouiv foot : 

The foot had haixUy time to tlce 

Hofoiv it brake against t.lu> knee, — 

.\nd all tho world was in the sea. 

U[Xin the ivofe we sate that night ; 

The noise of bells wont swooping by ; 
I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stivani I'lMm tho chtiivh tower, red ami liigh, — 
A lurid mark, and dread to see ; 
And awsome Ih>11s they weiv to luoo, 
That in tho dark rang Kiuiirbii. 

They rang the sailor lads to guide, 

Fivm iwife to nwfe who fearless rowed ; 

And 1, — my sonm> was at my side, 
.\nd yet the ruddy Iwicon glowwl ; 

And yet he moaned Iwueath his bivath, 

"O, come in life, or come in death ! 

lost ! my love, VUizabeth ! " 

And didst thou visit him no moiv ! 

Thou didst, thou didst, my dnvighter deare ! 
The waters laid thee at his dooiv 

Kiv yet the early dawn was clear ; 
Thy pivtly Iviirns in fast embraiH\ 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Powne drifttnl to tJiy ilwelling-plaeo. 

That flow strewed wroi-ks alnntt tho gitiss. 
That eblH< swept out the flocks to set*, — 

A fatal eblw and flow, alas .' 
To manve moiv than mvne anil niiv ; 



U 



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ISEItEAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



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Uiit oacli will iriouini! hi» own fslu; saytli) 
Ami swfictcr women ne'ei' drew Ijreath 
Than my 8oi)ne'» wife;, Kllzabeth. 

I shall never hear her more 
Uy the reedy Lindis shore, 
"Cuslui! Cu/ihu ! CiDilui!" eallinj<, 
Kic the early dcwH be falling ; 
1 shall never hear her song, 
"Cusha! C'uslia ! " all along, 
Where the sunny l.indis lloweth, 

Goeth, lloweth, 
From the meiuJs where rnelick growcth, 
Wliere the walei-, winding down. 
Onward lloweth to the town. 

1 shall never see her more, 

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, ijuiver. 
Stand beside the Sfjbbing liver, — 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, 
To the sandy, lonesome shore ; 
I sluiU never hear her ealling, 
" Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ! 
Quit your eowslips, cowslips yellow ! 
Come upjie, Wliitefoot ! eome uppe, Lightfoot ! 
Quit your [lipes of jiaisley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow ! 
Come uppi.-, l.ightl'oot ! rixe and follow ; 

Lightfoot ! Whitefoot ! 
From you)- elove-rs lift the heiul ; 
Come upjie, Jetty I follow, follow, 
Jetty, to the milking-shed I " 

JHAN INGP-LOW. 



TO MABY IN HEAVEN. 



Ayr, gurgling, kissed his js-bbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woodn, thiekening green ; 
Tlie fragrant bireh, and hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amoroUH round the raptured scene ; 
The llowers sprang wanton to be [irest. 

The binhi sang love on every spray, — 
Till soon, too soon, the glowing west 

I'roelaimcd the H|)i;ed of winged day. 

Still o'er thes<? scenes my memory wakes, 

And fondly broods with mUcj' eare I 
Tinje but the impression stjoiiger makes, 

As streams their eharinels dee|)er wear. 
My .Mary I deal' departed shade i 

Where is thy plaee of blissful rest? 
Sec'st thou thy lover lowly laid ( 

Hear'st tliou tli(,' gjoans that lend his breast? 

KOUMW nOK.NS 



O, SNATCHED AWAY I.V liKAL'TY'H DLOOM I 

0, H.VATClii'.ii away in Iwauty's bloom I 

On thee sliall press no ponderous tomb! 

liut on thy turf shall roses rear 

Their leaves, the earliest of the year. 

And the wild cypress wave in temler gloom : 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 

Shall SoiTow lean her droo]jing head. 

And feed deep thought witli many a dream, 

And lingering pause and lightly tieail ; 

Fond wretch ; as if her step disturbed the dea>l! 

Away ! we know that tears are vain, 
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
Will this untcach us to comidaini' 
Or make one mourner weep the less / 
And thou, who tell'st me to forget, 
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

l,ORD DVRQM. 



& 



TiiDi; lingering star, with lessening ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou ushei'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
Mary ! dear dejarted shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast/ 

That sacred hour can I forget, — 

Can I forget the hiii lowed grove, 
Where liy the winding Ayr we met 

To live one day of parting lovo ? 
Eternity will not cffiuie 

Those reconls ilear of transports past ; 
Tliy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah I little thought we 't was our last ! 



THE M.\ID'H LAMENT. 

I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

1 fei-1 I am alone. 
Ichecked him while lie sfrnke ; yet could he speak, 

Alas ! I would not check. 
For reasons not to love him once I sought. 

And wearieil all rny thought 
To vex myself and him : I now would give 

My love, could he but live 
Who lately lived for me, anri when he found 

'T was vain, in holy ground 
He hiri his face amid the sh.ides of death ! 

I waste for him my breath 
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 

And this lone bosom burns 



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POEMS OF SOREOir AND DEATH. 



f^ 



With stitliug heat, heaving it u\< in sleep, 

And waking me to weep 
Tears tluit liad melted his soft heart ; lor years 

Wept he as bitter tears '. 
" Merciful God !" such wius his latest prayer, 

"These may she never share ! " 
tjuii'ter is his breath, his breast more eold 

Than daisies in the mold, 
Where ehildren spell athwart the ehurchyard gate 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye bo, 

And 0, pray, too, for me ! 

Walter Savage Landor. 



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THY BRAES WERE BONNY. 

Thy braes were bonny. Yarrow stj-eam. 
When first on them I met my lover ; 

Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
AVlien now thy waves his body cover. 

Forever now, Yarrow stream ! 

Thou art to me a stream of soiTow ; 
For never on thy banks shall I 

Behold my love, the flower of YaiTOW. 

He promised me a milk-white steed. 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
He promised me a little page. 

To 'squire me to his father's towers ; 
He promised mo a wedding-ring, — 

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow ; 
Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were his words when last we met ; 

My passion I as freely told him : 
Clasped in his anns, 1 little thought 

That I should nevermore behold him ! 
Scarce was he gone, 1 saw his ghost ; 

It vanished with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water-^n■aith ascend. 

And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. 

His mother from the window looked 

With all the longing of a mother ; 
His little sister weeping walked 

The greenwood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west. 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night. 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! 

No longer from thy window look. 

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 

No longer w^alk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 



No longer seek him east or west. 

And search no more the forest thorough ; 

For, wandering in the night so dark. 
He fell a lifeless corse in YaiTow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek. 
No other youth shall be my marrow ; 

1 '11 seek thy body in the stream. 
And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow. 
John Loga.n. 

MARY'S DREAM. 

The moon had climbed the highest hill 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tower .and tree, 
When Maiy laid her down to sleep. 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea, 
When, soft and slow, a voice was heard 

Say, " Mary, weep no more for me ! " 

She from her pillow gently raised 

Her head, to ask who there might be, 
And saw young Sandy shivering stand. 

With visage pale, and hollow e'e. 
"0 Mary dear, cold is my clay ; 

It lies beneath a stormy sea. 
Far, far from thee I sleep in death ; 

So, Mary, weep no more for mo ! 

" Three stormy nights and stonny days 

We tossed upon the raging main ; 
Anil long we strove our bark to save, 

But all our striving was in vain. 
F.ven then, when horror chilleil my blood, 

My heart was filled with love for thee : 
The storm is past, and I at rest ; 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

" maiden dear, thyself prepare ; 

We soon shall meet upon that shore, 
Wliere love is free from doubt and care, 

And thou and I shall part no more ! " 
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled, 

No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft the passing spirit said, 

"Sweet Maiy, weep no more for me ! " 

JOH.N Lowe. 



Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 

In the old likeness that I knew, 
I would be so faithful, so lo\'ing, Douglas, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender aiul true. 

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, 
I 'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do ; — 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



281 



fli 



h^ 



Swefit as your smile on me shom- ever, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

to eall back the days tliat are not ! 

lly eyes were tilinded, your words were few ; 
Do you know the truth now up in heaven, 
I )ougla.s, Douglas, tender and true ? 

1 never was wortliy of you, Douglas ; 
Not half worthy the like of you : 

Now all men besiile seem to me like sliadows, — 
I love yim, Dougks, timdcr and true. 

Stretch out your han4 to mc, Douglas, Douglas, 
Dro|) foigiveness from heaven like dew ; 

As I lay my heart on your dea^l heart, Douglas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Dl.VAH MULOCM CKAIK. 



FIRST SPRING FLOWERS. 

I A.M watching for the early buds to wake 

L'nder the snow : 
From little beds the soft white covering take. 

And, nestling, lo ! 

They lie, with pink lips parted, all aglow ! 

darlings ! open wide your tender eyes ; 

See ! I am here — 
Have been here, waiting under winter skies 
Till you appear — 
You, just come up from where lie lies so near. 

Tell me, dear flowers, is he gentlj' laid, 

Wrapjted round from cold ; 
Has spring aljout him fair green garnienh> nuide, 

Fold over fold ; 

Are sweet things growing with him in the 
mold r 

Has he found quiet resting-place at last, 

After the fight ? 
What message did he send me, as you passed 

Him in the night, 

Kagerly imshing upward toward the light ? 

1 will not jihick you, lest his hand should be 

''lose clasjiing you : 
These slender libere which so cling to me 
I )o grasp hi/ni too — 

What gave these delicate veins their blood- 
red hue ? 

One kiss I press, dear little bud, liall shut, 

On your sweet eyes ; 
For when the April i-ain falhi at your foot. 
And April sun yearns downward to your root 

From soft spring skies, 

It, too, may reach him, where he sleeping lies. 

MRS. HOWLAND. 



AN APRIL VIOLET. 

U.N'IJKK the larch, with its ta.ssels wet. 
While the early sunbeams lingered yet. 
In the rosy dawn my love 1 met 

Under the larch, when the sun was set, 
He came with an Ajiril violet : 
Forty years — and 1 liave it yet. 

Out of life, with its fond regret. 
What have love and memoiy yet ? 
Only an April violet. 

ANONVMOUS- 



It was nothing but a rose I gave her, 

Nothing but a rosi; 
Any wind might rob of half its .savor, 

Any wind that blows. 

When she took it from my trembling fingers 

With a hand as chill — 
Ah, the flying touch u]]on them lingers. 

Stays, and thrills them still ! 

Withered, faded, pressed between the pages. 

Crumpled fold on fold, — 
Once it lay upon her lireast, and ages 

Cannot make it old ! 

ANONVMOL'S. 



MINSTREL'S SONG. 

0, SING unto my roundelay ! 

f), droji the briny tear with mc ! 
Dance no more at lioliday ; 
Like a running river be ; 
My Ime ii dead. 
Gone lo his dadh-bcd, 
All UTuier tlu; vHHuvi-lree. 

Black his hair as the winter night, 
Whit(^ his neck as sinnmer snow, 

Kuiidy his face as the moniing light ; 
Cold lie lies in the grave Vjelow : 
My love is dead, etc. 

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note ; 

Quick in dance as thought can be ; 
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout ; 

0, he lies by the willow-tree ! 
My love w dead, etc. 

Hark ! the r.iven flaps his wing 
In the liriered dell below ; 



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282 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



^ 



Hark ! the death-owl loud doth sing 

To the nightmares as they go. 

My love is dead, etc. 

See ! the white moon shines on high ; 

Whiter is my true-love's shroud, 
Whiter than the morning sky, 

Whiter than the evening cloud. 
My love is dead, etc. 

Here, upon my true-love's grave 
Shall the barren Howers be laid. 

Nor one holy .saint to save 
All the coldness of a maid. 
My love is dead, etc. 

With my hands I '11 hind the briers 

Round his holy corse to gie ; 
Ellin-fairy, light your fires ; 

Here my i>ody still shall be. 
My love is dead, etc. 

Come, with acorn-cup and thorn. 
Drain my heart's Ijlood all away ; 

Life and all its good I scorn, 
Dance by night, or feast by day. 
My love is dead, etc. 

Water-witches, cro\TOeil with reytes, 

F.ear me to your letlial tide. 
I die ! I come ! my true-love waits. 

Thus the damsel spake, and died. 

Thomas Chatterton. 



LAMENT FOR BION 

FORKST dells and streams ! Dorian tide ! 
cian with my grief, since lovely Bion died : 
I'lants and copses, now his lo.ss bewail : 
iwcrs, from your tufts a sad perfume e.xhale : 
cmones and I'oses, mournful show 
ur crimson leaves and wear a blush of woe ; 
d hyacinth, now more than ever spread 
c woeful " ah," that marks thy petaled head 
th lettered grief : the beauteous minstrel 's 
dead ! 



Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : 

Ye nightingales, whose plaintive warblings flow 

From the thick leavesof some embowering wood. 

Tell the sad loss to Arethusa's flood : 

The shepherd Bion dies : with him is dead 

The life of song : the Doric Muse is Hed. 

Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : 

The herds no more that chant melodious know : 

No more beneath the lonely oak he sings. 

But breathes his strains to Lethe's sullen springs ; 



The mountains now are mute : the heifers pass 
Slow-wandering by, nor browse the tender grass. 

Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : 
For thee, Bion ! m the grave laid low, 
Apollo weeps ; dark palls the sylvan's shroud ; 
Fauns ask thy wonted song, ami wail aloud : 
Each fountain-nymph disconsolate appears. 
And all her waters turn to trickling tears ; — 
Mute Echo pines the silent rocks around, 
And mourns those lips that waked their sweetest 
sound. 

Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : 
But retribution sure will deal the blow : 
I, in this trance of grief, still drop the tear, 
And mourn forever o'er thy livid bier : — 

that, as Orpheus, in the days of yore, 
Ulysses, or Alcides, passed before, 

1 could descend to Pluto's house of night. 
And mark if thou wouldst Pluto's ear delight. 
And listen to the song : then rehearse 
Some sweet Sicilian strain, bucolic verse. 

To soothe the maid of Enna's vale, who sang 
These Doric songs, while ^Etna's upland rang. 
Not unrewarded should thy ditties prove : 
As the sweet harper, Orpheus, erst could move 
Her breast to yield his dear departed wife. 
Treading the backward road from death to life, 
So should he melt to Bion's Dorian strain. 
And send him joyous to his hills again. 
0, could my touch command the stops like thee, 
I too would seek the dead, and sing thee free ! 

From the Greek of MOSCHUS. 
by CHARLES ABRAHAM ELTON. 



al friend of the poet's, drowned 



fin memory of a young cle 
4 n. ,6,7.1 



Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more, 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; 
And, with forced fingers rade. 
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due ; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhjTue. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
l^nwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse 



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DEREAVEMEXT AX I) UEATII. 



283 



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Si) iiiuy some gentle Muse 

\\'itli lucky words favor my destined urn ; 

And, us he passes, turn. 

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 

For we were nursed upon the selfsame hill, 
Fed the same Hock by fountain, shade, and rill ; 
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
L'udcr the opening eyelids of the morn. 
We drove afield, and both together lieard 
AVhat time the gray fly winds her sultry horn, 
fattening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 
( >ft till the star, that rose at evening bright, 
Towai-ds heaven's descent had sloped hiswestering 

wheel. 
lleanwliile the rural ditties were not mute, 
IV-Uiiicreil to the oaten flute ; 
Hough Satyrs danced, and Fauns wdth cloven heel 
From the glad sound would not be absent long; 
And old Damcetas loved to hear our song. 

But, tlie heavy change now thou art gone. 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves, 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 
And all their echoes, mourn. 
Tlie willows, and the hazel copses green. 
Shall now no more be seen 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 
Oy taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 
< ir frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear. 
When first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. 

Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless 
deep 
Closed o'er the head of your roved Lycidas ? 
For neither wei'e ye playing on tlie steep, 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie. 
Nor on tire shaggy top of Mona high. 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 
.\y me ! I fondly dream, 

llnd j-ebeen there : for what could that havedone? 
M'hat could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
The JIuse herself, for her enchanting son, 
Whom universal nature did lament, 
^\'llen, by the i-out that made the hideous roar. 
His gory visage down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? 

Alas ! what boots it with inics!i:iiit I'are 
To tend the homely, sli-litr,! ,1,, |i1m i.l's trade. 
And strictly meditate the thanklrss Muse ? 
Were it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
Or with the tangles of Neiera's hair ? 
Fame is the spur that the cleai' spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble minds) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
l!ut the fair guerdon when we hope to find. 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 



Comes the liliud Fury with the abhorred shears, 
And slits thethin-spun life. " Butnotthe praise," 
Pha'bus replied, aiul touched my trembling ears ; 
" Fame is no plant that grows on luortal soil. 
Nor in the glistering foil 
Set ofl' to the world, nor in broad rumor lies : 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes. 
And perfect witness of all-judging .love : 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed ! " 
fountain Arethuse, and thou honored flood, 
Sniooth-slidmgMiucius, crowned with vocal reeds! 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood : 
But uow my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea ; 
He a.sked the waves, and asked the felon winds, 
What hard nushaii hath doomed this gentle swain ? 
And questioned every gust of rugged wings. 
That blows from off each beaked promontory : 
They knew not of his story ; 
Anil sage Hijipotades their answer Ijrings, 
That not a blast wa.s from his dungeon strayeil : 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisleis played. 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 
P)uilt in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark. 
That sunk .so low that sacred head of thine. 

Ne.xt Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow. 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the ed^'c 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed will, v.i.c. 
"All ! wlio hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest 

liU-dge?" 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the Galilean lake : 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) 
He shook his mitered locks, and stern bes]i,ik(' : 
"How well could I have spared for thee, young 

sw'ain. 
Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake, 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ! 
Of other care they little reckoidng make, 
Tluin how to scramble at the shearers' feast. 
Ami shove away the woi-thy bidden guest ; 
Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how 

to hold 
A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least 
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs ! 
What recks it them ? What need they ? TIrv nie 

sped ; 
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
Grate on their scrannel pipes of ^vi-etched straw ; 
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 
But, swoU'n with wind and the rank mist they 

draw. 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spreacl : 



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•284: 



POEMS OF SOREOir AND DEATH. 



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tQ- 



Besides what the giiin wolf with privy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said ; 
But that two-handed engine at the door 
Stands I'eady to smite once, and smite no more. 

Return, Alpheus, the dread \(iiri' i:, |.ast, 
That shrunk thy streams ; retuin, Sn ilim Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid t]ui)i hithi r rast 
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks ; 
Throw hither all your quaint enameled eyes. 
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers. 
And purple all the gi'ound with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet. 
The glowing violet, 

The niusk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; 
Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed. 
And dalfadillies fill their cups with tears. 
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 
For, .so to interpose a little ease. 
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise ; 
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores aud sounding 

seas 
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled. 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold ; 
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
And, ye doljihins, waft the hapless youth. 

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more ; 
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
Through the dear might of Him that walked the 

waves ; 
Where, other groves and other streams along. 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain him all the saints above. 
In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore. 



In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perQous flood. 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and 
rills. 
While the still mom went out with sandals gi'ay ; 
He touched the tender stops of various ([uills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 
And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 
John Milton. 



SELECTIONS FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 

[ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM, OB. 1833 ] 

GEIEF UNSPEAKABLE. 
I so.\iETiMES hold it half a sin 

To put in words the grief 1 feel ; 

For words, like Natui'e, half reveal 
And half conceal the Soul within. 

But, for the umjuiet heart and brain, 
A use in measured language lies ; 
The sad mechanic exercise. 

Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. 

In words, like weeds, 1 '11 wrap me o'er, 
Like coarsest clothes against the cold ; 
But that large grief which these enfold 

Is given in outline and no more. 

DEAD, IN A FOREIGN LAND. 

F.\IR ship, that from the Italian shore 
Sailest the placid ocean-plains 
With my lost Arthur's loved remains. 

Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er ! 

So draw him home to those that mourn 
In vain ; a favorable speed 
Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead 

Through prosperous floods his holy urn ! 

All night no ruder air perple.x 

Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright 
As our pure love, through early light 

Shall glimmer on the dewy decks ! 

Sphere all your lights around, above ; 

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow ; 

Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now. 
My friend, the brother of my love ; 

My Arthur, whom I shall not see 
Till all my widowed race be run ; 
Dear as the mother to the son, 

More than my brothers are to me ! 



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BEREAVEMENT ANT) HEATH. 



181 



^ 



TJIE I'E.UE OF .SnUKiiw. 

Calm is the morn, witliovit a souutl, 
Calm as to suit a calmer grief, 
And only througli the faded leaf 

The chestnut pattering to the ground : 

Calm and deep peace on this liigh wold 
And on these dews that drench tlie furze. 
And all the silvery gossamers 

That twinkle into green and gold ; 

Cahn and still light on yon great plain 
Tliat sweeps witli all its autumn bowers, 
And crowded farms and lessening towers. 

To mingle with the bounding main : 

Calm and deep peace in this wide air. 
These leaves that redden to the fall ; 
Anil in my heart, if calm at all, 

If any calm, a calm despair- : 

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep. 

And waves that sway themselves in rest. 
And dead calm in that noble breast 

Which heaves but with the heaving deep. 

TIME AND ETERXITY. 

If Sleep and Death bo truly one, 
i\nd every spirit's folded bloom 
Through all its intervital gloom 

In some long trance should slumber on ; 

Unconscious of the sliding hour, 
Bare of the body, niiglit it last, 
And silent traces of the past 

Be all the color of the flower : 

So then were nothing lost to man ; 

So that still garden of the souls 

In many a figured leaf enrolls 
The total world since life began ; 

And love will last as pure and whole 
As when he loved me here in Time, 
And at the spiritual prime 

Rewaken with the dawning soul. 

PERSONAL RESUKRECTION. 

That each, who seems a separate wliole. 
Should move his rounds, and fusing all 
The skirts of self again, should fall 

Eemerging in the general Soul, 

Is faith as vague as all unsweet : 
Eternal form shall still divide 
Tlip eternal soul from all beside ; 

And I shall know him when we meet : 



And we shall sit at endless feast. 
Enjoying each the other's good : 
What vaster dream can hit the mood 

Of Love on earth ? He seeks at least 

Upon the last and sharjiest height. 
Before the spirits fade away, 
Some landing-place to clasp and say, 

" Farewell ! We lose ourselves in light." 

SPIRITUAL COMPANIONSHIP. 

Do we indeed desire the dead 

Should still be near us at our side ? 
Is there no baseness we would liide ? 

No inner vileness that we dread ? 

Shall he for whose applause I strove, 
I had such reverence for his blame. 
See with clear eye some hidden shame. 

And I be lessened in his love ? 

I wrong the gi-ave with fears untrue : 
Shall love be blamed for want of faith ? 
There must be wisdom with great Death : 

The dead shall look me through and through. 

Be near us when we climb or fall : 
Ye watch, like God, the roUin^- hours 
With larger other eyes than ours. 

To make allowance for us all. 

MOONLIGHT Mr.SlNOS. 

When on my bed the moonlight falls, 
I know that in thy place of rest. 
By that broad water of the west. 

There comes a glory on the walls ; 

Thy marble bright in dark appears 

As slowly steals a silver flame 

Along the letters of thy name. 
And o'er the number of thy years. 

The mystic glory swims away ; 

From ofl" my bed the moonlight dies : 
And, closing eaves of wearied eyes, 

I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray : 

And then 1 know the mist is drawn 
A lucid vale from coast to coast. 
And in the dark church, like a ghost, 

Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn. 

DEATH IN LIFE'.S PRIME. 

So many worlds, so much to do, 
So" little done, such things to be. 
How know I what had need of thee ? 

For thou wert strong as thou wert true. 



4d- 



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ISb 



/■MAW.s- OF SOEROir AXD DEATH. 



--n 



The fame is quenched that I foresaw, 
The head hath missed an earthly wreath : 
I curse not nature, no, nor death ; 

For nothing is that errs from law. 

We pass ; the path that each man trod 
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds : 
What fame is left for human deeds 

In endless age ■ It rests with God. 

hollow wraith of dying fame. 

Fade wholly, while the soul e.xults, 
.\nd self-enfolds the large results 

Of force that would have forged a name. 

THE poet's tribute. 

What hope is here for modern rhyme 
To him who turns a musing eye 
On soHgs, and deeds, and lives, that lie 

Foreshortened in the tract of time ? 

These mortal lullabies of pain 
May bind a book, may line a box. 
May serve to curl a maiden's locks : 

Or, when a thousand moons shall wane, 

A man upon a stall may find. 

And, parsing, turn tlie page that tells 
A grief, then changed to something else. 

Sung by a long-forgotten mind. 

But what of that ? My darkened ways 
Shall ring with music all the same ; 
To breathe my loss is more than fame, 

To utter love more sweet than praise. 

Alkked te.vnvson. 



THE PASSAGE. 

Many a year is in its grave 
Since I crossed this restless wave : 
And the evening, fair as ever. 
Shines on ruin, rock, and river. 

Then in this same boat beside. 
Sat two comrades old and tried, — 
One with all a father's truth. 
One with all the fire of youth. 

One on earth in silence wrought, 
And his grave in silence sought ; 
But the younger, brighter form 
Passed in battle and in storm. 

So, whene'er I turn mine eye 

Back upon the days gone by. 

Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me, 

Friends that closed their course before me. 



But what binds us, friend to friend, 
But that soul with soul can blend ? 
Soul-like were those hours of yore ; 
Let us walk in soul once more. 

Take, boatman, thrice thy fee, 

Take, I give it willingly ; 

For invisible to thee, 

Spirits twain have crossed with me. 

From the German of LuowiG Uhland, 



HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD. 



Ho.ME they brought her warrior dead : 
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry ; 

All her maidens, watching, said, 
"Slie must weep or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
Called him woithy to be loved. 

Truest friend and noblest foe ; 
Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 

Liglitly to the warrior stept, 
Took the face-doth from the face. 

Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years. 
Set his child upon her knee, — 

Like summer tempest came her tears, — 
"Sweet my child, I live for thee." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE FLOWER OP FINAE. 

A BRIGADE BALLAD. 

(Early in the eighteenth century, the flower of the Catholic youth 
of Ireland were drawn a\vay to recruit the ranks of the Irish Bri- 
gade in the service of the King of France. These recruits were 
popuUarly known .as '■ Wild Geese." Few returned.] 

Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough 

Sheelin, 
A cool gentle breeze from the mountain is stealing. 
While fair round its islets the sm.all ripples play. 
But fairer than all is the Flower of Finae. 

Her liair is like night, and her eyes like gray 

morning. 
She trips on the heather as if its touch scorning. 
Yet her heart and her lips are as mild as May day. 
Sweet Eily MacMahon, the Flower of Finae. 

But who down the hillside th.an red deer runs 

fleeter ? 
.\nd who on the lakeside is hastenina 



' to gleet her T 

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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



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287 



Wlio l>ut Fergus O'Fnriell, the fiery ami gay. 
The darling and i>ride ul' the Flower of Finae i 

One kiss and one clasp, and one wild look ol' glad- 
ness ; 
Ah! wh) dolliiyi liangeonasudden to sadness, — 
He has |i.l,l III liml lorlune, norniore ean liestay. 
He nmsl ImM- Ins jioor Eily to pine at Finae. 

l''or Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land. 
And the dark hand of tyranny drove liini from 

Ireland ; 
He joins the Brigade, in the wars far away. 
Hut he vows he '11 comeback to the Flowerof Finae. 

He fought at Cremona, — she hears of his story ; 
He fought at Cassaiio, — she 's proud of his glory. 
Yet sadly she sings " Shule Aroon " all the day, 
"O, eonip, come, my darling, come home to Finae. " 

Kiglit long years have passed, till she 's nigh 

broken-hearted. 
Her reel, and her ro(-k, and her flax she has 

parted ; 
She sails with the ' ' Wild Geese " to Flanders away, 
And leaves her sad parents alone in Finae. 

I.iird ('lare on the field of Uamillies is charging, 
I;, fore him theSassanachsiiuadrons enlarging, — 
lliliind him the Cravats their .sections display, — 
I'.isidc him lides Fergus and shouts for Finae. 

I 111 the slopes of La .Tiidoignc the Frenrhmen are 

(lying, 
Lord ( 'laic .indhis .squadrons, the foe still defying, 
Outiiiimbeii'd, and wounded, retreat in array; 
And lileediiig rides Fergus and thinks of Finae. 

In tlic cloisters of Vjircs a banner is swaying. 
And by it a pale weeping maiden is praying; 
That flag's the sole trophy of Ramillics' fray. 
This nun is poor Eily, the Flower of Finae. 

Thomas Davis. 



ELEONORA. 



No single virtue we could most commend. 
Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend ; 
For she was all, in that suprenii' degree, 
That, as no one prevailed, .so all was she. 
The several parts lay hidden in the piece ; 
Tlie occasion but exerted that, or this. 
A wife as tender, and as trae withal. 
As the first woman was before her fall : 
Made for the man, of whom she wms a part ; 
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart. 



A second Eve, but by no crime accursed ; 
As beauteous, not as brittle, as th(! first. 
Had she been first, still Paradise had Ijccn, 
And death had found no entraiii'e by her .-in. 
So she not only had preserved from ill 
Her .sex and ours, but lived their pattern still. 

Love and obedience to her lord she bore ; 
She much obeyed him, but she loved him moit 
.\ot aweil to duty by superior sway, 
liut taught by his indulgence to obey. 
Thus we love God, as author of our good. 

Yet unemployc'd no minute slipped away; 
Moments were precious in so short a stay. 
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great 
That somewere single acts, though each comjilete ; 
ISut every act stood ready to repeat. 

Her fcdlow-saints with busy cai-e will look 
For lier blest name in fate's eternal book ; 
And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will .see 
Numberless virtues, endless charity : 
Hut more will wonder at so short an age. 
To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page ; 
And with a pious fear begin to doubt 
The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. 
Hut 't was her Saviour's time ; and could there lie 
A copy near the original, 't was she. 

As jirecious gums are not foi' lasting fire. 
They but perfume the temple, and expire ; 
So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence, — 
A short sweet odor, of a vast expense. 
She vanished, we can scarcely say she died ; 
For hut a now did heaven and earth divide : 
She passed serenely with a single breath ; 
This moment perfect health, the next was death : 
One sigh did hei- eternal bliss assure ; 
So little penancenecds, when soidsarealmost pure. 
As gentle dreams oui- waking thoughts pursue ; 
Or, one dream passed, we slide into a new ; 
So close they follow, such wild order keep, 
We think ourselves awake, and are aslcc]) ; 
So softly death succeeded life in her ; 
She did liut dream of heaven, and .she was tin re 

No pains she .suffered, nor expiied with noise ; 
Her soul was whispi'red out with God's still voice ; 
As an old friend is beckoned to a feast, 
And treated like a long-familiar guest. 
He took her as he found, but found her so, 
As one in hourly readiness to go : 
E'en on that day, in all her trim prepared ; 
As early notice she from heaven had heard, 
And some descending courier from above 
Had given her timely warning to remove ; 
Or counseled her to dress the nn]itinl room. 
For on that night the bridegi'oom was to come. 
He kejit his hour, and found her where she lay 
Clothed all in white, the livery of the day. 



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288 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



^ 



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LAMENT OP THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 

1 'm sillin' oil the stilo, Jlary, 

Whei'o wo sat side by side 
On a l)right May moniiii' long ago, 

Wlieii Hist ycm were my bride ; 
Tlie iiiin w;i.s s|iiingiir fresh and gi'ccn, 

And the lai-k sang loud and high ; 
Anil till' red was on your liji, Mary, 

And llio love-light in your eye. 

The i)Iaee is little clianged, Mary ; 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear, 

And the corn is green again ; 
Pint 1 miss the soft clasp of your hand, 

Aiul your breatli, warm on my iheek ; 
And I still keep list'nin' I'or tlie words 

You nevermore will speak. 

'T is but a step down yonder lane, 

And the little church stamls near, — 
Tlie church where we were wed, Mary ; 

I see the spire from here. 
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest, — 
For I 've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 

With your baby on your breast. 

I 'm very lonely now, Mary, 

For the poor make no new friends ; 
But, 0, they love the better still 

Tlie few our Father sends ! 
And you were all 1 had, Mary, — 

My blessin' and my pride ; 
Tlicro 's nothing left to care for now. 

Since my poor Mary died. 

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 

That still kept hoping on, 
When the trust in God had left my soul, 

And my arm's young strength was goue ; 
There was comfort over on your lip, — 

And the kind look ou your brow, — 
1 bless you, Maiy, for that same. 

Though you cannot hear me now. 

1 lliaiik you for the patient smile 

\V hen your heart was lit to break, — 
\\'hi'n the hunger pain was gnawiu" there. 

And you hiil it for my .sake ; 
1 lili-ss you for the pleasant word, 

When your heart was sad aud sore, — 
0. 1 'in thankful you are gone, Mary, 

Where grief can't reach you more ! 

I 'm biddiii' you a long farewell, 

My Mary — kind and true ! 
But 1 '11 not forget you, darling, 

ill the land I 'm goin' to ; 



They say there 's bread and work for all, 
And the sun.shines always there, — 

But I '11 not forget old Ireland, 
Were it fifty times as fair ! 

And often in those grand old woods 

I '11 sit, and shut my eyes. 
And my heart will travel back again 

To the place where Mary lies ; 
And I '11 think I see the little stilo 

Where we sat side by side. 
And the springin' corn and the bright May morn, 

When first you were my briile. 

LABY DUFFI-KIN 
(Formerly the HON. MRS. ULACKWOOD). 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. 

Wdiil) was brought to tlio Danish king 

(Ihirry!; 
That the love of his heart lay suffering. 
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring ; 

(0, riile as though you were flying I) 
Better he loves each golden curl 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl : 
And his rose of the isles is dying ! 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 

("Hurry !) 
Each one mounting a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 

(0, ride as though you were flying !) 
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; 
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst ; 
But, ride as they would, the king rode first, 
For his ro.se of the isles lay dying ! 

His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 

(Hurry!) 
They have tainted, and faltered, and homeward 

gone ; 
His little fair page now follows alone, 

For strength and for counigc trying! 
The king looked back at that faitliliil child ; 
Wan was the face that answering smiled ; 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din. 
Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in 
Where his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

The king blew a bhust on his bugle-horn ; 

(Silence !) 
No answer came ; but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold gi'ay morn, 

Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
None welcomed the king from that weary ride 



ide ; J 

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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



289 



ra 



For dead, in the light of the dawiiihf; day, 
Tlio i)alo sweet form of the weluoiuc.i- lay. 
Who had yearned for his voice while dying! 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest. 

Stood weary. 
The king returned from her chamber of rest, 
The tliick sobs choking in his breast ; 

And, that dumb companion eying, 
The tears guslieil forth which ho strove to check ; 
III' liowed his heaii on his charger's neck : 
"0 steed, that every nerve didst stiiiin, 
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 
To the halls where my love lay dying ! " 

Caroline li. Norton. 



^ 



LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. 

[Tlii-i ballad relates to tlic cxccmioii ol Cuckbiirnc nf Ilcml* 
laiul, a border freebooter, liaiiijeil ■ vi i iJh , ir. . i 1m . own tow 
by James v. ill his famous expedition, n. i - ,i ! ilii.' mataii 

crs of tlic Ijorder. In a deserted bun. il i r t . fiims of t 

castle, tile iiionumcnl of Cockbunir ml In 1..I) i. .nil sIiom 
Tlie following inscription is slill le^'ilile, iliou^Ji def.Rcil: "•llir 
LYliS I'ERVS 01-- COKBURNE AND HIS WYFH MARJORY."— 3 

;rn/vi-.y™«.) 

My love he built me a bonnie bower, 
Antl clad it a' wi' lily flower ; 
A brawor bower ye ne'er did see, 
Than my true-love he built for me. 

There came a man, by middle day. 
He spied his sport, and went away ; 
And brought the king that very night. 
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. 

He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; 
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear : 
My servants all for life did flee. 
And left me in extremitie. 

I .'iiui'd liis sheet, making my mane ; 

I uiilrliod tlir ,,,r|,sr II I y.scU alaue ; 
f Mill. J, ..I III, l,.„lv iiiL'iit and day; 
No living nv.niuiv ,■; that way. 

1 loiik hisbiidy nil my back, 

And whiles 1 gaed, and whiles I sat ; 

I digged a grave, and laid him in. 

And happed him with the sod sae green. 

I'liit think na ye my heart was sair, 
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ? 
O, think na ye my heart was wae. 
When I turned about, away to gae ? 

Nae living man I '11 love ag.-iin, 
Since that my lively knight is slain ; 
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair 
I '11 chain my heart forcveriuair. 

Anonymous. 



FAREWELL TO THEE, ARABY'S DAUGHTER. 



Fauevvkll, — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! 

(Thus warliled a I'eri beneath the dark sea ;) 
No pearl ever lay under Onnin's green water 

More pure in its shell than thy .siiirit in. thee. 

0, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing. 
How light \Yas thy heart till love's witchery 
came, 
Like th(! wind of the .south o'er a sunuiiir Uili' 
blowing. 
And hushedall itsniusie and witluTe.litsfiaiiic ' 

IJut long, upon Araby's green sunny highlaml.s, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her who lies sleeping among the I'earl l.slands. 
With nauglit lint the sea-star to light uj. her 
tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-sea.son is Imrning, 
And calls to the jialm-groves the young and the 
old. 

The hapjiiest tlicre, from their pastime returning 
At sunset, will weep when thy .story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she 
dresses 

Her dark-flowing hair for some festival day. 
Will think of thy fate, till neglecting her tresses. 

She niounifully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Iran, beloved .,f her lieni, forget thee,- 

Though tyrants watch over her tears as they 

stmt, 

Clo.se, close by the side of that hero .she '11 set 

thee, 

Embalmed in theinnennost .shrine of her heart. 

Farewell ! — lie it ours to embellish thy jiillow 
With evervthing beauteous that grows in the 
deep ;■ 

Each (lower of the rock and .•aeh gi'iii of tlu' billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bir<l lias wept, : 

With many a shell, in who.se liollow-wreatlied 
chamber, 
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling. 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
We '11 seek where the sands of the fasiiian are 
sparkling. 

And gather their gold to strew over tliy bed. 



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290 



I'OKMS OF SOBROIV AND DEATH. 



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q.]- 



FaivwcU ! — fiuvwell ! — until pity's sweet fouii- 

tuiii 

Is lost in the hearts of the t'nii- and the bmvo, 

They '11 weep for the ehiel'tain who died on that 

mountain, 

They '11 weep for the nmiden who sleeps in the 

• wave. 

Thomas Moore. 



QuKEN. Good Hamlet, east thy nighted color 
otf, 
And let tJiine eye look like a friend on Henniiirk. 
Do not, forever, with thy veiled lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st 't is common, — ^all that live must 

die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Hamlet. Ay, madam, it is eoninion. 

QuEitN. If it be, 

Why seems it so jwrticular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not 
seems. 
'T is not alone my inky oloak, good mother, 
Nor eustoniary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiratiou of forced breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected havior of the visage. 
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
That can denote mo truly : these, indeed, seem, 
Kor they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within, which passeth show ; 
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
Shakespeare. 



ON THE DKATH OF A BEAITTIFUL WIFE. 

Sleei' on, my love, in thy cold bed, 

Never to be disquieted. 

My last " Good Night !" Thou wilt not wake 

Till I thy fate shall overtake ; 

Till age, or grief, or sickness must 

Marry my body to that dust 

It so much loves, and fdl the room 

My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. 

Stay for mo there : 1 will not fail 
To nu'ct thee in that hollow vale ; 
And think not much of my delay, 
I am already on the w'ay ; 
.\nd follow thee with all the speed 
Desire can make or sorrows breed. 
Each minute is a short degree, 
And every hour a step toward tliee. 



At night, when 1 betake to rest, 
Next morn 1 rise ncai-er my west 
Of life, almost by eight hours' sail, 
Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale, 
HENRV King. 



TO DEATH. 

MtyriiiNKs it were no inuu to die 
On such an eve, when such a sky 

O'er-canopies the west ; 
To gaze my till on yon calm deep, 
And, like an infant, tall asleep 

t>n Kartli, my mother's breast. 

There 's peace and welcome in yon sen 
Of endless blue tiinuiuillity : 

These clouds are living things : 
I trace their veins of liipiiil gold, 
I see them solemnly unfold 

Their soft and ileecy wings. 

These be the angels that convey 
Us weary ehildivn of a day — 

Life's tedious nothing o'er — 
Where neither passions come, nor woes. 
To vex the genius of repose 

On Death's majestic shore. 

No darkness there divides the sway 
With startling dawn and dazzling day ; 

lint gloriously seivne 
Are the interminable plains : 
One fixed, eternal sunset reigns 

O'er the wide silent scene. 

I cannot dolT all human fear ; 
1 know thy greeting is .severe 

To this poor shell of clay : 
Yet come, Death ! thy freezing kiss 
Emancipates ! thy rest is bliss ! 

I would I were away ! 

I-roiii the Gcrm,11\ of GH'CK. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 

The sun sets in night,and the stars shun the day ; 
But glory remains when their lights fade away. 
Begin, ye tormentors ! your threats are iu vain. 
For the son of Alknomook will never complain. 

Kemember the arrows he shot from his bow ; 
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low ! 
Why so slow ? do you wait till 1 shrink from the 



pain ! 
No ! the son of .\lknomook shall never complaiir 



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liEHKAVEMRNT AND DEATH. 



291 



^ 



Kernuiiiber the wood when^ in ambush we lay, 
And the scaljjs which we bore from your nation 

away ! 
Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain ; 
])Ut tlic son of Alknomook can never complain. 

I go to the land where my father is gone ; 

His ghost shall ivjoice in the fame of his son. 

Death comes, like a friend, to relieve nic from 
j«in ; 

And thy .son, Alknomook ! has scorned to com- 
plain. 

Anne Homi! Hunthr, 



NOW AND AFTERWARDS. 



" Two hands u]jon the breast, 

And labor 's done ; 
Two pale feet crossed in rest, — 

'I'he race is won ; 
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, 

j\nd all tears cease ; 
Two lips wlii-ri- giief is mute, 

Ang.'r at jj.-.-u-.- " : 
So play wi; oftentimes, mourning our lot ; 

God in his kindness answereth not. 

" Two hands to work addrest 

Ay(^ for his praise ; 
Two feet that never rest 

Walking his ways ; 
Two eyes that look above 

Through all their tears ; 
Two lips still breathing love. 

Not wrath, nor fears " : 
So ]iray we afterwards, low on our knees ; 
Pardon those erring prayers ! Father, hear these! 
Dinah Mulock Craik. 



FAREWELL, LIfE. 



fr. 



Faiikwell, life ! my senses swim. 
And the world is glowing ilim ; 
Thronging shadows cloud the light. 
Like the advent of the night, — 
folder, colder, colder still, 
U])ward steals a vapor chill ; 
Strong the earthy odor grows, — 
I smell the mold aljove the rose ! 

Welcomi-, lifi; ! the spirit strives ! 
Strength returns and hope revives ; 
Cloudy fears and shapes forloni 
Fly like shadows at the morn, — 



O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; 
Sunny light for sullen gloom, 
Warm pifrfume for vapor cold, — 
1 .snii-11 the rose above the mold ! 

Thomas Hood, 



I LAY me down to sleep. 

With little care 
Whether my waking find 

Me here, or there. 

A Ijowing, burdened head 
That only asks to rest, 

Unquestioning, upon 
A loving breast. 

My good right-hand forgets 

Its cunning now ; 
To march the weary march 

I know not liow. 

I am not eager, bold. 

Nor strong, — all tliat is past ; 
I [iin ready not to do, 

At last, at last. 

My half-day's work is done, 
And this is all my part, — 

I give a jiatient God 
My patient heart ; 

And grasp his banner still, 
Though all the blue be dim ; 

These stripes a.s well as stars 
Lead after him. 



HANO UP HIS HARP; HE'LL WAKE NO 
MORE I 

Ills young bride stood beside his bed. 

Her weejiing watch to keep ; 
Hush ! hush ! he stirred not, — was he dead. 

Or did he only sleep ? 

His brow was calm, no change was there. 

No sigh b.td filled his breath ; 
0, did he wear that smile so fair 

In slumber or in death ? 

" Reach down his harp," she wildly cried, 

" And if one spark remain. 
Let him but hoar ' Loch Erroch's Side ' ; 

He'll kindle at the strain. 



-^ 



^- 



PUEMS OF SORROW AXV HEATH. 



^ 



"That tune e'er held liis soul in thrall ; 

It never breathed in vain ; 
He'll waken as its echoes fall, 

Or never wake again." 

The strings were swept. 'T was sad to hear 

Sweet music floating there ; 
For every note called forth a tear 

Of anguish and despair. 

" See ! see ! " she cried, " the tune is o'er : 

No opening eye, no breath ; 
Hang up his harp ; he '11 wake no more ; 

He sleeps the sleep of death." 



BEYOND THE SMILING AND THE WEEPING. 

Beyhxi) the smiling and the weeping 

1 slmll be soon ; 
Beyond the waking and the sleeping. 
Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
I shall be soon. 
Lore, rest, and/wmc/ 
Sweet hope I 
Lord, tarrtj not, but eovh: 

Beyond the blooming and the fading 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the shining and the shading, 
Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 

I shall be soon. 
Loir, rest, and home! etc. 

Beyond the rising and the setting 

1 shall be soon ; 
Beyond the calming and the fretting. 
Beyond remembering and forgetting, 

I shall be soon. 
Love, rest, and home / ttc. 

Bevond the sathering and the strowing 

1 siiall be soon ; 
Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, 
Beyond the coming and the going, 

1 shall lie soon. 
Love, 7'est, and home ! etc. 

Beyond the parting and the meeting 

1 shall lie soon ; 

Beyond the farewell and the greeting, 

Beyond this pulse's fever beating, 

I shall be soon. 

Love, rest, and home I etc. 

Beyond the frost chain and the fevei 
I shall be soon ; 



Beyond the rock waste and the rivor, 
Beyond the ever and the never, 
I shall be soon. 

Love, rest, and homi^ I 

Sweet hope ! 

Lord, tarnt not, bat come. 

lioRATIUS BONAR. 



THE LAND 0' THE LEAL. 

I 'm wearing awa', .lean, 

Like snaw when it 's thaw, .lean ; 

1 'm wearing awa' 

To the land o' the leal. 
There's nae sorrow there, ,Iean, 
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is aye fair 

In the land o' the leal. 

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean ; 
Your task 's ended noo, Jean, 
And 1 'U welcome you 

To the land o' the leal. 
Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, 
f>he was baith guid and fair, .lean : 
( 1. we grudgeil her right sair 

To the hind o' the leal ! 

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
And angels wait on me 

To the land o' the leal ! 
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
This warld's care is vain, Jean ; 
AVe '11 meet and ave be fain 

In the land o' the leal. 

CAKul INA. IIARONESS NAII 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH. 

SoKTi.Y WOO away her breath. 

Gentle death { 
Let her leave thee with no strife, 

Tender, mournful, murmuring life ! 
She hath seen her happy day, — 

She hath had her bud and blossom ; 
Now she pales and shrinks away. 

Earth, into thy gentle bosom ! 

She hath done her bidding here. 

Angels dear ! 
Bear her perfect soul above. 

Seraph of the skies, — sweet lovo ! 
Good she was, and fair in youth ; 

And her mind was seen to soar, 
And her heai't was wed to truth : 
Take her, then, forevermore, — 

Forever — evermore I 

nRVAN Waller proctkr 
(Barry cornm 



.-^-S^ 



£h^ 



BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



L'J?. 



-a 



^ 



ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER. 

'T IS o'er, — in that long sigh sin; past — 
Th' enfranchised spirit soars at last ! 

And now I gaze with tearless eye 
On what to view was agony. 
That i)anting heart is tranquil now, 
And heavenly oalm that ruffled brow, 
And those pale lips which feebly strove 
To force one parting smile of love, 
Retain it yet, — soft, placid, mild, 
As when it graced my living child. 

0, I have watched mth fondest care 
To see my opening flow' ret blow. 
And felt the joy which parents share. 
The pride which fathers only know. 

And I have sat the long, long night. 

And marked that tender flower decay ; 
Not torn abruptly from the sight. 

But slowly, sadly, waste away ! 
The .sjroiler came, yet paused, as though 

So meek a victim checked his arm. 
Half gave and half withheld the blow. 

As I'orced to strike, yet loath to harm. 

We saw that fair cheek's fading bloom 
The ceaseless canker-worai consume. 

And gazed on hopelessly, 
Till the mute sulfering pictured there 
Wrung from the fatlier's lip a prayer, 
God ! the prayer his child might die. 

Ay, from his lip — the doting heart 
E'en tlieii refused to bear its part. 

But the sad conflict 's past, — 't is o'er ; 
That gentle bosom throbs no more ! 
The spirit 's freed, — through realms of light 
Faith's eagle-glance pursues her flight 

To other world.s, to happier skies ; 
Hope dries the tear which sorrow weepeth. 
No mortal sound, the voice which cries, 
"The damsel is not dead, hut sleepeth ! " 

RICHARD Harris Barham 

(THOMAS INCOLDSBY). 



WE WATCHED HER BREATHING. 

We watched her breathing through the night. 

Her breathing soft and low. 
As in her brea-st the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak. 
So slowly moved about. 



As We had lent her half our powers 
To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 
Our fears our hojies belied, — 

We thought her dying when she slept, 
And sleeping when she died. 

For when the mora came dim and .sad, 
And chill with early showers. 

Her quiet eyelids closed, — .she had 
Another morn than ours. 

THOMAS HOOn, 



A DEATH-BED. 



Her suffering ended witli the day ; 

Yet lived she at its close. 
And breathed the long, long night away 

lu statue-like repose. 

But when the sun, in all his state, 

Illumed the eastern skies, 
She iiassed through glory's morning-gate. 

And walked in Paradis(' ! 

JAMES ALUKILI 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



AT CHICAMAL'CA. 

" I .ini dying. E)jyi>t. dying." — SHAKR 

I AM dying, Egypt, dying, 

Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, 
And the dark, Plutonian shadows 

Gather on the evening blast. 
Let thine arm, (^ueen, su]>port me ! 

Hush tliy sobs, and bow thine ear ! 
Heai-ken to the great heart sc^crets 

Thou, and thou alone, must hear. 

Tliough my scarred and veteran legions 

liear their eagles high no more. 
And my wrecked and scattered galleys 

Strew dark Actium's fatal shore ; 
Though no glittering guaids sunound me. 

Prompt to do their master's will, 
I must perish like a lioman, 

Die the great triumvir still. 

Let not Cajsar's sendle minions 

Mock the lion thus laid low ; 
'T was no foeman's hand that felled him, 

'T was his own that struck the blow. 
His who, pillowed on thy bosom, 

Turned aside from glory's ray. 
His who, drunk with tliy caresses. 

Madly flung a world away ! 



[0-*. 



-R. 



'J4 



I'OEMS UF SUHRUJV AXI) DEATH. 



ShouUl tlie base plebeiau rabble 

Dare assail my lame at Rome, 
Where the noble spouse, Octavia, 

Weeps within her widowed home. 
Seek her, say the gods have told me, 

Altars, augurs, circling wings, 
That her blood, with mine connningled, 

Vet shall mount the throne of kings. 

And fur thee, star-eyed Egyjjtiau ! 

(_! Kirious sorceress of tlie Nile ! 
Light the path to Stygian horrors 

AVith the splendors of thy smile ; 
Give the C'lKsar crowns and arches. 

Let his brow the laurel twine, 
I can scorn the Senate's triumphs, 

Triumphing in love like thine. 

I am dying, Kgypt, dying ; 

Hark ! tlie insulting foeman's cry ! 
They are coming — ipnck, my falchion ! 

Let me front them ere 1 die. 
Ah I no more amid the battle 

SliuU my heart exulting swell ! 
Isis and Osiris guard thee, 

Cleopatra ! Rome ! — farewell I 



LIGHT. 



The niglit has a thou-^iand eyes, 

And the day but one ; 
Vet the light of the bright world diet 

With tlu^ dying sun. 

Tlie mind has a thousand eyes, 

And the heart but one ; 
Yet the light of a wliole life dies 

When love is done. 

Francis w. bocrdillun 



&- 



THRENODY. 

My heart is there, 
Where, on eternal hills, my loved one dwells, 
Among the lilies and the asphodels : 
Clad in the brightness of the Great White 

Throne, 
Glad in the smile of Him who sits thereon ; 
The glory gilding all his wealth of hair, 
.\nd making his immortal face more fair ; 
Tliere is my treasure, anil my heart is there. 

My heart is there ; 

With liim who made all earthly life so sweet; 

So lit to live, and yet to die so meet ; 

So meek, so grand, so gentle, and so brave. 
So really to forgive, so strong to save ; 



His fair, pure spirit makes tiie heavens more 

tail-, 
And thitlier rises all my longing prayer ; 
There is my treasure, and my heart is there. 

A.XONVMOUS. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

Toi.i, not the bell otdc;itli fur me 

When I am dead ; 
Strew not the lloweiy wreath o'er me. 

On my cold bed. 

Let frieud-ship's sacred tear 
On my fresh grave appear, 
Gemming with pearls my bier — 
When I am dead. 

Xo dazzling, proud array 
Of pageantry display, 

My fate to spread ; 
Let not the busy crowd be near, 

AVhen I am dead, 

Fanniiii,' with unfilt sighs my bier. 

Sighs ijuickly sped. 
Deep let the impression rest 
On some fond female breast ; 
Then were my memory blest, 

When I am dead. 

Let not the day be writ ; 
Love will remember it 
Untold, unsaid. 

A^'ox^*Mous. 



THE FEMALE CONVICT. 

She shrank from all, and her silent mood 
Made her wish only for solitude : 
Her eye sought the gromid, as it could not brook, 
For innermost shame, on another's to look ; 
-And the cheerings of comfort fell on her ear 
Like deadliest words, that were curses to hear ! — 
She still was young, and she had been fair ; 
But weather-stains, Imnger, toil, and care, 
That frost and fever that wear the heart, 
Had made the colors of youth depart 
From the sallow cheek, save over it came 
The burning flush of the spirit's shame. 

They were s,ailing over the salt sea-foam, 
F.ir from her country, far from her home ; 
And all she had left for her friends to kee]) 
Was a name to hide and a memoiy to weep ! 
.\nd her future held forth but the felon's lot, — 
To live forsaken, to die forgot! 



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r.EllEAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



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295 [ 



Slie could not weej), and she could not pray, 
I'.ut she wasted and withered from day to day, 
Till you might have counted each sunken vein. 
When her wrist was prest by the iron chain ; 
And sometimes 1 thought her large dark eye 
Had the glisten of red insanity. 

She called me once to her sleeping-place, 

A stiange, wild look was upon her face, 

Her eye flashed over her cheek so white, 

Like a gravestone seen in the pale moonlight, 

And she spoke in a low, unearthly tone, — 

The sound from mine ear hath never gone! — 

"I had last night the loveliest dream -. 

Jly own kinil shone in the summer beam, 

I saw the tields of the golden grain, 

1 heard the reaper's harvest straiu ; 

There stood on the hills the green pine-tree. 

And the thrush and the lark sang merrily. 

A lung and a weary way 1 had come ; 

But I stopped, methought, by mine own sweet 

liome. 
I stood by the hearth, and my father sat there, 
Witli pale, thin face, and snow-white hair! 
The Bible lay open upon his knee. 
But he closed the book to w'elcoine me. 
He led me next where my mother lay. 
And together we knelt by her grave to pray, 
And heanl a hymn it was heaven to hear. 
For it .•c'liocd one t(. mv v.uii'^ .hiys .|r;ii-. 
Thi-idnMiii III. sw;ikr,ir,Tlii,-v !,„,-, lull- -iiiceHed, 
And hopes whirli 1 drci,„d in my lirmt h viv ilead ! 
— We have not spoken, Ijut still 1 have hung 
On the Northern accents thatdwell on thy tongue. 
To me they are music, to me they recall 
The things long hidden by Memory's pall ! 
Take this long curl of yellow hair, 
And give it my father, auil tell him my prayer. 
My dying prayer, was for him." .... 

Next day 
Upon the deck a coffin lay ; 
They raised it up, and like a dirge 
Tli(^ heavy gale swept over the surge ; 
The corpse was cast to the wind and wave, — 
The convict has found in the green sea a grave. 

LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDO.V. 



SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. 

Hamlet. To be, or not to be, — that is 
question : — 
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous foituue. 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by opposing, end them .' — To die, - 



:,:}-, 



Xo more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The lieart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
Tliat Hesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleeji ; — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream : — ay, there 's tlie 

rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
When we have shuffled olf tliis niorUd coil, 
Must give us jjause : there 's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns ol' time, 
Theoppres.sor's wrong, the proud man'scontumely. 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of odice, and the spin-ns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
Wlien he himself might his ijuietus make 
With a Ijare bodkin ' who would fardels bear, 
To gi'unt and sweat under a weary life. 
But that the dread of sometliing after death, — 
Tliat undiscovered country, from whose boiu'M 
\o traveler returns, — puzzles the will. 
And mak.^ us laihi-r bear those ills we have, 
Than lly t.i miIi.i, iliat we know not of ? 
Thus (Mil.., i. iii'i' d'j.s make cowards of us all; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the i>ale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of gieat pith and moment, 
With tins regard, their currents turn awry. 
And lose the name of action. 



THE SECRET OF DEATH. 

"She is dead I" they said to him. "Come away; 
Kiss her and leave her, — thy love is clay ! " 

They smoothed lier tresses of dark blown hair ; 
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair ; 

Over her eyes, wliich gazed too much, 
They drew the lids with a gentle touch ; 

With a tender toucli they closed up well 
The sweet, thin lips that had secrets to tell ; 

Aliout her lirows and beautiful face 
They tied lier veil ami her marriage-lace, 

And drew on her white feet tlie white silk shoes, — 
Which were the whitest no eye could choose ! 

And over her bosom they crossed her hands, — 
"Come away," they said, "(iod understands!" 

But there was a silence, and nothing there 
But silence, and scents of eglantere. 

And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary. 
And they said, " As a lady should lie, lie 



■^ 



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i06 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



--n 



U-- 



Aiul tliey lielil their breath as they left the room 
With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and 
glooui. 

But lie who loved liur too wcU to dread 
The sweet, the stately, and lieautiful dead, 

He lit his lamp and took the key 

And turned it. Alone again — he and she ! 

He and she ; yet she would not speak. 
Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet 
cheek. 

He and she ; yet she would not smile, 
Though he called her the name she loved ere- 
while. 

He and she ; still she did not move 
To any passionate whisper of love. 

Then he said : "Cold lips, and breast without 

breath ! 
Is there no voice, no language of death, 

" Dumb to the ear and still to the sense. 
But to heart and soul distinct, intense ? 

"See now ; I wdll listen with soul, not ear ; 
Wliat was the secret of dying, dear? 

" Was it the infinite wonder of all 
That you ever could let life's flower fall ? 

" Or was it a greater marvel to feel 
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? 

"Was the miracle deeper to find how deep, 
Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep ? 

"Did life roll back its record, dear. 

And show, as they say it does, past things clear ? 

" perl'ect dead ! dead most dear ! 
I hold the breath of my soul to hear ! 

' ' I listen as deep as to horrible hell, 

As high as to heaven, and you do not tell 1 

"There must be a pleasure in dying, sweet, 
To make you so placid from head to feet. 

" I would tell you, darling, if I were dead. 
And 't were your hot tears ujion my brow shed ; 

" I would say, though the angel of death had 

laid 
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. 



"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, 
Which of all death's was the chief surprise ; 

"The very strangest and suddenest thing. 
Of all the surprises that dying must bring." 

Ah, foolisli world ! 0, most kind dtad ! 
Though he told me, who will believe it was said? 

Who will believe what he heard her say. 
With a sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way ? 

"The utmost wonder is this, — 1 hear, 

And sec you, and love you, and kiss you, dear ; 

" And am your angel, who was your bride. 
And know that, though dead, I have never died." 

ANONYMOUS. 



ONLY THE CLOTHES SHE WORE. 

There Is the hat 
With the blue veil thrown 'round it, just as they 

found it, 
Spotted and soiled, stained and all spoiled — 

Do you recognize that ? 

The gloves, too, lie there. 
And in them still lingers the shape of her fingers. 
That some one has pressed, perhaps, and caressed. 

So slender and fair. 

There are the shoes, 
With their long silken laces, still bearing traces. 
To the toe's dainty tip, of the mud of the slip. 

The slime and the ooze. 

There is the dress. 
Like the blue veil, all dabbled, discolored, and 

drabbled — 
This you should know without doubt, and, if so, 

All else you may guess. 

There is the shawl. 
With the striped border, hung next in order. 
Soiled hardly less than the white muslin dress, 

And — that is all. 

Ah, here is a ring 
We were forgetting, with a pearl setting; 
There was only tins one — name or date ? — none ! 

A frail, pretty thing ; 



A keepsake, maybe. 
The gift of another, perhaps a brother. 
Or lover, who knows ? him her heart chose. 

Or was .she heart-free ? 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



297 



■^ 



Does the bat there, 
With tlie bhie veil around it, the same as they 

found it, 
Suniniou up a fair face with just a trace 

Of gold in the hair ? 

Or does the shawl, 
Mutely appealing to some hidden feeling, 
A fonn, young and slight, to your mind's sight 

Clearly recall ? 

A month now has passed. 
And her sad history remains yet a mystery, 
But these we keep still, and shall keep them until 

Hope dies at last. 

Was she a prey 
Of some deep sorrow clouding the morrow, 
Hiding from view the sky's happy blue ■ 

Or was there foul play ? 



They called him dull, but he had eyes of quick- 
ness 

For everybody that he could befi-ieud ; 
Said one and all, "How kind he is in sickness," 

But there, of coui-se, his goodness had an end. 
Another praise there was might have been given, 
For one or more days out of every seven — 

With his old pickax swung across his shoulder, 
And downcast eyes, and slow and sober tread — 

He sought the place of graves, and each behohler 
Wondered and asked some other who w.as dead ; 

But when he digged all day, nobody thought 

That he had done a whit more than he ouglit. 

At length, one winter when the sunbeams slanted 
Faintly and cold across the churchyard sni>w, 

The bell tolled out, — alas ! a grave was wanted, 
And all looked anxiously for Uncle Jo ; 

His spade stood there against his own roof-trcc, 

There was his pickax too, but where was lu- ' 



They called and called again, but no replying ; 
Smooth at the window, and aliout the door, 



Alas ! who may tell ? 
Some one or other, perhaps a fond mother. 

May recognize these when her child's clothes she ; The snow in cold and heavy drifts was lyin 

I He did not need the daylight any more. 

One shook him roughly, and another said, 

HERD. " \s true as preaching, Uncle Jo is dead ! 



sees; 
Then — will it be well' 



I HAVE in memory a little story, 

That few indeed would rhyme about but me ; 
'T is not of love, nor fame, nor yet of glory. 

Although a little colored with the three, — 
In very truth, I think, as much, perchance. 
As most tales disembodied from romance. 

Jo lived about the village, and was neighlxir 
To every one who had hard work to do ; 

If he possessed a genius, 't was for labor 

Most people thought, but there were one or two 

Who sometimes said, when he arose to go, 

"Come in again and see us, Uncle Jo ! " 

The " Uncle " was a courtesy they gave, — 
And felt they coidd afford to give to him, — 

Just .as the master makes of some good slave 
An .\unt Jemima, or an Uncle Jim ; 

And of this dubious kindness Jo was glad, — 

Poor fellow, it was aU he ever had ! 

A niile or so away, he had a brother, — 

.\ rich, jiroud man that people did n't hire ; 

But Jo had neither sister, wife, nor mother. 
And baked his comcake at his caliin fire 

After the day's work, hard for you or me. 

But he was never tired, — how could he be ? 



And when they wrapped him in the linen, fairer 
And finer, too, than he had worn till then. 

They found a picture, — haply of the sharer 
Of sunny hope some time, or where or when. 

They did not care to know, but closed his eyes 

And placed it in the coffin where he lies ! 

None wTote his epitaph, nor saw the beauty 
I Of the pure love that reached into the grave. 

Nor how in unobtrusive ways of dut}' 
I He kept, despite the dark ; but men less ln'avc 

Have left great names, while not a willow biuuls 

Above his dust, — poor Jo, lie had no friends ! 



FOR ANNIE. 

Thank Heaven ! the crisis, — 

The danger is past. 
And the lingering illness 

Is over at last, — 
And the fever called "Living ' 

Is conc[uered at last. 

Sadly, I know, 

I am shorn of my strength, 
And no muscle I move 

As I lie at full length, — 
But no matter ! — I feel 

I am hotter at length. 



&-- 



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©- 



298 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



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B- 



And I rest so composedly 

Now, in my bed, 
That any beholder 

Might fancy me dead, — 
Might start at beholding me, 

Thinking me dead. 

The moaning and groaning. 
The sighing and sobbing, 

Are quieted now, 

With that horrible throbbing 

At heart, — ah, that horrible, 
Horrible throbbing ! 

The sickness, the nausea, 

The pitiless pain, 
Have ceased, with the fever 

That maddened my brain, — 
With the fever called ' ' Living " 

That burned in my brain. 

And 0, of all tortures 

That torture the worst 
Has abated, — the terrible 

Torture of thirst 
For the naphthaline river 

Of Passion accurst ! 
I have drunk of a water 

That quenches all thirst, — 

or a water that flows. 

With a lullaby sound. 
From a spring but a very few 

Feet under ground, — 
From a cavern not very far 

Down under grouml. 

And ah ! let it never 

Be foolishly said 
That my room it is gloomy 

And narrow my bed ; 
For man never slept 

In a different bed, — 
And, to sleep, you must slumber 

In just such a bed. 

My tantalized spirit 

Here blandly reposes, 
Forgetting, or never 

Regretting, its roses, — 
Its old agitations 

Of myrtles and roses : 

For now, while so quietly 

Lying, it fancies 
A holier odor 

About it, of pansies, — 



A rosemary odor, 

Commingled with pansies. 
With rue and the beautiful 

Puritan pansies. 

And so it lies happily. 

Bathing in many 
A dream of the truth 

And the beauty of Annie, — 
Drowned in a bath 

Of the tresses of Aunie. 

She tenderly kissed me. 

She fondly caressed, 
And then 1 fell gently 

To sleep on lier breast, — 
Deeply to sleep 

From the heaven of her breast. 

When the light was extinguished. 

She covered me warm. 
And she prayed to the angels 

To keep me from harm, — 
To the queen of the angels 

To shield me from harm. 

And I lie so composedly 

Now in my bed, 
(Knowing her love,) 

That you fancy me dead ; — 
And I rest so contentedly 

Now in my bed, 
(With her love at my breast,) 

That you fancy me dead, — 
That you shudder to look at me. 

Thinking me dead : 

But my heart it is l.irighter 

Than all of the many 
Stars in the sky ; 

For it sparkles with Annie, — 
It glows with the light 

Of the love of my Annie, 
With the thought of the light 

Of the eyes of my Annie. 

Edgar Allan Poa 



THE LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. 

AN ANCIENT FUNERAL CHANT OF THE "NORTH COUNTRY, 



This ae nighte, this ae nighte, 

Every nighte and alle : 
Fire and fleet and candle-light. 

And Christe receive thy saule. 

When thou from hence away art paste 
Every nighte and alle : 



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[&-- 



BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



299 



-^-a 



'J'u Whinny-muir thou comes at laste, 
Axii Christe receive tliy saule. 

If ever thou gave either hosen or shoon, 

Every nighte and alle : 
Sit thee down and put them on, 

And Christe receive tliy saule. 

But if hosen or shoon thou never gave neean, 

Every nighte and alle : 
The whinnes shall jirick thee to the bare heean, 

And Cluiste receive thy saule. 

From Whinny-muir when thou may passe, 

Every nighte and alle : 
To Brig o' Dread thou comes at laste, 

And Christe receive thy saule. 

From Brig o' Dread when thou art paste. 

Every nighte and alle : 
To Purgatory Fire thou comes at laste, 

And Cliriste receive thy saule. 

If e^'er thou gave either meat or drinke. 

Every nighte and alle : 
The tire shall never make thee shrinke, 

And Christe receive thy saule. 

But if milke or drinke thou never gave neean, 

Every nighte and alle : 
Tlie fire shall burn thee to the bare beean, 

And Christe receive thy saule. 



fy- 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

The face which, duly as the sun, 
Kose up for me with life begun. 
To mark all liright hours of the day 
"With hourly love, is dimmed away, — 
And yet my days go on, go on. 

The tongue which, like a stream, could run 
Smooth music from the roughest stone. 
And every morning with "Good day" 
Make each day good, is hushed away, — 
And yet my days go on, go on. 

The heart which, like a staff, was one 
For mine to lean and rest upon, 
Tlie strongest on the longest day 
With steadfast love, is caught away, — 
And yet my days go on, go on. 

And cold before my summer 's done. 
And deaf in Nature's general tune. 
And fallen too low for special fear, 
hm\ here, with hope no longer here, — 
While the tears drop, my days go on. 



The world goes whispering to its own, 
" This anguish pierces to the bone " ; 
And tender friends go sighing round, 
" AVhat love can ever cure this wouml ?" 
My days go on, my days go on. 

The past rolls forward on the sun 
And makes all night. dreams begun, 
Not to be ended ! Ended bliss, 
And life that will not end in this ! 
My days go on, my days go on. 

Breath freezes on my lips to moan : 
As one alone, once not alone, 
I sit and knock at Nature's door, 
Heartbare, heart-hungry, very poor, 
Whose desolate days go on. 

I knock and cry, — Undone, undone ! 
Is there no help, no comfort, — none ? 
No gleaning in the wide wheat-plains 
AVhere others drive their loaded wains ? 
My vacant days go on, go on. 

This Nature, though the simws Ik! down. 
Thinks kindly of the Ijird of June ; 
Tlie little red hip on the tree 
Is ripe for such. What is for me. 
Whose days so winterly go on ? 

No bird am 1, to sing in June, 
And dare not ask an eipial boon. 
Good nests and berries red are Nature's 
To give away to better creatures, — 
And yet my days go on, go on. 

/ ask less kindness to be done, — 
Only to loose these pilgrim-shoon, 
(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet 
Cool deatlily touch to these tired feet. 
Till days go out which now go on. 

From gracious Nature have I won 
Such liberal bounty ? may I run 
So, lizard-like, within her side. 
And there be safe, who now am tried 
By days that painfully go on ? 

— A Voice reproves me thereupon. 

More sweet than Nature's when the drone 

Of bees is sweetest, and more deep 

Than when the rivers overleap 

The shuddering pines, and thunder on. 

God's Voice, not Nature's. Night and noon 
He sits upon the great white throne 
And listens for the creatures' praise. 
A\Tiat babble we of days and days ? 
The Day-spring \\e, wliose days go on. 



& 



[fi- 



rOEMS OF SORIiOW AXD DEATH. 



--f^ 



He reigns above, lie reijjiis alone ; 
Syatonis burn out !uul leave bis throne : 
Fuir mists of seraphs melt nml fall 
Around him, oluingoless amid all, — 
Ancient of Hays, whose days go on. 

lie reii;iis below, be reigns alone, 
And, having life in love foregone 
lioncnth the crown of sovran thorns, 
lie reigns the jealous (uid. Who mourns 
Or rules with bini. while days go on ! 

I!y angnisli which made pale the sun, 
I hear him charge bis saints that none 
Among his creatures anywhere 
HlaspluMne against him with despair, 
However darkly days go on. 

Take from my head tho thorn-wreath brown ! 
No mortal grief deserves that crown. 

supremo Love, chief Misery, 
The sharp regalia are for Tm-.E, 
Whose days eternally go on ! 

Vor us. — whatever 's undergone, 
Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. 
t'.rief may be joy misunderstood ; 
Only the Oood discerns the good, 

1 trust thee while my days go on. 

Whatever 's lost, it fii'st was won : 

Wc will not struggle nor impugn. 

I'erliaps tho cup was broken heie, 

That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. 

I praise thee while my days go on. 

I pnvise thee while my ilays go on ; 

I love thee while my days go on ; 

Through dark and dearth, tlirongli fire and frost. 

With cmptii'il arms and treasure lost, 

I thank thee while my days go on. 

E1.1ZAIU-TH BAKRETT BROWNING. 



THF. FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES. 

[Atlilrcsscd t<i his dccclbCti wife, who died in chikllied .it the n^t 
rtweiuytwo.] 

To make my lady's obseijuies 

My love a minster wrought, 
.•Vnil, in the chantry, service there 

\V:u; sung by doleful thought ; 
The tiipers were of burning sighs, 

That light and odor gave : 
And sorrows, painted o'er with tears, 

Enlurainiid her grave ; 



And round about, in (]uaintest guise. 

Was carved : " Within this tomb there lies 

The fairest thing in mortal eyes." 

Above lii'V lii'th spread a tomb 

Of gold and sapphires blue : 
The gold doth show her blessedness, 

The sapphires nnirk her true ; 
For blessedness and truth in her 

Were livelily portrayeil. 
When j;rarious God with both his hands 

111 1 ui'ihIIv substance made. 
He riMuud her in such womlrons wise. 
She wius, to speak without di.sguise. 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

No more, no more ! niv heart doth faint 

When I the life re.-all 
Of licr who liveil so free from taint. 

So virtuous deemed hy all. — 

That in herself was so complete 

1 think that she was ta'en 
By God to deck his paradise. 

Anil with his saints to reign : 
Whom while on earth each one did prize 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

But naught mir tears avail, or crii's ; 

All soon or late in death shall sleep ; 

Nor living wight long time may keep 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

From tlie I-rcncli of CllAKLliS DOKE OF ORLEANS, 

by llENRV FRANCIS CARV 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL 

lI>mEr,NE.\TH the sod low-lying. 

Dark and drear, 
Sleepcth oi\e who left, in ilying, 

Sorri.w here. 

Yes, they 're ever bending o'er her 

Eyes that weep ; 
Forms, that to the cohl !jr;ivc bore her, 

Vigils keep. 

When the summer moon is .shining 

Snfl and fair, 
Friends she loved in tears aiv twining 

Chaplots there. 

Kest in pence, thou gentle spirit. 

Throned above, — 
Souls like tliine with God inherit 

Life anil love ! 



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[S-- 



BEREAVEMENT AND VKATIl. 



301 



-a 



FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT 0' THE SUN. 

FKOM •■CVMIillLINP." 

I'lvAi: no more the heat o' t}ie sun, 
Nor the fuiious winter's ra^es ; 

Thou thy worldly task hast done, 

lloinij art /^one, and ta'en tliy wages : 

fioldijii lads anil ghls all must, 

As oliimney-Hweei)i.'rs, conic- to dust. 

Fi.-ar no more the frown o' t)ie fjreat, 
'i'hou art jjast the tyrant's stroke ; 

Caie no more to elotlie, and eat ; 
To thee the reeil in as the oak : 

The .seepter, learning, physic, must 

All follow this and come t<j dust. 

Vi-,\y no more the lif^htnirig Mash 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 

I''car not slander, censure rash ; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan : 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and eorae to dust. 

SlIAKESFLAKE 



y- 



DEATH THE LEVEI.ER. 

[These vcricj nrc «.ilcl to h.ivc " clllllcl tlic licirt - of Olin 
romwcll. ] 

TiiK glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no annor against fate, — 
Death lays his iey hand on kings ; 
Sceptei- and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the du.st be equal made 
Willi I he poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And jilant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
Ijut their strong nerves at last must yield, — 
They tame but one another still ; 
Early or late 
They stooji to fate, 
And niiist give uj) their murmuring breath, 
\Vhi,-n tlii-y, pale i.-aptivc9, creep to death. 

The garlands witlic-r on your brow, — 

Then boast no nioi-e your mighty deeds ; 
Upon death's )»urple altar, now 

See whi-i-e the victor victim bleeds ! 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb, — 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 

jAMKs Shirley. 



LiKK to the falling of a star, 
Or as the flights of eagles are, 
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
Or silver drops of moniing dew, 
Or like a wind that chafes the flooil. 
Or bubbles which on water stood, — 
K'en such is man, whose liorrowed light 
Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies. 
The siiring enUimlied in autumn lies. 
The dew diies up, the star is shot. 
The (light is past, — and man forgot ! 

llii.NKy King 



O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL V,V, 
PROUD? 

[The followinff poem wa-i .1 [>3rt!cul;ir favorite with Ahr.-ih.iiTi IJn- 
r.olii. It w.-i» firit r.liown to him when.1 youiiu iiun l.y.-i frk-ml. .inil 
.-iflcrw.irdft he cut It from a newspaper anci Icarncil it by heart 
He MiiiJ to a friend. " I would ^Ive a ^rcnt deal to know who wrote 
It. but have never been able to ascertain." He was told, in iV>4.] 

Oil, why should the spirit of nioi-tal be proud ' 
Like a swift -fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man ]iasses from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall faile, 

lie sc^ittcred around and together be laid ; 

And till! young and the old, and the low and the 

high, 
.Shall iiiolder to dust and together shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved. 
The mother that infant's affection who jtroved ; 
The husband that mother anil infant who blessed, 
li/ich, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in 

whose eye. 
Shone beauty and pleasure, — hertriurniihsareby ; 
And thememoryofthosewholovedherand [praised, 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the scepter hath bonie. 
The brow of the priest that the miter liiith worn, 
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to i-eaji, 
The herdsman who clirnbf«l with his goats ii|i \\k 

steep, 
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 



The .saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgi 



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©- 



3012 



POEMS OF SOHROIF ANJ) DEATH. 



-^ 



6- 



Thi< wise and thu Ibolisli, Die guilty ami just, 
Have ijuietly niingleil their bones in tlie dust. 

So tlie multitude goes, like the llower imd theweed 
Tliiit wither awiiy to let others sueeeed ; 
So the multitude eonu'S, even those we behold. 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

For we are the same that our fathers have been ; 
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, — 
We drink the same stream and view the same sun, 
And run the same eoui'so that our fathers have run. 

'I'he Ihonghts we are thinking ovu- falliers would 

think ; 
From the death we are shrinking I'roni, they too 

would shrink, 
Totlielifeweareelingiug to, they too would eliiig; 
lint it speedsfrom the earth, liki' a bird on t be wing. 

They loved, but their story we eannot uulold ; 
They seorued, bnt the heart of the haughty is eold ; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbei-s 

will eome : 
They joyeil, but the voice of their gladness is 

dumb. 

They .lied, — ay ! they died ; and we things that 

are now. 
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow. 
Who make in their dwelling a transient abode. 
Meet the changes they met ou their iiilgrimage 

road. 

Yea ! hope and despondeney, pleasure and pain. 
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and the 

dirge. 
Still tbllow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'T is the twink of an eye, 't is t lie draught of a breath. 
From the Vilossom of health to the palenessof death. 
From thegilded saloon to the bierandtheshroud, — 
0, why should the spirit of mortal be proud > 



VIRTUE IMMORTAL. 

Swicirr day, so cool, so calm, so bright. 
The bridall of the earth and skie : 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
For "thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 
Bids the vasli gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is ever in its grave. 

And thou mnst die. 



Swoet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, 
A bo.K where sweets compacted lie. 
Thy musiek shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul. 
Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But, though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chielly lives. 



MAN'S MOltTALITY. 

I.IKF. as the damask rose yo>i see. 
Or like the blossom on the tree, 
Or like the dainty flower in May, 
Or like the morning of the day, 
Or like the s>in, or like the .shade. 
Or like the gourd which .loniis had, — 
F.'en sneh is man ; whose tliread is spun, 
Diawn out, and cut, and so is doiui. — 

The rose withers, the blossom bhisteth. 

The llower fades, the morning Imsteth, 

The sun sets, the shadow flics, 

Tlic gouvd consumes, — and man he dies ! 

Like to the grass that 's newly sprung. 
Or like a tale that 's new Iwgun, 
Or like the liird that 's here to-day, 
Or like the pearleil dew of May, 
Or like an hour, or like a span, 
Or like the singing of a swan, — 
I'.'cu such is man ; — who lives by broatli. 
Is here, now there, in life and death. — 
The grass withers, the tale is ended, 
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended. 
The hour is short, the spiui is long. 
The swan 's near death, — man's life is done ! 

SIMON WASTULL. 



IF THOU WILT EASE THINE HEART. 



Ik thou wilt ease thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart, — 
Then sleep, dear, sleep ! 
And not a sorrow- 
Hang any tear on your eyelashes ; 

Lie still and deep. 
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes 
The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
In eastern sky. 

Hut wilt thou cure thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart, — 

Then die, dear, die ! 
'T is deeper, sweeter, 



a-^ 



BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



—a 

W6 [ 



'J"]iaii on a rose bank to lii- <Ii'canii]i^ 

With foklcd eye ; 
And llien alone, amid the iieaniing 
Of love's stars, thou 'It meet her 
lu eastern sky. 

Thomas Lovkll Bkddoes. 



He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
Ere the first day of ileath is fled, 
The first dark day of nothingness, 
The last of danger and distress, 
(Before Decay's eflVicing lingers 
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) 
And marked the mild angelie air. 
The rajituic of repose, that 's there, 
The lixed yet tender traits that streak 
Tlie languor of the plaeid cheek. 
And — Ijut for that sad shrouded eye, 
That fires not, wins not, weeps not now. 
And but for that chill, changeless brow. 
Where («ld Obstruction's apathy 
Appalls the gazing mourner's heart. 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells uiion ; 
^'es, but for these and these alone. 
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
So fair, so calm, so softly seiiled, 
The first, last look by death revealed ! 
Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more ! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair. 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death, 
'I'hat parts not quite with parting breatli ; 
liut beauty with that fearful liloom, 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
lixpression's last receding ray, 
A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
The farewell beam of Feeling past away ; 
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
Which gleams, but wanns no more its cherished 
earth ! 

Lord Byron. 



THE DIRGK. 

What is the existence of man's life 

Hut oi«n war, or slumbered .strife ? 

Where sickness to his sense presents 

The combat of the elements ; 

And never feels a perfect peace, 

TiU Death's cold hand signs his release \ 



It is a storm — where the hot bloo,d 
(Jutvies in rage the boiling flood ; 
And each lou<l passion of the mind 
Is like a furious gust of wind. 
Which beats his bark with many a wave, 
Till he casts anchor in the grave. 

It is a flower — which buds and grows 
And withers as the leaves disclose ; 
Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep. 
Like fits of waking before sleeji ; 
Tlien shrinks into tliat fatal mold 
Where its flist being was enrolled. 

It is a dream — whose seeming truth 
Is moralized in age and youth ; 
Where all the comforts he can share 
As wandering as his fancies are ; 
Till in the mist of dark decay 
The dreamer vanish quite away. 

It is a dial — which jioints out 
The sunset as it moves about ; 
And shadows out in lines of night 
The subtle stages of Time's flight, 
Till all-obscuring earth hath laid 
T)ie body in perpetual shade. 

It is a weary interlude — 
Which doth short joys, long woes, include 
The world the stage, the prologue tears. 
The acts vain hoijes and varied fears ; 
The scene shuts ui> with loss of breath, 
.\nd leaves no epilogue but death. 

Hfnrv King. 



THE HTJSBAjra) AND WIFK'B GRAVE. 

Hi'siiAND and wife ! no converse now ye hold. 
As once ye did in your young d.ays of love, 
On its alaiTa.s, its anxious hours, delays, 
Its silent meditations and glad hopes, 
Its fears, impatience, quiet sympathies ; 
Xor do ye speak of joy assured, and blLss 
Full, certain, and possessed. Domestic cares 
Gall you not now together. Earnest talk 
On what your children may be moves you not. 
Ye lie in silence, and an awful silence ; 
Not like to that in which ye rested once 
Most happy, — silence eloquent, when heart 
With heart held si)eech, and your mysterious 

frames, 
Haniionious, sensitive, at every beat 
Touched the soft notes of love. 

A stillne.ss deep. 
Insensible, unheeding, folds you round, 
And darkness, as a stone, has sealed you in 



^ 



? 



304 



POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



^ 



Awiiy from all the living, here ye rest, 
In all the nearness of the narrow tomb. 
Yet feel ye not each other's presence now ; — 
Dread fellowship I — together, yet alone. 

Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then. Love? 
And doth death cancel the great bond that holds 
Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts that know 

no bounds. 
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out 
The Eternal Mind, the Father of all thought, — 
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb '( — 
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms 
Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? — 
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne 
Which One, with gentle hand the veil of flesh 
Lifting that hung 'twixt man aiul it, revealed 
In glory? — throne before which even now 
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down 
Kcjoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? — 
Souls that thee know by a mysterious sense, 
Thou awful unseen Presence, — are they quenched ? 
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes 
By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun 
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? 

And do our loves all perish with our frames ? 
Do those that took their root and put forth buds. 
And then soft leaves unfolded in the warmth 
Of mutual heai'ts, grow up and live in beauty. 
Then fade and fall, like fair, unconscious flowers? 
An; thoughts and passions that to the tongue give 

speech. 
And make it send forth winning harmonies. 
That to the cheek do give its living glow, 
And vision in the ej'e the soul intense 
With that for which there is no utterance, — 
Are these the body's accidents, no more ? 
To live in it, and when that dies go out 
Like the burnt taper's Hame ? 

listen, man I 
A voice within us speaks the startling word, 
" Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices 
Hymn it around our souls ; according harps, 
By angel fingers touched when the mild stai's 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality : 
Thick-clustering ojbs, and this our fair domain. 
The tall, dark mountains and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 

listen, ye, our spirits ! drink it in 
From all the air ! 'T is in the gentle moonlight ; 
Is floating in day's setting glories ; Night, 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears ; — 
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful 

eve, 
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 



y-^- 



By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. 
The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 

Why is it that I linger round this tomb ? 
AVhat holds it ? Dust that cumbered those I 

mourn. 
They shook it ofT, and laid aside earth's robes, 
And put on those of light. They 're gone to divcll 
In love, — their God's and angels' ! Mutual love. 
That bound them here, no longer needs a speech 
For full communion ; nor sensations strong. 
Within the breast, their prison, strive in vain 
To be set free, and meet their kind in joy. 
Changed to celestials, thoughts that rise in each 
By natures new impart themselves, though silent. 
Each quickening sense, each throb of holy love, 
AH'ections sanctified, and the full glow 
Of being, which expand and gladden one, 
By union all mysterious, thrill and live 
In both immortal frames ; — sensation all, 
And thought, pervading, mingling sense and 

thought ! 
Ye paired, yet one ! wrapt in a consciousness 
Twofold, yet single, — this is love, this life ! 
Why call we, then, the square-built monument. 
The ui)right.foIumn, and the low-laid slab 
Tokens of death, memorials of decay ? 
Stand in this solemn, still assembly, man. 
And learn thy proper nature ; for thou seest 
In these shaped stones and lettered tables figures 
Of life. Then be they to thy soul as those 
Which he who talked on Sinai's mount with God 
Brought to the old Judeans, — types are these 
Of thine eternity. 

I thank thee, Father, 
That at this simple grave on which the dawn 
Is breaking, emblem of that day which hath 
No close, thou kindly unto my dark mind 
Hast sent a sacred light, and that away 
From this green hillock, whither I had come 
In sorrow, thou art leading me in joy. 

Richard Henry Dana, 



THE ENDS OF LIFE. 

A G(iOD that never satisfies the mind, 

A beauty fading like the April flowers, 

A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, 

A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours. 

An honor that more fickle is than wind, 

A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, 

A treasury which bankrupt time devours, 

A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, 

A vain delight our equals to command. 



^ 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



305 J 



dn_ 



A style of greatness, in effect :i ilreani, 
A swelling thought of holding sea and land, 
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name, — 
Are the strange ends we toil for here below, 
Till wisest death make us our errors know. 

William Dkummond, 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

TiiF.v grew in beauty, side by .side, 
They filled one home with glee ; — 

Tlicir graves are severed for and wide, 
r.y mount and stream and sea. 

The same fond mother bent at night 
O'er each fair sleeping brow ; 

She had each folded flower in sight, — ■ 
^Vhere are those dreamers now ? 

One midst the forest of the West, 

By a dark stream is laid, — 
The Indian knows his place of rest. 

Far in the cedar shade. 

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, — 
He lies where pearls lie deep ; 

He was the loved of all, yet none 
O'er his low bed may weep. 

One sleeps where Southern vines are drest. 

Above the noble slain ; 
He wrapt his colors round his breast 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned ; 

Sh.> faded midst Italian flowers, — 
The last of that bright band. 

And parted thus they rest, who played 

Beneath the same green tree ; 
■Whose voices mingled as they jirayed 

.\rotind one parent knee ! 

They that with smiles lit up the hall, 
.\nd cheered with song the hearth — 

Alas ! for love, if Ikon wert all. 
And naught lieyond, O earth ! 



GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 

How calm they sleep beneath the shade 

AVlio once were weary of the strife, 
And bent, like us, beneath the loail 
Of human life ! 



The willow hangs with sheltering grace 

And benediction o'er their sod. 

And Nature, hushed, assures the soul 

They rest in God. 

weaiy hearts, what rest is here. 

From all that curses yonder towTi ! 
So deep the peace, 1 almost long 
To l.-;y nie down. 

For, 0, it will Ijc Ijlest to sleep, 

Xor dream, nor move, that silent night. 
Till wakened in immortal strength 
And heavenly light ! 

Ckammoxd Kennedy. 



GODS-ACRE. 

1 I.IKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 
The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It is just ; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls. 

And breathes a bcnison o'er the sleeping dust. 

God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 

The seed that they had garnered in their liearts. 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its fuiTows shall we all be cast. 
In tlije sure faith that we shall rise again 

At the gi-eat haivest, when the archangel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the clialf and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom. 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 
AVith that of flowers wliich never bloomed on 
earth. 

With thy rude plowshare. Death, turn up the sod. 
And spread the fun'ow for the seed we sow ; 

This is the field and Acre of our God, 

This is the place where human harvests gi'ow'! 



THE OLD BUEYING-GROUXD. 

Pn'MED ranks of tall wild-cherry 

And birch surround 
The half-hid, solitary 

Old burying-ground. 

All the low wall is crumbled 

And overgl■ow^l, 
And in the turf lies tumbled 

Stone upon stone. 



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306 



FOEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. 



n 



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Only tho school-boy, sci'aiiibling 

After his arrow 
Or lost ball, — searching, tramijliug 

The tufts of yarrow. 

Of iiiilkweeil aud slim inullciii, — 

Tlu! pliice disturbs ; 
Or buwed wise-wouian, culling 

Her magic herbs. 

No more tho melancholy 

Dai'k trains draw near ; 
The dead possess it wholly 

This many a year. 

The headstones lean, winds whistle, 

The long grass waves. 
Rank grow the dock and thistle 

Over tho graves ; 

And all is waste, deserted, 

Aud drear, as though 
Even the gliosts departed 

Long years ago ! 

The sipiirrels start forth and ehattor 

To see me pass ; 
Grasshoppers leap and patter 

In the dry grass. 

I hear the drowsy drumming 

Of woodpeckers, 
And sudilonly at my coming 

The quick grouse whirs. 

Untouched through all mutation 

Of times and skies, 
A bygone generation 

Around me lies ; 

Of high and low condition, 

■hist and unjust. 
The patient and jihysician. 

All turned t" dust. 

Suns, snows, ilrouth, colil, birds, blossoms. 

Visit the spot ; 
Rains drench the iiuict bosoms 

■\Vhich hcfd them not. 

Under an aged willow. 

The earth my bed, 
A mossy mound my pillow, 

I lean my hea<l. 

Babe of this mother, dying 

A fresli young bride, 
That old, old man is lying 

Here by her side ! 



I muse : above me hovers 

A haze of dreams : 
Bright maids and laughing lovers. 

Life's morning gleams ; 

The past with all its passions. 

Its toils and wiles. 
Us ancient follies, fashions, 

And tears aud smiles ; 

With thirsts and fever-rages, 

And ceaseless pains. 
Hoarding as for the ages 

Its little gains ! 

Fair lives that bloom and wither. 

Their summer done ; 
Loved forms with heart-break hither 

Borne one by one. 

■\Vife, husband, cliild, and mother, 

Ni.»\\' reek no more 
Which mourned on earth the other, 

Or wi'Ut before. 

The soul, I'isen from its embers. 

In its blest state 
Perchance not even remembers 

Its earthly fate ; 

Nor heeds, in the duration 

Of spheres sublime. 
This pebble of creation. 

This wave of time. 

For a swift moment only 

Such dreams arise ; 
Then, turning from this lonely, 

Tossed field, my eyes 

Through clumps of whortleberry 

And brier look down 
Toward yonder cemetery, 

Aud modeni town, 

Where still men build, and marry, 

And strive, and mourn. 
And now the dark pall carry, 

Aud now are liorne. 

John t. Trowuridge. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD. 

TiIK curf.'W tolls tlu' knrll of jiarting day; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way. 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



307 



n 



Now fadts the glimmering landscape on the sight, Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 



And all the air a solemn stillness holds 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant I'ulds ; 

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 



Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ; 

But knowdedge to their eyes her ample page, 
[ Rich with the spoils of time, did nii'er unroll ; 
Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial cun-ent of the soul. 



[Hark ! how the holy calm that breathes around | Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease ; I T''^ dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

In still small accents whispering from the gi'ound Full many a llower is born to Idush unseen. 
The grateful earnest of eternal peace.] * ^^'^ waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



y- 



Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering 
heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid. 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built 
shed. 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing honi. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing health shall burn. 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund (lid they drive their team afield ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy 

stroke ! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the ]]onip of jiower, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 

Await alike the inevitable hour ; 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or flatter)' soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

• Removed by the author from the original poem. 



Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless 
breast. 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; 

SomeCromwell, guiltless of his country's lilood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 
And read their liistory in a nation's eyes. 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
Theirgi'owiiigvirtucs, buttheircrimesconfined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The straggling ])angs of conscious truth to hide. 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the nnise's llame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along thi! cool, seipiestered vale of life 
They kejit the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to pn)teet. 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
decked. 
Implores tlie passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered 
muse. 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfubiess a prey. 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cas-t one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 



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oOS 



IVEMS OF SOBEOJr AXD DEATH. 



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K'fii I'rom the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
E'en ill our ashes live tlieir wonted fires. 



For tliee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inijuire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary -headed swain may say : — 
" Oft liave we seen him, at the iieep of dawn, 

l^rushini; with hasty steps the dews away. 
To meet the sun upon thi' upland lawn. 

"There at the foot of yoii.l, !■ im.Miu.^' beech, 
That wreathes its old, l.nitj^iir kmUs so high, 

His listless lcn<,'th at nunuiidc would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now snuling as in scorn. 
Muttering his waywanl fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn. 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

"One morn I missed him on the customed hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 

Another came, — nor yet beside the rill, 
Kor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array. 
Slow through the church-way path we saw him 
borne ; — 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE Errr.M'ii. 
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
Fair srienee frowned not on his humble birth, 

And melancholy marked him for hor own. 

Large was his hounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; 
He gave to misery (all he luuU a tear. 

He gained from heaven ('t was all he wished) a 
friend. 

No further .seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, — 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



INSCRIPTION ON MELROSE ABBEY. 

The earth goes on the earth glittering in gold, 

The earth goes to the earth sooner than it wold ; 

The earth builds on the earth castles and towers. 

The earth says to the earth — All this is ours. 

li i . . 



THANATOPSIS. 



To him who, v.'i the love of Nature, liolds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various languaga : for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And liealing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart. 
Go forth under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her watera, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice : — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tcr.s, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, sh:ill ixist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished lhcc,shalUhiini 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; . 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements ; 
To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
.\nd to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, ami pierce thy mold. 

Yet not to thi)ie eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infantworld, — with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the gooil. 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchor. The hills, 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the .sun ; tlie vales 
Stretching in pensive i^uiotness between ; 
The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
In m.ajesty, and the complaining brooks, 
Thatniako the meadows green ; and, poured ro\nul 

all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, • — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man ! The golden s>ui, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, jiierce the Barcan wilderness. 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings, — yet the dead are there I 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 



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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH. 



309 



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The flight of years began, have Iniil tliem dowii 
In their last sleep, — the dead reign there alone I 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall 

come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid. 
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to tliy side 
By those who in their turn shall follow tliem. 

"- So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where eacli shall tak(^ 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the tjuarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and 

soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to plea.sant dreams, yy 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.^ 



THE COMMON LOT. 

Once, in the flight of ages past, 

There lived a Man ; — and WHO WAS he ? 
— Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast. 

That Man resembled thee. 

Unknown the region of his birth, 
The land in which he died unknown : 

His name has perished from the earth, 
This truth survives alone : — 

That joy and grief, and hope and fear. 
Alternate triumphed in his breast : 

His bliss and woe — a smile, a tear ! 
— Oblivion hides the rest. 

The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 
The changing spirit's rise and fall, — 

We know that these were felt by liini. 
For these are felt by all. 

He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoyed, — but his delights are fled ; 
Had friends, — his friends are now no more ; 

And foes, — his foes are dead. 



He loved, — but whom he loved, the grave 
Hath lost in its unconscious wondi ; 

O, she was fair, — but naught could save 
Her beauty from the tomb. 

He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 

Encountered all that troubles thee ; 
He was — whatever thou hast been ; 

He is — what tliou shalt be. 

The rolling seasons, day and night. 

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth ami main, 

Ercwhile his portion, life and light, 
To him exist in vain. 

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 
That once their shades and glory threw, 

Have left in yonder silent sky 
Ko vestige where they flew. 

The annals of the human race, 

Their ruins, since the world began. 

Of hi'iii afford no other trace 
Than this, — Thkke uvr.n A max. 



LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCH- 
YARD, YORKSHIRE. 



Metiiinks it is good to be here ; 
If thou wilt, let us liuild — but for whom ? 

Nor Elias nor Moses ajipear. 
But the shadows of eve that encom])ass the gloom. 
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. 

Shall we build to Ambition ? 0, no ! 
Affi'iglited, he shrinketh away ; 

For, see ! they would pin him below. 
In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, 
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. 

To Beauty ? ah, no ! — she forgets 
The charms wliicli she wielded before — 

Nor knows the foul wonn that he frets 
The skin which but yesterday fools could adore 
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it 



Shall we build to the puriile of Pride — 
The trajipings which dizen the proud ? 

Alas ! they are all laid aside ; 
And here 's neither dress nor adornment allowed. 
But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the 
shroud. 

To Riches ? alas ! 't is in vain ; 
Who hid, in their turn have been hid : 



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olO 



POEMS OF SORliOir AXU DEATH. 



Tho twasures ait< squandeied agiiin ; 
Ami hi'i-o iu the grave are all metals lorbkl, 
liut the tinsel that shines on the dark eotlin-lid. 

To the pleasures whieh Jlirth can all'ord, — 
The revel, the liuigh, and the jeer '. 

Ah ! here is a plentirul board I 
I'lUt the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, 
And none but the worm is a reveler here. 

Shall we build to Attoetion and Love ? 
Ah, no ! they have withered and died, 

Or lied with the spirit above ; 
Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side, 
Yet none have saluted, luul none have replied. 

Unto Sorrow ? — The dead cannot grieve ; 
Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, 



Which compassion itself could relieve ! 
Ah I sweetly tliey slumlier, nor hope, love, nor 

fear, — 
Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here ! 

Unto Death, to whom monarehs must bow ? 
Ah, no ! for his empire is known. 

And here there are trophies enow I 
Beneath — the cold dead, and around — the dark 

stone, 
Are the signs of a scepter that none may disown. 

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build. 
And look for the sleei)ers around us to rise ; 

Tho second to Faith, which insures it fultilled ; 

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice. 

Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to 

'■•lie skies. 

Herbert K.nowles. 



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J^,^ ^c^^^ ^.^t^:^ o(c.^^^ ^^..c- ^ /h^^^ 











rl-t- 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



THU CELESTIAL COUNTRY. 

[The poem De Contemptit Mundi was written in dactylic hexam- 
eter Latin verse by Bernard de Morlaix, Monk of Cluni who hvcd 
in the earlier half of the twelfth century. It contained three thou- 
sand lines divided into three books. The poem 



tempora pessima 
mala tenninet, 
|ue pondera 



Sunt, vigili 

^thera donel 
Auferat aspera dura^ 



k^- 



Which have been rendered ; — 

Hours of the latest: times of the basest! 

Our vigil before us ! 
Judgment eternal of Being supernal 

Now hanging o'er us ! 
Evil to terminate, equity vindicate, 

Cometh the Kingly : 
Righteousness seeing, anxious hearts freeing. 

Crowning each singly, 
Bearing life's weariness, tasting life's bitterness. 

Life as it must be 
Th" righteous retaining, sinners arraigning, 

Judging all justly. 



The world is very evil, 

The times are waxing late ; 
Be sober and keep vigil, 

The .Judge is at the gate, — 
The ,Tudge that comes in mercy, 

Tlie .Judge that comes with might. 
To terminate the evil, 

To diadem the right. 
AVhen the just and gentle Monarch 

.Shall summon from the tomb. 
Let man, the guilty, tremble. 

For Man, the God, shaU doom ! 

Arise, arise, good Christian, 
Let right to wrong succeed ; 

I^et penitential sorrow 

To heavenly gladness lead, — 

To the light that hath no evening. 
That knows nor moon nor sun. 



The light so new and golden, 
The light that is but one. 

And when the Sole-Begotten 

Shall render up once more 
The kingdom to the Fathkr, 

Whose own it was before, 
Then glory yet unhe<ird of 

Shall shed abroail its ray, 
Resolving all enigmas. 

An endless Sabbath-day. 

For thee, dear, dear Country ! 

Mine eyes their vigils keep ; 
For very love, beholding 

Thy happy name, they weep. 
The mention of thy glory 

Is unction to the breast. 
And medicine in sickness, 

And love, and life, and rest. 

one, only Mansion ! 

Paradise of Joy, 
Where tears are ever banished, 

And smiles have no alloy! 
Beside thy living waters 

All plants are, gi'eat and small. 
The cedar of the forest. 

The hyssop of the wall ; 
With jaspers glow thy bulwarks. 

Thy streets with emer.alds blaze, 
The sardius and the topaz 

Unite in thee their rays ; 
Thine ageless walls are bonded 

With amethyst unpriced ; 
Thy Saints build up its fabric. 

And the corner-stone is Christ. 

The Cross is all thy splendor. 

The Crucified thy praise ; 
His laud and benediction 

Thy ransomed people raise : 
"Jesus, the Gem of Beauty, 

True God and Man," they sing, 
"The never-failing Garden, 

The ever-golden King ; 



4 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



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The Door, the Pledge, the Husband, 
The Guardian of his Court ; 

The Day-star of Salvation, 
The Porter and the Port ! " 

Thou hast no shore, fair ocean ! 

Thou liast no time, bright day ! 
Dear fountain of refreshment 

To pilgrims far away ! 
Upon the Rock of Ages 

They raise thy holy tower ; 
Thine is the victor's laurel. 

And thine the golden dower ! 

Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, 

Bride that know'st no guile, 
The Prince's sweetest kisses. 

The Prince's loveliest smUe ; 
Unfading lilies, bracelets 

Of living pearl thine own ; 
The Lamb is ever near thee. 

The Bridegroom thine alone. 
The Crown is he to guerdon, 

The Buckler to protect, 
And he himself the Mansion, 

And he the Architect. 

The only art thou needest — 

Thanksgiving for thy lot ; 
The only joy thou seekest — 

The Life where Death is not. 
And all thine endless leisure. 

In sweetest accents, sings 
The ill that was thy merit. 

The wealth that is thy King's ! 

Jerusalem the golden, 

With milk and honey blest, 
Beneath thy contemplation 

Sink heart and voice oppressed. 
I know not, I know not. 

What social joys are there ! 
What radiancy of glory, 

What light beyond compare ! 

And w'hen I fain would sing them. 
My spirit fails and faints ; 

And vainly would it image 
The assembly of the Saints. 

They stand, those halls of Zion, 

Conjubilant with song. 
And bright with many an angel, 

And all the martyr throng ; 
The Prince is ever in them. 

The daylight is serene ; 
The pastures of the Blessfed 

Are decked in glorious sheen. 



There is the Throne of David, 

And there, from care released, 
The song of them that triumph, 

The shout of them that feast ; 
And they who, with their Leader, 

Have conquered in the tight, 
Forever and forever 

Are clad in robes of white ! 

holy, piacid harp-notes 

Of that eternal hymn ! 
sacred, sweet reflection, 

And peace of Seraphim ! 
thirst, forever ardent. 

Yet evermore content ! 
true peculiar vision 

Of God cunctipotent ! 
Ye know the many mansions 

For many a glorious name, 
And divers retributions 

That divers merits claim ; 
For midst the constellations 

That deck our earthly sky. 
This star than that is brighter — 

And so it is on high. 

Jerusalem the glorious ! 

The glory of the Elect ! 
dear and future vision 

That eager hearts expect ! 
Even now by faith I see thee, 

Even here thy walls discern ; 
To thee my thoughts are kindled, 

And strive, and pant, and yearn. 

Jei'usalem the only, 

That look'st from heaven below, 
In thee is all my glory, 

In me is all my woe ; 
And tliough my body may not, 

My spirit seeks thee fain, 
Till llesh and earth return me 

To earth and flesh again. 

none can tell thy bulwarks. 

How gloriously they rise ! 
none can tell thy capitals 

Of beautiful device ! 
Thy loveliness oppresses 

All human thought and heart , 
And none, peace, Zion, 

Can sing thee as thou art ! 

New mansion of new people, 
Whom God's own love and light 

Promote, increase, make holy, 
Identify, unite ! 



& 



POEMS OF L'ELIGIOX. 



313 4"^ 



Thou City of the Angels ! 

Thou City of the Lord ! 
Whose everlasting music 

Is tile glorious decachord ! 

And there the baud of Prophets 

United praise ascribes, 
And there the twelvefold chorus 

Of Israel's ransomed tribes, 
The lily-beds of virgins, 

The roses' martyr-glow. 
The cohort of the Fathers 

AVho kept the faith below. 

And there the Sole- Begotten 

Is Lord in regal state, — 
He, Judah's mystic Lion, 

He, Lamb Immaculate. 
fields that know no sorrow ! 

state that fears no strife ! 

princely bower.s I land of flowers ! 

realm and home of Life I 

Jerusalem, exulting 
On that securest shore, 

1 hope thee, wish thee, sing thee, 
And love thee eveiTUore ! 

I ask not for my merit, 

1 seek not to deny 
Jly merit is destruction, 

A child of wrath am I ; 
But yet with faith 1 venture 

And hope upon my way ; 
For those perennial guerdons 

I labor night and ilay. 



The best and dearest F.vniEi;, 

AVho made me and who saved. 
Bore with me in defilement. 

And from defilement laved, 
When in his strength I struggle. 

For very joy I leap, 
When in my sin I totter, 

I weep, or tiy to weep : 
Then grace, sweet grace celestial, 

Shall all its love display, 
And David's Royal Fountain 

Purge every sin away. 

mine, my golden Zion ! 

lovelier far than gold, 
With laurel-girt battalions. 

And safe victorious fold ! 
sweet and blessed Country, 

Shall I ever see thy face ? 

sweet and blessed Country, 
Shall I ever win thy grace ? 

1 have the ho]ie within nie 
To condbrt and to bless ! 

Shall 1 ever win the prize itself? 
tell nic. tell me, Yes ! 

Exult ! O dust and ashes ! 

The Lord shall be thy part ; 
His only, his forever, 

Thou shalt be, and thou art ! 
Exult, dust and ashes ! 

The Lord shall be thy part ; 
His only, his forever, 

Thou shalt be, and thoti art 1 

Translated from the Latin of Eernaku dh M 
by Jon.-; MA50 



DIES IR^. 



[A Latin poem by Tliomas of Celano (a Neapolitan village), about A. D. 1250. Perliaps no poem has been more frequently translated. 
A German collector published eighty-seven versions in German. Dr. Coles, of .Vewark. N*. J., has noado thirteen. Seven are given in 
the "Seven Great Hymns of the Medi.-eval Church." Randolph & Co.. .N". V. The version here given preserves the measure of the 



DIES 1R.-E, DIES ILLA. rf/Vj trihiilati 
lamitatis ft miscritF. liies tenebraruyn f 
riirbinis, dies litha rt ctafJgoris super a 
«n^7tloscxce/sas/—Sophon\as i. 15, 16. 



Dies ir?e, dies ilia ! 
Solvet sieclum in favilla, 
Teste David cum Sybilla. 



ittgustia. dies ca- THAT D.AV. A DAY OF WKATH. a day 0/ (ranfjle and disfn 

lis. dies nebttla et day c/ ^ucisfeitess and desolation, a day 0/ darkitess and j^ii 
munitas, et super ness. a day 0/ clouds and thick darkness, a tiay o/tlte truntpe. 

alarm against the fenced cities, and affainst the high tourr 

Zephaniah i. 15. 16. 

1. 

Day of vengeance, without morrow ! 
Earth shall end in flame and sorrow. 
As from Saint and Seer we bonow. 



ffi-^- 



Quantus tremor est futurus, 
Quando Judex est venturus, 
Cuncta stricte discussurus ! 



Ah ! what terror is impending, 
AYhen the Judge is seen descending 
And each secret veil is rending ! 



-^'? 



iQ- 



314 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Tuba luinim spiugcns somiiii 
Per sopulera i-fgioimin, 
Coget omiies ante tluoiuiiii. 



To till' thi'oiu', the trmupot souiuling, 
Tlirougli the se|nilchei's resoimdiiig, 
Siiinmous all, with voice nstouudiug. 



Mors stuiH'liit, li milmu, 
Quulu resiii'get ereatura, 
Jmlieanti responsura. 



■1. 
IXvitli ami Nature, luazeil, aro cjuakiiig. 
When, the grave's long slumber breaUiu; 
Mau to judgment is awaking. 



liber si'ri[ilus iiroleretur, 
111 ijuo toluni contiuetur, 
Uiule iiuuulus judieotur. 



On the written Volume's I'ages, 
Life is shown in all its stages — 
J udgment-roeord of past ages. 



.Tudex ergo eum sedebit, 
tjuidquid latet, apparebit : 
Nil inultum remanebit. 



Sits tlie Judge, the raised arraigning 
Darkest mysteries explaining. 
Nothing unavenged remaining. 



Quid sum, miser ! tunc dioturus, 
Quern patronuni rogaturus, 
Quum vix Justus sit securus ? 



■What shall 1 then say, unfriended. 

By no advocate attended, 

When the just are scarce defended ? 



Hex trenieiuhe majestatis, 
Qui salvandos salvas gratis, 
Salva me, tons pietatis I 



King of majesty tremendous, 
By thy saving grace defend us. 
Fount of pity, safety send us ! 



Kocordare, Jesu pie, 
Quod sum causa tuai via' ; 
No me perdas ilia die ! 



9. 
Holy Jii.sus, meek, forbearing. 
For my sins the death-crown wearing. 
Save me, in that day, despairing ! 



Qua'rens me, sedisti lassus, 
Redeniisti, erucem passus : 
Tantus labor non sit cassus I 



AVorn ami weary, tliou liast sought me 
By thy cross and passion bought me — 
Spare the hope thy labors brought me ! 



Juste Judex uUionis, 
Donum fac remissiouis 
Ante diem rationis ! 



11. 
Righteous Judge of retrilmtion, 
Give, give me absolution 
Kre the day of dissolution ! 



Ingemisco taiuiuani reus, 
Culpa rubot vultus mens ; 
Supplieanti parce, Deus ! 



12. 



As a guilty culprit groaning, 
Flushed my face, my errors owning. 
Hear, God, my spirit's moaning ! 



& 



Qui Mariam absolvisti, 
Kt latronem exaudisti, 
Mihi quociue S])em dodisti. 



13. 

Thou to Mary gav'st remission, 
Heard'st the dying thief's petition, 
Bad'st nio hope in my contrition. 



-^ 



d3^- 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



315 



-a 



PrecGS nicfe non sunt dij^iia;, 
Sed tu bonus lac beiiigiie 
Ne perenui cremer igiio I 



14. 
In niy [iniyers no grace dlsccniing, 
Yet oil iiiu thy favor turning, 
Savo my soul from endless burning I 



Inter oves locum piasta, 
Et ab biedis mo seiiuestra, 
Statuens in parte dextra. 

XVI. 

Confutatis maledictis, 
Flummis acribus addictis, 
Voca me cum benedicti.s ! 

XVII. 

Oro supplex ct accliiiis, 
Cor contritum (|uitsi ciiiis, 
Gere cuiaiti niei linis ! 



Lacrymosa dies ilia, 
(^ua resurget ex faviM 
.ludicandus homo reus ; 
1 1 uic ergo parce, Deus I 

THOMAS ' 



Give me, when thy sliei'p confiding 
Tliou art from the goats dividing. 
On thy right a place aliding ! 

18. 
Wlicn tlie wicked are confounded. 
Ami liy l)ilter llames surrounded, 
lie my joyful pardon sounded ! 

17. 
Prostrate, all my guilt discerning. 
Heart as tliougli to ashes turning ; 
Save, save me from the Ijurning ! 

18. 
Day of weeping, when from ashes 
Man shall rise mid lightning flashes, — 
Guilty, trembling with contrition, 
Save him. Father, from perdition ! 

John a. Dix. 



STABAT MATER DOLOROSA. 



[A Latin poem, wi 
iJr. Ni.ilc s.iys : " T 
uicdiarval poems. "] 



ury by Jacoponc. a Fraticisc 
loit lovely, tilt /Imj /ra the 



•if Umbri.i. Of this .ind the two prcccdini: jKictos 
ubiime, and the Stadae Afa/er the most pathetic, of 



iStaiiat Mater dolorosa 
Juxta cnicriii 1,1.1 \ nil, .:i, 

Dun. |i-ii'i' l.ii lilius; 
Cujus aiiiiiKiin I'liiiriiii Ml, 
Contristatam et ilolcntem, 

Pertransivit gladius. 



1. 

Stooii the afllicted mother wi-cjiing, 
Near tlie cross her station keeping 

Whereon liung her Son and Lord ; 
Through whose spirit sympathizing, 
Sorrowing and agonizing. 

Also passed tlie cruel sword. 



quam tiistis et afllicta, 
Fuit ilia bi-iicdiita 

Mati-r iiuigeiiiti, 
Qua; mo'i-eliat et ilolebat, 
Pia mater, duin videbat 

Nati pa-nas inclyti ! 



Oh ! how mournful and distrcssJid 
Was that favored and most blessed 

Mother of the only Son, 
Treiiibling, grieving, bosom heaving, 
While perceiving, scarce believing, 

Pains of that Illustrious One ! 



U-- 



Quia est homo <|iii non fli-ret, 
(-'liristi matreni si viJeret 

In tanto supplicio ? 
Quis non posset contristari 
Piam matrem contemplari 

Dolentem cum filio ? 



Who the man, who, calleil a brother. 
Would not weep, saw lie Christ's mother 

In sueh deep distress and wild ? 
Who could not sad tribute render 
Witnessing that mother tender 

Agonizing with her child ? 



-^ 



fl- 



316 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



-^ 



Pro peccatis sufe gentis, 
Vidit Jesum in tormentis, 

Et flagellis subditum. 
Vidit suum dulcem iiatvini, 
Morientem, desolatuiii, 

Dum emisit spiiitum. 



Eia mater, fons nmoris, 
Me sentire vim doloris 

Fac, ut tecum lugeam. 
Fao ut ardeat cor meum 
In amando Christum Deum, 

Ut illi oomplaceam. 



Sancta Mater, istud agas, 
Cruciiixi fige plagis 

Cordi meo valide. 
Tui nati vulnerati, 
Tam dignati pro me pati, 

Poenas mecum divide 

VII. 

Fac me vere tecum Here, 
Crucifixo condolere. 

Donee ego vixero ; 
Juxta crucem tecum stare, 
Et tibi me sociare 

In planctu desidero. 



Virgo virginum praclara, 
Mihi jam non sis amara ; 

Fac me tecum plangere; 
Fac ut portem Christi mortem, 
Passionis fac consortem, 

Et plagas recolere. 



Fac me plagis vulnerari, 
Cruce hac inebriari, 

Et cruore filii ; 
Inflammatus et aecensus. 
Per te, Virgo, sim defensus 

In die judicii. 



Fac me cruce custodiri, 
Morte Christi priemuniri, 

Confoveri gratia. 
Quando corpus niorietur, 
Fac ut auimse donetur 

Paradisi gloria. 



4. 

For his people's sins atoning. 
Him she saw iu torments groaning, 

Given to the scourger's rod ; 
Saw her darling olfspriug dying. 
Desolate, forsaken, crying, 

Yield his spirit up to Uod. 



Make me feel thy sorrow's power, 
That with thee I tears may shower. 

Tender mothei', fount of love ! 
Make my heart with love unceasing 
Burn toward Christ the Lord, that pleasing 

I may be to him above. 



Holy mother, this be granted. 

That the slain one's wounds be planted 

Firmly in my heart to bide. 
Of him wounded, all astounded — 
Depths unbounded for me sounded — 

All the pangs with me divide. 



Make me weep with thee in union ; 
'With the Crucified, communion 

In his grief and suffering give ; 
Near the cross, with tears unfailing, 
I would join thee in thy wailing 

Here as long as I shall live. 



Maid of maidens, all excelling ! 
Be not bitter, me repelling ; 

JIake thou me a mourner too ; 
Make me bear about Christ's dying, 
Share his passion, shame defying ; 

All his wounds in me renew. 



Wound for wound be there created ; 
'With the cross intoxicated 

For thy Son's dear sake, I pray — 
May I, fired with pure affection, 
Virgin, have through thee protection 

In the solemn Judgment Day. 

10. 
Let me by the cross be warded. 
By the death of Christ be guarded, 

Nourished by divine sujiplies. 
■When the body death hath riven. 
Grant that to the soul be given 

Glories bright of Paradise. 



U^ 



Fra Jacopone. 



f 



POEMS OF RELIGIOX. 



VENI SANCTE SPIRITtrS. 
1 the tenth century by Robeit II., the gentle son of Hugh Capet It is often i 



tinned as second in ranl^ 



Vexi, Sancte Spiritus, 
Et eniitte calitus 
Lucis tuse latlium. 



Come, Holj- Ghost ! thou fire duine ! 
From highest heaven on us doivn shine 1 
Comforter, be thy comfort mine ! 



Veni, pater pauperum, 
Veui, dator munerum, 
Veni, lumen cordium. 



2. 
Come, Father of the poor, to earth ; 
Come, with thy gifts of precious worth ; 
Come, Light of all of mortal birth ! 



Consolator optime, 
Dulcis hospes animae, 
Dulce refrigeriimi. 



Thou rich in eomfoit ! Ever blest 
The heart where thou art constant gncst, 
Who giv'st tlie liea%'y-laden rest. 



In labore requies, 
In iestu temperies, 
In fletu solatium. 



Come, thou in whom our toil is sweet, 
Our shadow in the noon-day heat, 
Before whom mourning flieth fleet. 



lux beatissima ! 
Reple cordis intima, 
Tuorum fidelium. 



5. 

Bright Sun of Grace ! thy .sunshine dart 
On all who cry to thee apart. 
And fiU with gladness everv heart. 



Sine tuo numine. 
Nihil est in homine, 
Nihil est innoxium. 



Whate'er without thy aid is wrought, 
Or skillful deed, or wisest thought, 
God counts it vain and merely naught. 



Lava quod est sordidum, 
Riga quod est aridum, 
Sana quod est sauciuni. 



cleanse us that we sin no more, 
O'er parchW souls thy waters pour ; 
Heal the sad heart that acheth sore. 



Flecte quod est rigidum, 
Fove quod est frigidum, 
Eege quod est devium. 



Thy will be ours in all our ways ; 
melt the frozen with thy rays ; 
Call home the lost in error's maze. 



Da tuis fidelibus, 
In te confidentibus, 
Sacrum septenarium ; 



And grant us, LoiiD, who cry to thee, 
And hold the Faith in unity, 
Thy precious gifts of charity ; 



&-- 



X. 

Da virtutis meritum, 
Da salutis exitum, 
Da perenne gaudium ! 
Robert II.. ( 



10. 
Tliat we may live in holiness, 
And find in death our happiness. 
And dwell with thee in lasting bliss ! 

CAl MARINE WINKWORTH, 



^ 



a^- 



318 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



-^ 



[This hymn, one of the r 
The better opLnion, hovvc 
Century.] 



VENI CREATOR SPXRITUS. 



important in the service of the Latin Church, has been sometimes attributed to the Emperor Charlemagne, 
inclines to Pope Gregory I., called the Great, as the author, and fixes its orijjin somewhere in the Sixth 



Veni, Creator Spiritus, 
Mentes tuorum visita, 
Imple superua gratia, 
Quse tu oreasti pectora. 



1. 
Creator Spirit, by whose aid 
The world's foundations first were laid. 
Come visit every pious mind, 
Come pour thy joys on human kind ; 
From sin and sorrow set us free, 
And make thy temples worthy thee. 



Qui diceris Paraclitus, 
Altissimi doiiuin Dei, 
Fous vivus, ignis, caritas, 
Et spiritalis unctio. 



source of uncreated light. 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ; 
Come, and thy sacred miction bring, 
To sanctify us while we sing. 



Tu septiformis munere, 
Dextrse Dei tu digitus 
Tu rite promissum Patria, 
Sennone ditans guttura. 



Plenteous of grace, descend from high. 

Rich in thy seven-fold energy ! 

Thou strength of his almighty h;iud, 

Whose power does heaven and earth command! 

Proceeding Spirit, our defense. 

Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, 

And crown'st thy gift with elotjuence ! 



Accende lumen sensibus, 
Infimde amoreni cordibus, 
lufirraa nostri corporis 
Virtute firmans perpeti. 



Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
But, 0, inflame and fire our hearts ! 
Our frailties help, our vice control, 
Submit the senses to the soul ; 
And when rebellious they are grown, 
Then lay thy hand and hold 'em down. 



Hostem repcllas longius, 
Pacemque dones protinus : 
Ductore sic te prievio 
Vitemus omne noxium. 



Chase from our minds th' infernal foe, 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 
And, lest our feet should step astray, 
Protect and guide us on the way. 



Per te sciamus da Patrem, 
Noscamus attjue Filium ; 
Te utriusque Spirituui 
Credamus omni tempore. 

VII. 

Deo Patri sit gloria 
Et Filio qui a mortuis 
Sun'exit, ac Paraclito, 
In sseculonim SEecula. 

ST. Gregory the Great. 



Make us eternal truths receive. 
And practice all that we believe ; 
Give us thyself, that we may see 
The Father and the Son by thee. 

7. 
Immortal honor, endless fame. 
Attend the Almighty Father's name ; 
The Saviour Son be glorified, 
Wlio for lost man's redemption died ; 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to thee. 



la-- 



-^ 



a- 



POEMS OF RELIGIOX. 



1.-^ 



B-- 



VEXILLA REGIS. 

The Royal Banners forward go ; 
The cross shines forth in mystic glow ; 
Where He in flesli, our Hesh who made, 
Our sentence bore, our ransom jfaid ; 

Where deep for us the spear was dyed. 
Life's torrent rushing from his side, 
To wash us in that precious flood 
Where mingled water flowed, and blood. 

Fulfilled is all that David told 

In true prophetic song of old ; 

Amidst the nations God, saith he. 

Hath reigned and triumphed from the tree. 

Tree of Beauty ! Tree of Light ! 
Tree with royal purple dight ! 
Elect on whose triumphal breast 
Those holy limbs should find their rest ; 

On whose dear arms, so widely flung, 
The weight of this world's ransom hung, 
The price of human kind to pay. 
And spoil the Spoiler of his prey I 

Cross, our one reliance, hail ! 
This holy Passion-tide, avail 
To give fresh merit to the saint, 
And pardon to the penitent. 

To thee, eternal Three in One, 
Let homage meet by all be done ; 
Whom by the Cross thou dost restore. 
Preserve and govern evennore ! 



SAVinrr,, when in dust to thee 
Low we bend the adoring knee ; 
When, repentant, to the skies 
Scarce we lift our weeping eyes, — 
0, by all thy pains and woe 
Suffered once for man below. 
Bending from thy throne on high, 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By thy helpless infant years ; 
By thy lil'e of want and tears ; 
By thy days of sore distress 
In the savage wilderness ; 
By the dread mysterious hour 
Of the insulting tempter's power, - 
Turn, 0, turn a favoring eye, 
Hear our solemn litany ! 



By the sacred griefs that wept 
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept ; 
By the boding tears that flowed 
Over Salem's loved abode ; 
By the anguished sigh that told 
Treacheiy lurked within thy fold, — 
From thy seat above thy sky 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By thine hour of dire despair ; 
By thine agony of prayer ; 
By the cross, the nail, the thorn. 
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn ; 
By tlie gloom that veiled the skies 
O'er the dreadful sacrifice, — 
Listen to our humble cry. 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By thy deep expiring groan ; 
By the sad sejailchral stone ; 
By the vault whose dark abode 
Held in vain the rising God ! 
0, from earth to heaven restored, 
Mighty, reaseended Lord, — 
Listen, listen to the cry 
Of our solemn litany ! 

SIR ROBERT GRAN 



THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

In the hour of my distress, 
When temptations me oppress, 
And when I my sins confess. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When I lie within my bed. 
Sick at heart, and sick in heail. 
And with doubts discomforteil. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the house doth sigh and weep, 
And the world is drowned in sleep. 
Yet mine eyes the watch do kecj). 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the artless doctor sees 
No one Iiope but of his fees. 
And his skill runs on the lees. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When his potion and his pill 
Has or none or little skill. 
Meet for nothing but to kill, — 
Sweet Spii-it, comfort me ! 

When the passing-bell dotli toll. 
And the Furies, in a shoal. 
Come to fright a parting soul, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 



-^ 



[IJ- 



320 



POEMS OF HKUaiON. 



-a 



Wlu'ii the tiiimis imw Imrii liliu', 

And Uic cimirnrtorN iirc low, 

Anil Hull imiiilKT luorc llinii ln\i\ 

Sw,M'( Spilil, ,',.|lll'nlt lllol 

W'hoii 111!' prii'sl his last liiilli \>myn\. 
Ami 1 noil lo wlml is sniil 
liofimsr luy spi'iH'li is now ilrciiyi'il, 
SwiH'l Spiril, I'liiiiloil nw ! 

WhoM. Oinl knows, I 'ni tost iibont 
Kitlior with .losimir or iloiilit. 
Yot Ivloio tlio j{lass lio out, 

Swri'l .'^piiil, .MMul'oit nil' I 

Wli.Mi till' ti'inpti'i' nn> imi-sn'tli 
Will. 111., sins ol' nil my vonlli. 
Ami luill'iliinins im' with iinlnitli, 
Swi'i'l Spirit, i-omlorl nic ' 

\Vli,.n llu' ll.iim's.iml lu'llisli nios 
Krij;lil niino I'lirs, ami I'riiilit miuo oyi's, 
Ami all li'iTors nic surprise, 

Swoi'l Spiril, ooiiit'ort \\\v ! 

Wlu'ii lliojmljjnuMil is ivvnilwl, 

All. I lliMl opcMii'il wliioli was soalinl, — 

Wli.il to tlu'o 1 havo appoaloil, 

Swoi'l Si.irit, .•onil'.irt u\v ! 



O riior .'ti-riKil dm. ! wli.iso pivsoiic,. lirijjht 
All spaoo a.illi o.'i'iipy, all motion >;iii.lo ; 
I'm-linnjjoil tlirovijjli timo's all-iloviistatiiifiUijjlit ; 
'I'hon only (unl ! 'I'lioiv is no (!inl liosiilo ! 
Ui'int; aliovo all lu>inJ^! ! Tluvi' in ono ! 
Whom nono ran oompix'lu'ml, ami uoiic oxploiv. 
Who lill'st oxistoiu'o with Wi ;/,«■(/' alouo ; 
Kuihrai'inj; all, supporting, niliii); o'er ! 
Iloing whom wo oall tioil — ami know no more ! 

In its suhlinii" rosi'iurh, philosophy 
May n\i'asiiro out tho ocean ilcop, — n\ay I'onnt 
'I'ho samia or tho sun's rays, — l>nt (loil I lor Ihoo 
Tiu'ii' is no woight nov moasuiv ; — none can 

mount 
I'l' to thy uiystcrioa. licasou's brightest spark, 
'I'liough kin.Ucil l>y tl>y light, in vain \v<uiUl try 
To Inicc thy counsels, inliuitc ami dark ; 
And thouglit is lost crc lli.nii;ht can soar so 

high, — 
K'cn like past n\omcnts in ctcrnily. 

Thou I'rom primeval nothingness didst call, 
Kirst chaos, then existence : - I.011I I on thei 



Eternily had it» f'ouiulation ; — all 

Sprung" rortli from tliec, of light, joy, liarinony. 

Sole origin ; - all lil'c, all beauty, thine. 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 

Thy splendor tills all space with rays divine ; 

Thon art, niid werl, and shalt he I lilorioiin. 

Light -giving, lile-sustiuuing I'otciiliitc ! 

'I'hy chains tlui nnmeasnred uiiivers.. sur- 
round ; 
I'pheld by tliee, by thee iiispirc.l willi brciilh ' 
'I'hon tlie'beginniiig with the cii.l liasl b..un.l, 
And beanlil'uUy nungled life and deiilh ! 
.\s sparks mount upward I'nmi the liery bla/e. 
So suns arc born, so worl.ls spring lorlh I'r.im 

thee, 
And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
or h.'avi'n's bright army glillers in thy jiraiso. 

A million torches, lighted by Ihy hand, 
Waiuhr unwearied through tlie blue abyss : 
They own Ihy power, accomplish Ihy coniniaml, 
All giiv with'lil'e, all elo.inent with i.lisa. 
What sliall we call tliein I Tyres of crystal liglil, 
.\ glorious company of golden streams, 
l.auips of celestial ether burning bright. 
Suns lighting systems with tlieir Joyful beams ! 
Hut thou lo Ihese art as the noon lo nighl, 

Yes ! as a .Irop of water in the sea. 
All Ibis magnilieeuce ill thee is lost ; — 
What ai,' I.Mi Ihousaii.l worl.ls compare.l to thee? 
An.l ubal am / th.ii ' Heaven's iiiimiiiibcred 

host. 
Thongli imiltiplicd by myria.ls, an.l arrayed 
In ali the glory of subliincsl thonghl. 
Is but an atom in the bahiiice weighed 
.\gainst thy gix<aliies8, — is u cipher brought 
Against inlinity ! What am / then ? Naught I 
Naught ! lint the elllucuce of thy light divine, 
IVrvading worlds, lialh reached my bosom too ; 
Yes, '.. .«iy spirit doth thy spirit shine. 
As shines the smibeam in a drop of dew. 

Naught f but 1 live, and 011 hope's pinions lly 
Kager toward thy pivsence ; for in thee 
1 live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high 
Kveii to the throne of thy divinity. 
1 am, t5od ! and suivly llioii must be I 
Thou art ! directing, guiding all, thou art ! 
nirect my understanding then to thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart ; 
Thougli but an atom mi.lst iinmensity, 
Still I am something, fashioned by thy haml. 
I hold a middle rank, 'twixt heaven an.l .nrth. 
tin the last verge of mortal being stiind. 
Close to the ivalui wheiv nugels have their birth, 
.Inst on the boundaries of the spirit land I 
'I'he chain of being is complete in me ; 
In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
.Vn.l the next step is spirit — l>eity ! 



4J-- 



^ 



f 



l'()KMH 0I<' UKLiaiON. 



;i2i 



ii 



L 



I can (.•oitiiriiirjil lliu liglitiiiii/{, fiml am duHt ! 
A inon;iM:)i, anil h hIuvo ; ii wonii, ii t;iii| ! 
Wlii:iic:(! i-uiiio I lii.ii', ami liDW ? HO iniirvuloiiHly 
<;i)MHlriii;li:il iiiiil rijiiceivcdf IJlikiiowii! tliin 

do.l 
\Avm Hiin.-ly tlirouj^li hoiiid liiglii;r energy ; 
Kor Iroiii iUoir almji: il i;r)[i)i| uii\. Im ! 
Cri'al.c>f, yi;« I 'I'liy wIhiIoiij ami tijy wonl 
OrwiUiil 7»,c/ 'l')ioii HOiiini; of lilV' ami (^ood ! 
'I'tiou Hjiirit of my n|)irit, ami my Lonl ! 
'I'liy IIkIiI, lliy love, in tin; l;ii({lil plcnitinlc;, 
Filli'il Mi(; witlj im immoital kouI, to npring 
(>vc;r tin; aliyHit of ilwillj, ami liaili; il, woaf 
Till! gaiim;ntH of utcinal ilay, ami wing 
lit) lii;avi:nly fliglil licyomi Uiij lillli) biiIioid 
Kvi:n 1,0 it,H KOili'cc, — to tlii;i:, its iiiillioi- llifru. 

O Uiou)^litn im;flaljl(! ! vi«ionH lilrjut ! 
TlioLigli wiii11i1i;h» our i;om:i![jtion all of lliwi, 
Vi;t Hliall lliy nliiulowwl ima;;o fill our liraiMt, 
Ami waft il» lioina;{i; to thy l>i;ily. 
'ioil ! lliuH aloni! my lonuly tlion;{lrln ciui Hour ; 
'I'lniH w.i-k lliy H7c;Honi;<!, licinj; vi'm: ami good ; 
Miil;il lliy va«t woiltH ailniiio, oln-y, lulori! ; 
Ami, wlii'ii llio tongun Ih cloijucnt no more, 
Till; Noiil idiall H]ii:ak in tears of gratitudo. 

Jirom tlic Kun^lnti ii( IJim;!tlAVrN, 

by fjK, ItOWKINC 



Tiior', wlio doHt dwell alom: ; 
Tlioii, wliodoHt know tliinft own ; 
'I'liou, to wlioni nil an; known, 
Kioni till- i:radli; to tlic gravd, — 
Siivi;, f», Havi; ! 

Kroni till: worM'H li;niptationB ; 
Kroiii IrilMilatiomt ; 
From lliat (ii;ri;r; anguinli 
Wlii:ri:in wo liinguiHli ; 
I'Voin lliat torfior diji;]) 
Wlir-ri:in W(; lii: imli;i,-ji. 
Heavy m diatli, cold uh tin; grave, — 
Have, O, nave I 

When thoHoul, growing eli-arer, 

Seen God no nearer ; 

When the donl, mounting higher, 

To God comeH no nigher ; 

lint the areh-liend I'ride 

MountB at her Hide, 

Foiling her high ernjirize, 

.Sealing her eagle eyen. 

And, when »lie lain would Koar, 

MakeH idol» t'j ailore ; 

Changing the pure emotion 

Of her high devotion, 



To a 8kin-i|ei'|i wnne 
Of her own eloi|Ueiiee ; 
.Strong to ilei'i'ive, titrong to emdavc, — 
Save, (), Have I 

From the ingrained hi»hioii 
Of thin wuilily nature 
That inaiH thy ereature ; 
I'roni grief, lliat in hut |«iHHion j 
From mirth, that Ih hut feigning; 
Fiom learn, that bring no healing ; 
I'lum wild and weak eonipliuning ; — 
Thine old ulrenglh revealing, 
.Save, O Have I 

From doubt, where all in douMe, 
Where wiHe men are not ntiong ; 
Wlii;re iiiimfort turnn to Iroulile j 
Where jiihl men Hufler wrong ; 
Where Borrow treadB on joy; 
Where Bweet lliingB B4)oneHt eloy ; 
Where liiithB are huill on iIiibI ; 
Where love Ib half mlBlniBl, 
Ilungiy, and barren, and Bharp uj) the hvu ; 
O, Hi,-l UH fri;e ! 

O, let the falne dream lly 
Where our hiek bduIb do lie, 
Tonning eonlinually. 
' ), where thy voiie doth eoinc, 
Let all doiiblB be dumb ; 
Let all worilB U: mild ; 
All Btrife be reeoneilcd ; 
All jiaim* beguiled. 
Light bring no blindnewi ; 
l.ovi! no unkindneBH; 
Knowledge no rain ; 
Fear no undoing, 
I'rom the eriwlle to the grave, — 
Have, 0, Have ! 



MV OOD, I LOVE TUBE, 

Mv God, I love thee I not bceaiwc 
I hope foi- heaven thereby; 

Nor bceaUBe thoHC wlio love thee not 
MiiBt burn eternally. 

Thou, my .leBUB, thou didnt me 

L'|>on the eroBs ernbraee I 
For me didHt bear tlie riailB and Bj«;ar, 

And manifold di«gra/;e. 

Ami giiefH and tonncntx numlKjrlcdo, 

A ml Bweat of agony. 
Yea, death itnelf, - and all for one 

Tliat WHH thine enemy. 



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322 



POEMS OF RELIGIOX. 



'*~Bi 



Then why, blessed Jesus Christ, 
Should 1 not love thee well ? 

Not for the hope of winning heaven, 
Nov of escaping hell ; 

Not with the hope of gaining aught, 

Not seeking a reward ; 
But as thyself hast loved rae, 

everlasting Lord ! 

E'en so I love thee, and will love. 
And iu thy praise will sing, ^ 

Solely beeause thou art my God, 
And mv eternal King. 



[Founded < 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 



riginal c 

MOTHER dear, Jerusalem, 

When shall I come to thee ? 
When shall my sorrows have an end, — 

Thy joys wlien sluiU I see ? 

happy harbor of God's saints ! 

sweet and pleasant soil ! 
In thee no sorrow can be found. 

Nor grief, nor cave, nor toil. 

No dimly cloud o'erehadows thee. 
Nor gloom, nor darksome night ; 

But every soul shines as the sun. 
For God himself gives light. 

Thy walls are made of precious stone, 

Thy bulwarks diamond-square, 
Thy gates are all of orient pearl, — 

God ! if I were there ! 

my sweet home, Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys when shall 1 see ? — 
The King sitting upon thy throne. 

And tiiy felicity ' 

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks 

Continually are green, 
Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 

As nowhere else are seen. 

Quite through the streets with pleasing sound 

The Hood of life doth flow ; 
And on the banks, on every side, 

The trees of life do gix)w. 

Those trees each month yield ripened fruit ; 
Forevermore they spring. 



And all the nations of the earth 
To thee their honors bring. 

Jerusalem, GckI's dwelling-place 

Full sore 1 long to see ; 
C> that my sorrows had an end, 

That 1 might dwell in thee ! 

I long to see Jerusalem, 

The comfort of us all ; 
For thou art fair and beautiful, — 

None ill can thee befall. 

No candle needs, no moon to shine, 

No glittering star to light ; 
For Christ the King of Kighteousness 

Forever shineth bright. 

0, passing happy were my state, 

Jlight I be worthy found 
To wait upon my God and King, 

His praises there to sound I 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem 1 

Thy joys fain would 1 see ; 
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief, 

And take me home to thee ! 

DAviij Dickson. 



DROP, DROP, SLOW TEARS. 

Drop, drop, slow tears, 

And bathe those beauteous feet 
Which brought from heaven 

The news and prince of peace ! 
Cease not, wet eyes, 

His mercies to entreat ; 
To cry for vengeance 

Sin doth never cease ; 
In your deep floods 

Drown all my faults and fears ; 
Nor let his eye 

See sin but through my tears. 

I'HINEAS Fletch 



DARKIfESS IS THINNTNO. 

P.\RKXEs.<! is thinning ; shadows are reti-eating ; 
Morning and light are coming in their beauty ; 
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry, 
God the Almighty ! 

So that our Master, having mercy on us, 
May repel languor, may bestow salvation. 
Granting us, Father, of thy loving-kindness 
Glorv hereafter ! 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



323 



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This, of his mercy, ever-blessed Godliead, 
Father, and Son, and Holy Sjjirit, give us, — 
Whom through the wide world celebrate forever 
Blessing and glory ! 



DELIGHT IN GOD. 

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth, — 
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good ; 

She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; 
Slie is my tender nurse, she gives me food : 
But what 's a creature. Lord, comiiarcj with 

thee? 
Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me ? 

I love the air, — her dainty sweets refresh 
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ; 

Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their 

flesh, 

And with their polyphonian notes delight me ; 

But what 's the air, or all the sweets that she 

Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee ? 

I love the sea, — she is my fellow-creature. 
My careful purveyor ; slie provides me store ; 

She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater ; 
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : 
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee. 
What is the ocean or her wealth to me ? 

To heaven's high city I direct my journey. 
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye ; 

Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney. 
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky : 
But what is heaven, great God, compared to 

thee? 
Without thy presence, heaven 's no heaven to 



Without tliy presence, earth gives no refection ; 

W^ithout thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; 
Without thy presence, air 's a rank infection ; 

Without thy presence, heaven 's itself no pleas- 
ure : 

If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, 

Wliat 's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to mel 

The highest honors that the world can boast 
Are subjects far too low for my desire ; 

The brightest beams of glory are, at most. 
But dying sparkles of thy li\'ing fire ; 
The loudest flames that earth can kindle be 
But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee. 

Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ; 
Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet — sadness ; 



Friendship Is treason, and delights are snares ; 
Plea-sures but pain, and mirth but pleasing 

madness ; 
Without thee. Lord, things be not what they be. 
Nor have their being, when compared with thee. 

In having all things, and not thee, what have I ? 

Not having thee, what have my labors got ? 
Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave 1 ? 

And having thee alone, what have 1 not ? 

I wish nor sea nor land ; nor would I be 

Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of 
thee ! 

FRANCIS QUARLES. 



A THANKSGIVING FOR HIS HOUSE. 

LoKD, thou hast given me a cell. 

Wherein to dwell ; 
A little house, whose humble roof 

Is weather-proof. 
Under the spars of which I lie 

Both soft and dry ; 
Wliere thou, my chamber for to ward, 

Hast set a guard 
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 

Me while I sleep. 
Low is my porch, as is my fate. 

Both void of state ; 
And yet the tlueshold of my door 

Is worn by the poor, 
Wlio hither come, and freely get 

Good words or meat. 
Like as my parlor, so my hall, 

And kitchen small ; 
A little buttery, and therein 

A little bin, 
Wliich keeps my little loaf of bread 

Unchi]>t, unllead. 
Some brittle sticks of thorn oi- brier 

Make me a fire, 
Close by whose living coal I sit. 

And glow like it. 
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, 

The pulse is thine, 
And all those other bits that be 

There placed by thee. 
The worts, the purslain, and the mess 

Of water-cress. 
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent : 

And my content 
Makes those, and my belove<l beet. 

To be more sweet. 
'T is thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 

With guiltless mirth ; 
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, 
Spiced to the brink. 



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524 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



-^ 



Lord, 't is thy plenty-dropping liand 

Tliiit sows my laiul : 
All this, and better, dost tliou send 

iMe for tins end : 
Tliiit 1 shovild render for my jiart 

A tlumUful heart. 
Which, tired with ineense, I resign 

As wholly thine : 
But tlie acceptance — that must be, 

Lord, by thee. 



'WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEI- 
THER SHADOW OF TURNING." 

It fortifies my soul to know- 
That, though I perish. Truth is so 
'I'hat, liowsoe'er I stray and range, 
Wliate'i'r 1 do. Thou dost not change. 
1 steadiei- step when 1 recall 
That, if 1 slip, Thou dost not fall. 

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUCH. 



TWO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE TO PRAY. 

Two went to pray ? 0, rather say. 
One went to brag, the other to pray ; 

One stands up close and treads on high. 
Where the other daros not lend his eye ; 

Oue nearer to God's altar trod, 
The other to the altar's God. 

KICUAKD CRASHAW. 



THE PILGRIMAGE. 

Give me my scallop-slicU of quiet. 

My staff of faith to walk upon ; 
My scrip of joy, immortal diet; 

My bottle of salvation ; 
My gown of glory, hope's true gauge, 
And tlius I '11 take my pilgrimage ! 
liloinl MUist be mv body's 'balmer, 
Nn „tlicr balm will tlicre be given ; 
Whilst my soul, like nuiot palmer, 
Traveleth towards the land of Heaven, 
Over the silver mount^iins 
Where spring the nectar fountains. 
There will I kiss the bowl of bliss, 
And ilrink mine everlasting lill 
LT^pon every milkeu hill. 
My soul will be a-dry before. 
But after, it will thirst no more. 
Then by that happy, blissful day. 
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see. 



That have cast off their rags of clay, 

And walk appareled fresh like me. 

I '11 take them first to quench their thirst, 

And taste of nectar's suckets 

At those clear wells where sweetness dwells 

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. 

And when our bottles and all we 

Are tilled with immortality, 

Tlien the blest paths wc 'U travel, 

Strewed with rubies thick as gravel, — 

Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire iloors, 

High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. 

From thence to Heaven's bribelcss hall, 

AVhere no corrupted voices brawl ; 

No conscience molten into gold. 

No forged accuser, bought or sold, 

No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, 

For there Christ is the King's Attorney ; 

Who pleads for all without degrees. 

And ho hath angels, but no fees ; 

And when the grand twelve-million jury 

Of our sins, with direful fury, 

'Gainst our souls black verdicts give, 

Christ pleads his death, and then wo live. 

Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader, 

Unblotted lawyer, true prooeeder ! 

Thou giv'st salvation even for alms, — 

Not with a bribed lawyer's palms. 

And this is mine eternal plea 

To Him that made lieaven, earth, and sea, 

That, since my flesh must die so soon. 

Ami want a head to dine next noon. 

Just at the stroke when my veins start and s[)read, 

Set on my soul an everlasting head : 

Then am I, like a palmer, fit 

To tread those blest paths which before 1 writ. 

Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, 

Who oft doth think, must lU'cds die well. 



A TRUE LENT. 

Is this a fast. — to keep 
Tlie larder lean. 
And clean 
From fat of veals and sheep ? 

Is it to quit the dish 

Of flesh, vet still 
To fill 
The platter high with fish \ 

Is it to fast an hour. 
Or rag'il to go. 
Or show 
A downcast look, and sour ? 



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f 



I'UKMS UF RELIGION. 



^^ 



No ! 't is a fast to dole 

Tliy sheaf of wheat, 
And meat, 
Unto the hungry soul. 

It is to fast from strife, 
From old debate 
And liate, — 
To circumcise thy life. 

To show a heart grief-rent ; 
To starve thy sin. 
Not bin, — 
And that 's to keeii thy Lent. 



A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 

Long pored St. Austin o'er the .sacn.'d jiage, 

And doubt and darkness overspread his mind ; 
On God's mysterious being thought the .Sage, 

The Triple Person in one Godhead joiiieil. 

The more he thought, the harder did lie find 
To solve the various doubts which fast a lose ; 

And as a ship, caught by imperious wind. 
Tosses where chance its shattered body throws. 
So tossed his troubled soul and nowliere found 
repose. 

Heated and feverish, then he closed his toine. 

And went to wander by the ocean-side, 
Where the cool breeze at evening loved to come, 

Murmuring responsive to the murmuring tide ; 

And as Augustine o'er its maigent wide 
Strayed, deeply pondering the puzzling theme, 

A little child before him he espied : 
In earnest labor did the urchin seem, 
Working with heart intent close by the sounding 
stream. 

He looked, and saw the child a hole had scooped, 

Shallow and narrow in the shining sand. 
O'er which at work the laboring infant stoojied. 

Still pouring water in with busy hand. 

The saint addressed the child in accents bland : 
"Fair boy," quoth he, "I pray what toil is thine? 

Let me its end and purpose understand." 
The boy replied : ' ' An easy task is mine, 
To sweep into this hole all the wide ocean's brine. " 

" foolish boy ! " the saint e.xclaimed, "to hope 
That the broad ocean in that hole should lie ! " 

" foolish saint ! " e.xclaimed the boy ; "thyscope 
Is still more hopeless than the toil I ply. 
Who think'st to comprehend God's nature high 

In the small compass of thine human wit ! 
Sooner, Augustine, sooner far, shall I 

Confine the ocean in this tiny pit. 

Than finite minds conceive God's nature infinite ! " 

ANONYMOUS. 



I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT DIVINE — 

I WOULD I were an excellent divine 
That had the Bible at my fingers' ends ; 

That men might hear out of this mouth of mine 
How God doth make his enemies liis friends ; 

liather than with a thundering and long prayer 

Be led into presumption, or despair. 

This would I be, and would none other be, 
I5ut a religious servant of my God ; 

Anil know there is none other God but he. 
And willingly to suffer mercy's rod, — 

Joy in his gi-ace, an<l live but in his love, 

And seek my bliss Init in the world al>ove. 

And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer. 
For all estates within the .stite of grace. 

That careful love might never know despair, 
Nor servile fear miglit faithful love deface ; 

And this would I botli day and night devise 

To make my humble spirit's exercise. . 

And I would reaii the rules of sacred life ; 

I'ersuade the troubled soul to patiiMice ; 
The husband care, and comfort to tlie wife. 

To child and servant due obedience ; 
Faith to the friend, and to the neiglilior ]icace. 
That love might live, and cjuarrels all might cease. 

Prayer for the health of all that are iliseased. 
Confession unto all that are convicted. 

And patience unto all that are disjilrased. 
And comfort unto all that are afilicted. 

And mercy unto all that have olfended. 

And grace to all, that all may be amended. 



DUM VRTMUS, VIVAMUS. 

" Live while you live ! " the epicure would say, 
" And seize the pleasures of the present day ! " 
" Live while you live ! " the sacred I'reacilier cries, 
"And give to God each moment as it flies ! " 
Lord, in my view let botli united be, 
I live in jileasure while 1 live to thee. 

Philip doddridc.e. 



ADAM'S MORNING HYMN IN PARADISE. 

Thkse are thy glorious works. Parent of good. 
Almighty, thine this universal frame. 
Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous then 
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens 
To us invisible, or ilimly seen 
In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
Thv goodness beyond thought, and jiower divine. T 

^ ^\ 



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32(5 



J'OK.\IS OF RKLIGJON. 



Spj^vk, yo \vlu> Ih'sI oim toll, yo sous of li)?l\t, 
Aiijp'ls i IW .vii IhOikW hiiii, »iul with sonjjs 
AhiI olioml s_viu|>h»uii<s, tiny without uijtht, 
Oiivli> liis tlnvuo ivjoii-iuj; ; yo in lloiivru, 
t*\> «»tl> join, :ill yo I'lviilui^vs, to oxiol 
lliiu lii'st, Uini b\st, liiui iiiiilsl, i\iul witliout oml. 
Kivii-iwt ol'stins, \i\st ill tlio Iniiu vvfui^lit, 
\f Ivttof thou Ih'Ivuijj not to tlio iliiwu, 
Suiv|>h'ilj;i\'otMt>Y, thut oixiwu'sl the siuiliuj; luoru 
With thy hrijjht oitvUit, juuiso him iu thy sultoiv, 
Whilo liny rti'isos, thut swoot liom- of i>iii\>o, 
Thou suu, of this jji^'^tt woiiil Initli oyo luul soul, 
Aokuovvh',li!x> him thy )t''<'«l>'i' i souinl his ju'iiiso 
In thy i'toi'n«\ oovu'so, both whon thou i'liml>'st. 
And wlion hijjh i\oon hiist gjvinod, ivml \v1\im\ tliv>u 

fnll'st, 
Moo\>, thut now uu'ots tho oriont sun, now lliost, 
W'itlt tho HxihI stivis, tixoil iu thoir orh tlvut lliivs, 
Aiul y<> livo othor wmuloiinj; liivs thut inovo 
Iu mystio »l«Ui-<> not without soiij;, i\\soui\il 
Mis (imiso, who o\tt of vhukuoss oidhnl \ii> light. 
Air, and yo oh>inonts, tho ohlost hiith 
l>f N!\tui~<''s womK thut in unutoiuion nut 
IVi'iiotuul oiivlo, uuiltifoiiu, und mix 
Au>l nourish «ll thiujp!, lot your owisoloss oluu\g» 
Y»ry to our i;i\\\t Mukov still now jni»isiv 
Yi> \uists uuil oxhrtlutious, thut t\ow viso 
Kivui hill ov stoumiuj; luko, ilusky or grsty. 
Till llio sun jviinl your lUvoy skirts with j^ihl. 
In honor to tho world's i;>vut Author riso, 
Whothor to ihvk with olouds tho unooloivil sky, 
t>r wot tho thirsty iMith with fuUins showoi's, 
Kisiujj or fullius, still uilvauvv his uraistv 
llisiH'!Us«\yow»uils, thut l\vn\ four miartors Wow, 
U>\>!>thosoftorloud ; uiul wuvoyonrtoiv^. yo\nui>s. 
With ovory plant, iu sij;i> of worship wuvo. 
Kountains, un>l yo that wavhlo, as yo How, 
MoUniious in\irn\ui's, wuvhliuj; t\iuo his imiistv, 
,loii> voii'ivs, all yo livinjj s\>uls ; yo l>ii\ls, 
Thut siu^i'iu^j' m> to lloiwou-jrulo asoouil, 
l>oi>v on your wiujis ami iii your uolivs his jiraiso. 
Yo that in wutoi-s j;li>lo, ami yo thut wulk 
Tho w\rtl\, auil statoly ti>>)\d, or lowly oivoiv 
Witiu<ss if I tH> silont, morn or ovon. 
To hill or vulloy, t'ouututn or tWsh shudo, 
Mudo vwul hy u\y sons;, uud tuvijtht his prtus<\ 
lluil, rinivorsul l.oixl ! Ki Ivnutoous still 
To )jiv<> us only gvHnl ; and if tho i\i);ht 
Have j;!st1ioivd attj»ht of ovil, or oouowUihI, 
Pisiwrso it, as iu»w %ht disiwla tJ>o dark, 

Maixw 



I j(o to I'huivli ; hoi)! mo to wings, und 1 
Will thithor llio; 
Oi, if I m.'iml uiilo tho skio. 
1 Mill do moiv, 

Man is all woukiiosso : thoiv is no suoh thiiii; 
As Primo or Kin;; : 
His urui is short ; vol with u slinjc 
Ho may do uuuv. 

A horh dosiillod, aiul drunk, nn>y dwoll noxt iloor»i. 
Oh tho Siuuo llooi-ii. 
To u Imwo soul ; V'.xult tho jvooiv, 
Thoy oun ilo i\ioiv, 

0, raiso mo I lion I (looiv hoos, that Wvuk uU day, 
Stiuj; my doluy. 
Who havo a work, us woU us thoy. 
And mnoh, muoh moiv. 

v'.llOKC.ti UtlKltUKr. 



TRAISK, 



6-- 



To writo a vors<< or two is all tho praiso 
Thut I oau Riiso ; 
Moud my ostato in suiy way<>s. 
Thou slialt havo numv 



IU' 1111.1.. 

PoKs tho ixwd wind u|> hill all ilio way f 

)'i\«, lo the ivri; i-ik^. 
AVill tho day's jonnM<y tnko tho wholo louj; duy ( 

fSvm movH lo itij/A/, wji t'rir'O't, 

Hut is thoi"p for tho nijjht a ivstiujM>luoo ? 

.•\ ivof for whon llio slow dark luuu's hoijin I 
May not tho ilurknoss hido it flvm my faoo t 

I'oM MWiurf mi'.** thill inn. 

Shall I moot othor wayfaiws ut tiight I 

ThiKirf ii'Ai" Amy ijinie Ix'/my, 
Thon mu»t I kuook, or oull whon just iu sijtht t 

Thi'ji trill mil Aw;i j/oii aliimlini) lU thai </<>i>r. 

Shall 1 tiud oomfort, travol-aow and w<x\k • 

ti'"/,iNir jA'M shall ^tinil thf sum. 
Will thoiv 1h> liods for mo and all who aook • 

JVi», MisjW (til N'Ao cxmit. 

CHKlSriN* 0. ROSSItTTl 



T»K riUUAR OF THE Oa.OU». 

l.KAl<, kindly l.isl't. umid tho ouoiivliuu gloom, 

l.<>ad thou mo on ! 
Tho nijjht is dark, aud I uiu fur fivm homo, - 

l.<>)>d thou mo on ! 
Koo|i thou my t'wt ; 1 do iu>t ivsk to soo 
Tlio distiiut soouis — ouo sto{> onough for uio, 

I was not ovov thus, nor ju-ayivl thut thou 

SliouUlst l«ul mo on ; 
1 lovwl to ohoivso and soo mj' jvitli. l>ut now 

l.i-jid thou mo on V 



. FT . 



I'OKMH OF TiELKHON. 



— a 

327 



43-.- 



I U/yw] tb<! garisli <ljiiy, aii'l, >i\i\tt: of hitin, 
Vi'uiK rulwl my will ; iimtumUn wA jast yftais, 

H<i hmjf tliy iM^WftC Jjath Uisiw:'! i(i<;, »ijr<: it still 

Will U-M m>t on ; 
O'er ;ii<></r afcl fijii, o'er ';iaf{ ami t'/ri<;iit, till 

'I'll"; i)i({l)t is ({f;ii« i 
Arul witlj tl)<; luijiii ihiiai: aij;{<:l Uf-m niM't 
Whicli I liav<; \iiviA \iiun »i;i<x-, sn<l l/wt awldl*. 



TllOf wlwjic swwt youth and i;arly l)0|/<« i^uUmuji 
Thy rat"; ami j;ri'«, aii'l luaik llux loi a t/i;a«ui':, 
Hea)k«ii urjl^; a Vi-iv.-r, who tuny cliaiiw 
Khy;;i<; th<;': l<< !i'>'><i, aii'i makft a l^it ol j/li«if>U)<; ; 
A vi:i»<: may (iii'l him who a sx.-iido/i IVh:* 
Awl tuui "li!li;{ht inUi a sa/.i ili'i,-. 

When th</u 'lout [/iir;c/»'j aught f within thy l/jww), 
He sure t^i <loe it, tJiou;{h it Ix; hut small ; 
'.'onsta/ii.-ix: knits tin; ifiMH, an'l niake u» sst/ywre, 
WJifcn want/^n |/l(-<i»iiie» \itxliim ua i/i thrall, 
Whohr'«ik»hi)iown l«/n'i, foH'elt';th hini«';lf : 
What nature nimUt a. iship, he n/ake» a thelf. 

IJy all mean* uw; ^jnietlmeii fj U; alone, 
Halut/: Ihyw;!!' : W;/; wlwt thy w^ul iiiA\i wear, 
iJare Ut look in thy ehest ; (or 't is thine own ; 
An-l tiirnhle up arwl 'lown wliat thou fliul'st tli*re. 
Who eann/it rest till he jiixA fellows fiu'l/;, 
He hr'ake up houw;, turns out of il'jtireis hi» 
min'h;, 

I n elotlnni, eh'rfi(i han(la//rnen'rt!W;'loth J)<;3rthe lx;ll. 
Wiwio/ne '» a trimmer thing than shoj) e'er gave, 
Kay not then, '('hl» v^ith that hn/w will <!</ well ; 
IJut, This with my 'lii/iietion will \ie brave, 

Mueli curloiniitcss': is a j)<!r|«;tijal w<><jing ; 

Nothing, with lalwr ; folly, long a doing. 

When one; thy fo<;t enters tl»e eliurch, \f: Ijare, 
Go<l i» more there tlian thou ; for thou art tWe 
Only hy hi» i«;rnus«ion. Then l,>eware, 
And make thyw;!) all reverenr* and f<s»r. 

Kne>;ling ne'er ni/iAUA hilk fct'>':kings ; quit 
thy Ktate ; 

All wjual are within tie; ehurch's gat':, 

lUtivirt u> Harmons, but to prayent numt : 
Praying '» the en<l of pre3<;hing, O, Jx; drest ! 
Stay not for th' oth<;r pin ; why thou ha»!t lost 
A joy for it worth worhk, Tlius hell doth jest 
Away thy hlcssingu, and extremely flout th';*;. 
Thy clothes b<;)Dg ti»t, but thy tsoul loow; 
ab<jut thi«. 



,/u/lge not the prea/;her ; for he is thy judge ; 
If thou mi»like him, thou wn<«iv'et him not, 
Oo<l ealleth pri«i';hing folly, IJo not grudge 
'I'o pick out treasunas from an eartlien yA. 

Th<; worst »p<aik li'^mething go*/*! ; if «// want 
»<;n»e, 

(i'M tak<ai a t<;xl, and prea/;heth \iHl'u:iiit:. 



AKCIK.NT IIVMW, 

Aur thou wrairy, art thou Languiil, art thou w/ie 

dislr'^t I 
"','ome U/ III':," isalth On* — anil, " ijumiui^, 

IJ<; at r<»it I " 
Math he njark ii> lea<l me to him — if \t): Ix: my 

gui<le ? 
(n hi« (<*t and bands are wound-prints, 

And hi« side. 
Is tli/;rediajlem, sm iif^nareh, tliat hU browadof ns '. 
y<,-:i ; a erown, In very surety, — 

IJut of thorns ! 
If I fln<l him, if I follow, wliat bus gu<;r<lon here f 
Many a wyr/ow, many a lalwr, 
Many a t'-ar ! 
[ If I still hold fdowdy U, him, wliat hath he at la»t ( 
'fy^irow yan<|uish<-j|, lal(or end'yl, 
' .lor'tan \iMvA '. 

If I ask him to re';"ive me, will lie »ay me nay ' 
Not till Mrth, and not till h'OiVviL, 

Pass away 1 
Tending, following, keeping, struggling, is h- 

sure t/; bless ? 
Angels, jnartyrs, prophets, pilgrir/ui, 
Answer " Yes!" 



TO HEAVEH AVVl'JlKCHRD A BUKI KAINT, 

To heaven app;'^;h";'l a Sufi Haint, 
Kjom groj<iiig in the darkness lat<:, 

And, tapping timidly and faint, 
IJesought admission at Oo<rs gat«. 

Bai/1 O'xl, " Wlio 8<:ftk» Ui '-.nit'i iu-.n ? " 
"'T is I, d<«ir Kriend," the fiaint replii;-!. 

And trembling mueh with hojx; and tear. 
" If it Ix; <A//M, withfjut abi/le," 

Ba/lly t/i earth the jxytr Saint tarru-A, 
To bear the scourging of life's ro<l«; 

i'ut aye his heart within him yfarnwi 
To mix and l'/s<; it« h,ive in Ood'e, 

He TimmiA alone through W';ary years, 
/)y (flTwl men still tvurmvA and m'x;ked, 

1,'nlil from faith's pure fires and t^ars 
Again he ro«e, and rnfld<«t )itiiji:k<A. 



-5 



a- 



S2S 



FUEMS OF RELIGION. 



-ft 



y- 



A i!iud GoJ, "Who now is at the door?" 

"It is thyself, bolovSd Lord," 
Answeied the Saint, in doubt no more, 

Rnt clasped and rapt in his reward. 

Iromtlic Persian of DSCIIELLALEDDIN RuMI. 
by WIT.I.IAM K. ALGHR 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 

Vital spark of heavenly llaiuu ! 
I Juit, 0, quit this mortid frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, Hying, 
0, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife. 
And let me languish into life ! 

Hark ! they whisper ; angels say. 
Sister spirit, come away ! 
■\Vhat is this absorbs me quite ? 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight. 
Drowns toy spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 

The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring : 
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
Grave ! where is thy victory ? 

Death ! whore is thy sting ? 

ALUXANDHK POPE. 



God ! though sorrow bo my fate. 
And the world's hate 

For my heart's faith pursue me, 
My peace they cannot take away ; 
From day to day 

Thou dost anew imbue me ; 
Thou art not far ; a little while 
Tliou liiil'st thy face with brighter snulo 

Thy father-love to show nie. 

Lord, not my will, but thine, bo done ; 
If 1 sink down 

When men to terrors leave me. 
Thy father-love still warms my breast ; 
All 's for the best ; 

Shall man have power to grieve me, 
When bliss eternal is my goal. 
And thou the keeper of my soul. 

Who never will deceive me ' 

Thou art my shield, as saith the Word. 
Christ Jesus, Lord, 

Thou standest pitying by me, 



And lookest ou each grief of mine 
And if 't were thine : 

What, then, though foes may try me, 
Thougli thorns be in my path concealed ! 
World, do thy worst ! God is my shield ! 

And will be ever nigh me. 

Tranblalcd from MAUV, (JuliHN OF HUNGARY. 



PER PACEM AD LUCEM. 

I DO not ask, Lord, that life may bo 

A pleasant road ; 
I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me 

Aught of its load : 

I do not ask that flowers should always spring 

Beneath my feet ; 
I know' too well the poison and the sting 

Of things too sweet. 

For one thing only. Lord, dear Lord, I plead. 

Lead me aright — 
Though strength should falter aiul though heart 
should bleed — 

Through Peace to Light. 

I do not ask, Lord, that thou sliouldst shed 

Full radiance here ; 
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 

Without a fear. 

I do not ask my cross to understand. 

My way to see ; 
Better in darkness just to feel thy hand, 

And follow thee. 

.Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine 

Like quiet night ; 
Lead ine, O Lord — till perfect day shall shine — 

Through Peace to Light. 

ADELAIDE A. PkOCTER. 



THE MARTYRS' HYMN. 

Fluno to the heedless winds, 

Or on the waters cast, 
The martyrs' ashes, watched. 

Shall gathered be at last ; 
And from that scattered dust, 

Around us and abroail. 
Shall spring a plenteous seed 

Of witnesses for CJod. 

The Father hath received 
Their latest living breath ; 

And vain is Satan's boiust 
Of victory in their death ; 



-^ 



POEMS OF RELiaiOK. 



—-a 



Still, still, though dead, they speak, 
And, tninipet-tongued, proclaim 

To many a wakening land 
The one availing name. 

Frujii the Gcnnun of Martin LUTHER, 
by W. J. Fox 



THE FIGHT OV FAITH. 

[The author of lliis poem, one of the victims of the persecuting 
Iciuy VI II.. was burnt to death at Sniithfield in J546. It was niade 
md sun); by her wliilc a prisoner in Newyatc,] 

Like as the ai-med Knighte, 
Appointed to the tielde, ' 

With this world wil 1 light. 
And faith shal be my .shildc. 

Faith is that wea]jon stronge, 
Which wil not faile at nede ; 
My foes therefore amonge. 
Therewith wil 1 jiioL-ede. 

As it is had in .strengthe, 
And forces of Christes waye, 
It wil prevaile at lengthe. 
Though all the devils saye naye. 

Faithe of the fathers olile 
OlitainW right witness. 
Which makes me veiye bolde 
To fear no worldes distress. 

I now rejoice in harte, 
And hope bides me do so ; 
For Christ wil take my part, 
And ease me of my wo. 

Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke, 
To them wilt thou attemle ; 
Undo, therefore, the locke. 
And thy stronge power sende. 

More enemies now I have ! 

Than hceres upon my head ; 
Let them not me deprave. 
But fight thou in my steade. 

On thee my care J cast. 
For all their cruell spight ; 
I set not by their hast, 
For thou art my delight. 

I am not .she that list 
My anker to let fall 
Foi- every dri.slinge mist ; 
My shippe's substancial. 

Kot oft I use to Wright 
In prose, nor yet in ryme ; 
Yet wil 1 shewe one sight, 
That I sawe in my time : 



I sawe a royall throne. 
Where Justice sliulde have sitte ; 
But in her steade was One 
Of moody cruell witte. 

Alisorpt was lightwisness. 
As by the raginge floude ; 
Sathan, in his excess, 
Suete up the guiltlesse bloude. 

Then thought I, — .Jesas, Lordo, 
Wlien tliou sh.alt judge us all, 
Hardc is it to recorilc 
On these men what will fall. 

Yet, Lorde, I thee desire, 
For that tliey doe to me. 
Let thi'm not taste the hire 
Of their iniijuitie. 



HOW LONG? 

My God, it is not fretfulness 
That makes me .say, " How long ? " 

It is not heaviness of heart 
That hinders me in song ; 

'T is not despair of truth and right, 
Nor coward dread of wrong. 

But how can I, with such a hope 

Of glory and of home. 
With such a joy before my eyes, 

Not wi.sh the time were come, — 
Of years the jubilee, of days 

The Sabbath and the sum ? 

These years, what ages they liave been ! 

This life, how long it seems ! 
And how can I, in evil days, 

.Mid unknown hills and streams. 
But sigh for tho.se of home and heart. 

And visit them in dreams ' 

Yet peace, my heart, and hu.sh, my tongue ; 

Be calm, my troubled breast ; 
Each restless hour is ha.stening on 

The everlasting rest : 
Thou knowest that the time thy God 

Appoints for thee is best. 

Let faith, not fear, nor fretfulness. 

Awake the cry, " How long?" 
Let no faint-heartedness of soul 

I).inip thy a.spiring .song: 
Right comes, truth dawns, the night departs 

Of error and of wrong. 

HOKA'irCS BONAR. 



& 



[& 



330 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



--q- 



ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When 1 consider how my light is siiciit 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent, which is death to hide, 
l^odged with me useless, though my sonl more 
beut 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide ; 
" Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" 
1 fondly ask. But Patience, ta prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need 
Either man's woi-k or his own gifts ; who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his 
state 

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed. 
Anil post o'er laud and ocean without rest ; 
Tlioy also serve who only stand and wait." 



SAID I NOT SO? 

S.\iii I not so, — that 1 would sin no more? 

Witness, my God. I did ; 
Yet 1 am run again upon the score ; 

Jly faults cannot be hid. 

What shall I do ? ^ Make vows and break them 
still f 

'T will be but labor lost ; 
My good cannot prevail against mine ill : 

The business will be crost. 

O, say not so ; thou canst not tell what strength 
Thy God may give thee at the length. 

Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last. 
Thy Gwl will panlon all that 's past. 

Vow while thou canst ; while thou canst vow, 
thou mayst 
Perhaps perform it when thou thiukest least. 

Thy God hath not denied thee all. 
Whilst he permits thee but to call. 
Call to thy God for gi-ace to keep 
Thy vows ; and if thou break them, weep. 
Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again : 
Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain. 
Then once again 
1 vow to mend my ways ; 

Lord, say Amen, 
And thine be all the praise. 

Gkorge Herbert. 



^ 



HEAVEN. 

BEAUTEOiTs God ! uncircumscrihkl treasure 
Of an eternal pleasure ' 
Thy throne is seated far 
.\bove the highest star, 



Where thou prcparest a glorious place. 
Within the brightness of thy face, 
Eor every spirit 
To inherit 

That builds his hopes upon thy merit, 
And loves thee with a holy charity. 
What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes 
Clear as the morning rise. 
Can speak, or think, or see 
That bright eternity, 

Where tlie great King's transparent throne 
Is of an entire jasjier stone ? 
There the eye 
0' the chrysolite. 
And a sky 

Of diamonds, rabies, chrysoprase, — 
And above all thy holy face, — 
Makes an eternal charity. 
When thou thy jewels up dost liind, tliat day 
Hememlier us, we pray, — 
That where the beryl lies. 
And the crystal 'bove the skies, 
There thou mayest appoint us place 
Within the brightness of thy face, — 
And our soul 
In the scroll 

Of life and blissfulness enroll. 
That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah ; 
Jeremy tavlok 



"ROCK OF AGES." 

" Such hymns are never forgotten. They clinij to us through ou 
whole life. We carrj- them with us upon our journey. Wc siiii 
them in the forest. The workin.in follows the plow with sacrei 
songs. Children cAtch thein, and sint^ng only for the joy it give 
them now, are yet Liyinil up for all their life food of the swectes 
joy."— HENRY Ward Beecher. 

" KocK of ages, cleft for me," 

Thoughtlessly the maiden sung. 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish, gleeful tongue ; 
Sang as little children sing ; 

Sang as sing the liinls in June ; 
Fell the wortls like light leaves do\ni 

On the current of the tune, — 
" Kock of ages, cleft for me. 

Let me hide myself in thee." 

" Let me hide myself in thee." — 

Felt her soul no need to hide, — 
Sweet the song as song could be. 

And she had no thought beside ; 
All the words unheedingly 

Fell from lips untouched by care. 
Dreaming not that they might be 

On .some other lips a prayer, — 
" Rock of ages, cleft for me. 

Let me hide myself in thee. " 



^J 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



^r^ 



" Rock of ages, cleft for me," 

'T was a woman sung them now, 
Pleadingly and prayerfully ; 

Every word her heart did know. 
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 

IJeats with weary wing the air, 
Every note with sorrow stirred, 

Every syllable a prayer, — 
" Kock of ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in thee." 

"Kock of ages, cleft for me," — 

Lips grown aged sung the hymn 
Trustingly and tendeily. 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim, — 
" Let me hide myself in Thee." 

Trembling though the voice and low. 
Rose the sweet .strain peacefully 

Like a river in its flow ; 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who life's tlioniy path have passed ; 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who behold the promised rest, — 
" Kock of ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in thee." 

" Kock of ages, cleft for me," 

Sung above a coffin lid ; 
Underneath, all restfully. 

All life's joys and sorrows hid. 
Nevennorc^, stomi-tosaed soul ! 

Ncvei-more from wind or tide. 
Nevermore from billow's roll, 

Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes, 

Clo-sed beneath the soft gi-ay hair, 
Could the mute and .stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer. 
Still, aye still, the words would be, — 
" Let me hide myself in Thee." 

Anonymous. 

THE SPIRIT-LANX). 

Fathkr ! thy wonders do not singly stand. 

Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed ; 

Around us ever lies the enchanted land. 

In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. 

In finding thee are all things round us found ; 

In losing thee are all things lost beside ; 

Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound ; 

And to our eyes the vision is denied. 

We wander in the country far remote. 

Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell ; 

Or on the records of past greatness dote. 

And for a buried soul the living sell ; 

■While on our path bewildered falls the night 

Th.at ne'er returns us to the fields of light. 

Jones Vekv. 



Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies. 

Beyond death's cloudy portal. 
There is a land where beauty never dies, 

Where love becomes immortal ; 

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade. 

Whose fields are ever vernal ; 
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade. 

But blooms for aye eternal. 

We may not know how sweet its balmy air, 

How bright and fair its flowers ; 
We may not hear the songs that echo there, 

Through those enchanted bowers. 

The city's shining towers we may not see 

With our dim earthly vision. 
For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key 

That opes the gates elysian. 

But sometimes, when adown the western sky 

A fiery sunset lingers. 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly. 

Unlocked by unseen fingers. 

And while they stand a moment half ajar. 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream lirightly through the azure vault afar 

And half reveal the story. 

land unknown ! land of love divine ! 

Father, all-wise, eternal ! 
0, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine 

Into those pastures vr-rnal ! 

nancv a w, priest. 



'ONLY WAITING.' 



Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown. 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Till the night of earth is faded 

From the heart, once full of day ; 
Till the stars of heaven are breaking 

Through the twilight soft and gray. 

Only waiting till the reapers 

Have the last sheaf gathered home. 
For the summer time is faded, 

And the autumn winds have come. 
Quickly, reapers ! gather quickly 

The last ripe hours of my heart. 
For the bloom of life is withered, 

And I hasten to depart. 



-J 



I — I rt 



8S1' 



i;,s' OF RKuaio.w 



"*^ 



t 



(>1>>Y Wrtitius till tho i>iij!«>ls 

i>l>i>i\ wiilo tli<> invslio jpdo. 
At wluwt" IVnt I K'Uji l>«vo liugvuxHl, 

W'tviwy, |>i>w, Hiitl lUvsoliito, 
KvoH now 1 !>«>!' tUo ro>i|stoi«, 

Aiwl tln'ir Ynii'M l'«c nwiiv ; 

If tl«\Y Oilll ll>i>, I <t\u \Vl>itiUj5, 
Only \V!>itii\}« l» o\H>y, 

Only waitiuj; till tho sliinUnva 

Aiv II litilo Ikhjjiiv }!I\>\vu, 
t>\il,v Wiiitiwg III! tin- j«lii»n\oi' 

I'f ll«' >lny's liist Iwun is llowii, 
'IMieii l\\«\> ortt tho }p<tUoiV(l il!U'kii«ii», 

Holy, >l«itUWs stm~s shall i'is(\ 
ISy wluvw lij;lit my sohI sliall ijliully 

'hiivad its iwtJiway t»> tlit> skit«, 

Aixtsi\inu Annb rmHT»K 



THK son, 

OoMK, ISivtln'v, tuvu with mo ri\>u\ ni\>iuij 
tUovijsla 
AhiI «U tli<< iuwm\l ills t]»i\t si« Iwa wiwigltt j 
(.Vu>t\ soinl i>l«\v»l » lovo loi' all who live. 
Ami i'<fo\ tho vl«H<|» iH<iitt<<tt in tuni tl\t>y j;ivt>, 
Kimi wishi\-i ami gvw«l iUhhIs, — they makw not 

JHW ; 
Thw 'U ho\m> it^tiu, MX lavlon, to thy diwf i 
TUt> stivsdrts of lovo How lvi>olt whov thoy l*>};i«, 
Fv>v s|>viiiipi of outWiinl jovs Uo >U'oi> w ithiii, 

Kvon lot tliiiu Itow, tu\vl niako tlio iilaa« jjltul 
WhftXHlw.H thy foUovv-iuPU, SUotiMst ihvMiWsjul, 
A(ul oavth siH>m Iviiv, ami hotii^, otuo liajniy, (mtis 
l'\>v«> thy thotijilits, aitkl mnko thy lo\i<<liH<«s 
Moiiit lonoly IW tho |v!>st, thoti then sluOt hivir 
Tho iHU&io of thv«i' watefs n>m>iiij« ii«u' ; 
Ami thy fai\\t spirit drink tho oinvlinj; sti<i>au), 
A\nl thiup oyo j;la>lilon with tho (ilayiiij; IxKint 
That now «(H>n tho watov vlanoos, now 
l.«>lv< u|i !»\ivl ihmiHw in tho hiui^in,»{ lH>iij>h. 

Is it \>v^t lovoly ■ Toll nns who«v ih>th vlwoll 
'I'ho (lowor that w(\>>\j<ht so lw»ntil\>l a sjioll f 
In thino own Invsomj UiMthcc .* Thon as thine 
Ona(\l with a >t>Yi?rvut tWr this )H>wt>f diviuo, 

An.l if, intWl, 't is not tho outwatxl stato, 
I5«t ton\jH>i' of tho sonl 1\y whioh wo I'ato 
S*!uluoss or joy, oyou lot thy Ixwoni niovo 
With noWo tlious^hts auvl wako thoo into Ioyo ; 
Ami lot o«oh I'tH'liiv^i; in tliy l>j\>«st l>o j;iYon 
An honost ain\, whioh, sanotilitsl hy lloavon. 
Ami s^vrinjiin^^; into aot. now litV iin|v\rts. 
Till IvMts tliy l\'a\no as with a thons^tml hearts. 

Sin olonils tho iniml's oloor vision ! 
Aivund tho s«ilf-starvovt s\>«l has si«\v;>\l a iWrth, 
Tho ivarlh is t\ill of lifo ; tho Kviuj; llaml 
IVvroho*! it with Ufo ; aiul all its forms «ix|>ami 



With (irinoiiilos of U'inj; n\a<lo to unit 
Man's variisl (lowors ami raiso hi\i\ ft-om I ho hnito. 
Ami shall tho oiuth of hijjhor omls 1h> l\\ll, - 
Karth whioh thoti tr«m>ral, — ami thv (uior nviml 

Ivo >lnll < 
Thon talk of lifo, with half thy sonl asl«'i> 1 
Thon ■• living ih>«il ttiaii," lot thy spirit lo«p 
Forth to tho (lay, ami lot iho IWh air Mow 
Thivn^i;h ihy soul's slmtnii inaiisioti, Wouhlst 

thoii know 
Soinothin)- of what is lifo, shako.olf this iloath ; 
llavo thy sotil fool tho univorsal hivath 
With whioh all natniv's unii-li, ami hwn to lio 
Shaivr in all that thon tlivst tonoh or ao<< ; 
Ihvivk fiMin thy hovly's j{ras(>, thy sjarit's Irtmoo ; 
OiYo thy sonl air, thy faonltios oxinmso ; 
UoYo, joy, oYon soriMW, - yiohl thysolf to all ! 
Thoy makotliy fivoiloni, giMYolor, not tliy thrall. 
Knook olf tho shaokhvs whioh thy ai>irit hiinl 
To iltist aiul sonso, aitil sot at larj!\> tho miml ! 
Thon tnovo in syn\i»athy with lunl's givat whoh\ 
Aiul K' liko man at lirst, « /('t'tXo >ww/, 

KiCnAKK U«NKV UANA 



Sir IWWN, S.\l^ SOt'l„ 

Si r down, sail sonl, ami oonnt 

Tho \non\onts llyittj! ; 
l\«no, toll tho swoot anunint 

That 's lost l\Y si^hinj; ! 
How many stnih>s ! - a siH^i'o f 
Thon lanjih, and oonnt no mow ; 
For day is dyin^st •' 

Lio dv>wn, sod sonl, and slwji, 

And no n\otv inonsnro 
Tho lli|«ht of tinio, noj' wwp 

Tho hvss of loisnro ; 
lint hoiv, hy this loiio atr\s>m, 
I.io down with ns, and dro«>n 
t>f starry twvtsuiv .' 

AW divan* : do thon tho sau>o ; 

\Vo loYO, — foroYov ; 
AVe lan^lv, yot fow wo »lwnns — 

Tho gontlo «ovor. 
Stay, thon, till sorivw dies ; 
Thon - hojio sunl hai>j\v skioa 
Aw thino l\wover ! 

H.\KRV COKNW.tll. 



TRLL mi;, yk winord winds, 

Tki.i. mo, yo w\i\i;!<'d winds. 

That ivnnd n\\' (vathway x\v«r. 
Do yo not know somo s\wt 

Whow mortida wooj> no «>or«> ' 



p 



fiiKM;; <)!<• UKlJiiloN. 



333 



tl 



fiomfi loiiii ttrul pli'iiwini; iM\, 

Hiiiw. vallny in tti'? wuHt, 
Wlii:l'i:, IVlri: t'i'ilil l/iil .unl (raid, 
Till: wmry wml iiiny ii'st ( 
'I'lii; loud wiful ilwiii'lli-il I') « wlii.i|ii!r low, 
Ami ulgliwl tor [ilty (in ll iiii»wi!ii'il, — " No." 

'IVfll mi;, lli'iii jfii({lil,y il<!ft|), 

WliDW! Iiillims iviiiinl rill! pi'iy, 
Kiiiiw'st tli'/ii «oii)i: (iivDjiiil Bjiijl:, 

HoiiiD isliiinl I';!!' away, 
Wli";i'; v/fjiry in.-iii iniiy (liul 

'I'lie lilisiii I'lir wliii.li liii Bf;(lis, — 
Wliirrfi Hoiiow iii'.vi;!' Wvm, 
Aiiij dieji'lslilj) iii)Vi!i' ilks 'I 
Till! loiiil wavi'ii, mlliii(( In pi!i|ii!lii;il (|i»w, 
SUj1)|i(!<I for a wliil':, iiml liigln:'! lo iiimwcr, 
"No," 

Ari'l 1,1)011, ((i!i«i(i!»t moon, 

Tliat, with liiii'li loviily (a/;*, 
Dofil look iijion till! i.'iiilli, 

A!ili*[i III iii({lit'« i!iiilira':i! ; 
Tiill nie, in nil tliy loiiinl 

Hast tlioii not 8(;i;n sonift »pot 
Wlii!ii! niimialilc man 

May finil u liii|i|)ii!r lot ! 
I'diiii'l tt r:lou<l tin: moon witlulrcw in wo«. 



Anil a voifie, 8Wi*t Ijilt sail, |i!»|i«ni|i:i|. 



' No," 



y--. 



Ti-ll nil!, my nfcnti ooiil, 

O, tell me, Hoiii! all') I'ailli, 
I» lliiiii: no iifBtin^-iilui!!) 

From willow, uin, ami iltalli ? 
In tlniif! no liappy spot 

WliiiK! nioilals may Ixr Mirut, 
Wlii:iir giii:! may fimi a l,aliii, 
Ami wi!arini!HH « M!»t ! 
I'aitli, Hope, anil l,ov"!, ImulUjoniit'jniOitaliigivrn, 
Wavftil their luiglit win({», anil whimmrcil, — 
" yen, in Inaven 1 " 



NO'l'lirNO liC/'J' /.EAVKK. 

NWKINO hut leaves ; the spirit grieves 

Over a wasUjil life j 
Rill ':ornniitt<!il while KonncMiHi'i Blept, 
rioniiseu rna/le, hut never kept, 

llatreil, hattle, an'l utrife | 
Nuthliiij hat. liiii.mH I 

Nothing hut leaven ; no ^riM'-A Kheaves 

Of life's fair, ripeniiil ifvaiti ; 
Worik, idle wonlu, for earaeut ileeils ; 
We BOW our bijciIs, — lo I tare.'i ami wihAh : 

We reap, with t'lil and (lain, 
Nidldwj ImI Uimca I 



Nothing hut leaves ; iiiemoiy weaves 

No veil Ut Kiieeii the past : 
As we retriu;*! our weary way, 
Coiintiiip; eaiih lost and miiispent day. 

We liii.l, sa-lly, at laa, 
NulliiiKJ hill. Imiuint 

And shall we meet the Mastijr S'l, 

lieariiij/ our withered haves? 
The .Saviour looks for perfeet fruit ; 
We stand hefore him, liiimhled, mut<i ; 

Waiting the words he hreathes, — 
" NolUiiiij liul Imvi'.n?" 

t.llf.Y U AKKf MAil 



'J'HK IJ.NIVKHKAF, yilAVV.H. 

Kaiiikii of all ! in every age. 

In every elinie luhuial, 
l!y saint, hy savage, and hy sage, 

.(eliovah, .love, or Lord ! 

Thou great Kirst ','aiiBe, least understood, 

Who all my sense tjiii\UifA 
'I'o know l/iit this, that thou art good. 

And llial myself Mill hiind ; 

Vet gave me, in this riark estate. 

To si!e the gooil from ill ; 
And, hinding nature fast in fate, 

Ix-ft frei! the human will: 

What '■ons/hiiiee dietates Ut h: done, 

Or wains rue not t/i do. 
This, teaeh me more than hell to shun, 

That, more than heaven pursue. 

What hlessings thy fre<! lifjunty gives 

Let me not east away ; 
I'or 'Joil is jiaid when man reeeives. 

To enjoy ix to oln-y. 

Yet not Ui earth's <'jmittu:teil sfian 

Thy gooilnesB let me hound. 
Or think thee Ixird alone of man. 

When thousand worl/Is are round ; 

Let not this weak, unknowing hand 

Presume thy Ik/Hs in throw, 
And deal damnation round the kind 

'Jii eaeh 1 jmlge thy foe. 

If I am light, thy gra/.e irnj»art 

(Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am v/rong, 0, t<!aeh my heart 

To find that tiett/;r way ! 



J 



a- 



oS4 



POEMS OF HELIQION. 



-a 



Savo mo nlikti fvom t\>olisli piiiU' 

Ami iim>ioHs (Usiviitoiit 
At luiglit thy wisilvnu h«a deuitHi, 

l>r t>vij;lit tliy gomliu'ss lent. 

'IViioh me to iVel anot Inn's woe, 

'l\> hide tht< fault 1 siv ; 
Tluit nuMvy I to othoi's sliow, 

That meivy sliow to mo. 

Mcaiv though 1 am, uot wholly so, 
Siiu'o »iuioktm<Hl by thy breath; 

O, Itfiiil u>ti whoivso'oi' I i;o, 

Throuj;h this days Ufo or ileath ! 

'I'his liny Iw bivail ami jioaoti my lot ; 

All olso boiu'ath the svm. 
Thou know'st if Ivst Iwstowed or uot. 
Ami let thy will be iloue. 

To thee, whose temple is all sivxee. 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies. 

One chorus let all Heiug mise. 
All Natuiv's iuceuse rise '. 

ALBNANDSK J^Ol-B 



WKKST1..1N0 JACOB. 
FlK.sf v.\i;r. 

Come, thou Ti-aveler unknown, 
Whonr still I hohl, l>ut cannot see ; 

My comi>!U>y liefoiv is j:^>ne. 
And 1 am left alone with thee ; 

With thee all night 1 mean to stay. 

And wivstle till the bivak of day. 

1 ne«l not tell thee who 1 am ; 

My siu and misery dev'laro ; 
Thyself hast ealhxl me by my name ; 

1-ook on thy hands, and iviid it there ; 
lUit who, 1 ask thet\ who art thou ? 
Tell me thy naiue, luid tell me now. 

In vain thou strujiglest to get free ; 

I never will unloi>se my hold ; 
.■\rt thou the Man that die*l for me i 

The secivt of fhy love unfold ; 
Wivstliug, 1 will not let thee go 
Till I thy name, thy nature know. 

Wilt thou uot yet to me reveal 
Thy new, nnutter«ble name f 

Tell me, I still l^eseei-h thee, tell ; 
To know it now resolvwl I am ; 

W tvstling, 1 will not let thee go 

Till I thy name, thv nature know. 



What though my shrinking tlesh complain 
And murmur to contend so long, 

1 rise superior to my pain ; 
When I am weak, then am 1 slivng! 

And when my all of strength shall fail, 

I shall with the tiodiium pivvail. 

SKI'0N1> lAur. 

YlELP to me now, for I am weak. 

But contident in self-desi«ir ; 
Speak to n>y heart, in blessings speak ; 

Ue conquered by my instant prayer ; 
Speak, or thou never hence shalt n\ove. 
And tell me if thy name be l.ove. 

"T is Love ! "t is Love ! Thou diedst for me ; 

I hear thy whisper in my luMirt ; 
The morning breaks, tlie shadows tlee j 

Puiv, universal Love thou art ; 
To me, to all, thy bowels move ; 
Thy nature and thy ntune is Love. 

My pniyer hath power with Ood ; the grace 

r nsiH'akable 1 now receive ; 
Threugh faith I see thee face to faoa ; 

1 see thee face to face and live ! 
In vain 1 have not wept and strove ; 
Thy nature and Uty name is Love, 

1 know thee. Saviour, who thou art, 
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ; 

Nor wilt thou with the night de^iart, 
Uut stay and love me to the end ; 

Thy meivies never shall remove ; 

Thy nature and thy name is Love. 

The Sun of Kighteonsness on me 

Hath risen, with healing in his wings ; 

WitheftHl my nature's strength ; (Vom thee 
My soul its life and succor brings : 

My help is all laid up at>ove ; 

Thy nature and thy name is Love. 

l^ontentcil now njvn my thigh 
I halt till life's short journey end ; 

All helplessiu'ss, all weakn«>ss, 1 
Ou thee alone for strtmgth depend; 

Nor have 1 ^K>wev frem thee to vuove ; 

Thy nature and thy name is Love. 

Lame as 1 am, 1 take the prey : 

Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'en"K)me ; 

I leap for joy, pui-sue my way. 

And, as a bounding hart, fly home ; 

Through all eternity to prove 

Thy nature and thy name is Love. 

CHAKLBS WESiBT. 



& 



POEMH OF RELIGION. 



335 



-a 



[5-^ 



"I WILL THAT MEN PRAY EVERYWHERE." 

To prayer ! to prayer ! — for the morning breaks, 

And earth in her Maker's smile awakes. 

His light is on all, below and above, — 

The light of gladness and life and love. 

0, tlien on the breath of this early air. 

Send upward the ineonse of grateful prayer. 

To prayer ! — for the glorious sun has gone, 
And the gathering darkness of night comes on. 
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it Hows, 
To shade the couch where his children repose. 
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright. 
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of 
night. 

To prayer ! for the day that God has blest, 
','omes trancjuilly on with its welcome rest. 
It speaks of creation's early bloom. 
It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb. 
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, 
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours. 

There are .smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, 

For her new-born infant beside her lies. 

O, hour of bliss ! when the heart o'erflows 

With rapture a mother only knows ; — 

Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer ; 

Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care. 

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, 
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling 

hand. 
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell. 
As the bride bids parents and home farewell ! 
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair. 
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer. 

Kneel down by the dying sinner's side, 

And pray for his soul, through Him who died. 

Large ilrops of anguish are thick on his brow : — 

O, what are earth and its [deasures now ? 

And wliat shall assuage his dark despair 

But the penitent cry of humble prayer ? 

Kneel down at the couch of dej)arting faith, 
And hear the last words the believer saith. 
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends : 
There is peace in his eye that upward beuds ; 
There is peace in his calm confiding air : 
For his last thoughts are God's, — his last words, 
prayer. 

The voice of jirayer at the sable \)vx ! — 
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. 
It commends the spirit to God who gave ; 
It lifts the thoughts from the cold dark grave ; 



It points to the glory wheru He shall reign, 
^ Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again. 

The voice of prayer in the world of bliss ! — 
' Ijut gladder, purer, than rose from this. 
) The ransomed shout to their glorious King, 
I When no sorrow shades the soul as they sing ; 
But a sinless and joyous song they raise, 
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise. 

Awake ! awake ! and gird up thy strength 
To join that holy band .at length. 
To liini who unceasing love dis])lays. 
Whom the jiowcrs of nature unceasingly praise, 
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given ; 
For a life of prayer is the life of Heavi-n. 



A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR OOD. 

nin' fcstc burg ist unjer Gott 

A MIGHTY fortress is our God, 

A bulwark never failing ; 
Our helper he amid the Hood 

Of mortal ills prevailing. 
For still our ancient foe 
Doth seek to work us woe ; 
His craft and power are great. 
And, armed with equal hate, 
On earth is not his ecjual. 

Did we in our own strength confids, 
Our striving would be losing ; 

Were not the right man on our side, 
The man of God's own choosing. - 

Dost ask who that may be ? 

Christ Jesu.s, it is he. 

Lord .Sabaoth hLs name. 

From age to age the same. 
And he must win the battle. 



IT KINDLES ALL MY SOUL. 



It kindles all my soul, 

My country's loveliness ! Those starry choirs 

That watch around the jiole, 
And the moon's tender light, and heavenly fires 

Through golden halls that roll. 
chorus of the night ! planets, sworn 

The music of the spheres 
To follow ! Lovely watchers, that think sconi 

To rest till day ajjpears ! 
Me, for celestial homes of glory bom. 



f 



336 



PO£MS OF SJSUGION. 



^ 



Why bew, 0, why sy long, 
l\> ye IvhtJd an exile I'uuu v\u high ' 

Heiv, ye shining thivug, 
W ith lilies sja'ead the niouiul wheiv 1 sliall lie : 

Here let we dwp my chain, 
AhU Unst to ilusl wtumiug, east away 

The trammels that rem!»iu ; 
The ivst of me shall sjnivig to emlless day .' 

Froiu lh« l-Miu oS CA--UU1R or fOLAX», 



The boru in sojtow shall U'ing IWth in joy ; 

Thy jueivy, IauxI, sliall U«d thy ohiUlivu home; 
He that went forth a tender iimltling Iw 

Yet, e»v he die, to Ssdem's stivets sliall wme ; 
And Canaan's vini« for ns their fruit slisUl Wai', 
And Uormou's liees their houeyeil stoivs luviKu-e, 
And we sliall kueel agtxiu in thankful grayer, 

Whew o'er the ehernb-sealwl tJovl full Uazed 
the irrailiate vUnutv 

H8NKV lUKl MlLUAN, 



^ 



JEWISH HYMS IN BABYLON. 

Goi> of the thunder ! fKan whose cloudy seat 

The fiery winds of Desolation Bow ; 
Father of vengeance ! that with i>ur{>le feet 

Like a full winc-iu-ess wvad'sl the world below ; 
The emhattteil armies wait thy sign to slay. 
Nor sj>rings the beast of havvKj on his prey, 
Xor withering Famine walks his blaster! way, 
Till thou hast markevl the guilty laud for woe, 

G».hI of the i-aiubow .' at whose gracious sign 

The billows of the pivud their I'age suppj'sss ; 
Father of meivies '. at one woul of thine 

An Kdeu Wooms in the waste wilderness. 
And fountains sparkle in the arid ssinds. 
And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands. 
And marble cities crown the laughing lauds. 
And pillareil temples rise thy name to bless. 

O'er Judah's laud thy thnudei-s bix>ke, Lorvl ! 

The chariots rattles! o'er her sunken givte, 
Hir sous were wasted by the Assyrian's swokI, 

Even her foes wept to see her fallen state ; 
And heaps her ivory jwlaces be^-ame. 
Her prini-es wore the captive's garb of shame. 
Her temples sauk amid the smoldering tlame. 

For thou didst ride the tempest clvmd of fate. 

O'er Judah's land thy i-ainbow, Lonl, shall beam. 

And the sad CMty lift her civwuless head. 
And songs shall wake and daucing footstejisgleam 
In streets where biv-xls the silence of the dead. 
The sun shall shine ou Salem's gildeil towel's. 
On Carmel's side our maidens cull the (lowers 
To deck at blushing eve their bridal bowel's. 
And angel feet the glittering Siou tread. 

Thy vengeauc-e gave us to the stranger's hand, 

.Vnd Abraham'schildren were lei,l forth forslaves. 
With fetteiv^i steps we left our pleasant laud, 

Eavying our fathers in their j>e«eeful graves. 
The strangers' bread with bitter teal's we steep, 
And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep, 
In the mute midnight we steal forth to weep. 
Where the palewillows shade Euphi-ates' waves. 



THE DYING SAVIOUR. 

O SACRBP Head, now wounded. 

With grief and shame weigheil down ; 
Now scornfully surivnnded 

With thorns, thy only crown ; 
O sjicivd Head, what glory, 

Whirt bliss, till now was thine ! 
Yet, though dcspist\l and gv>ry, 

I joy to call thee mine. 

O noWest brow aud deai-est. 

In other days the world 
All feared when thou appearedst ; 

What shame on thee is hurled ! 
How art thou jwle with anguish. 

With sorei abuse and scorn '. 
How does that visage languish 

Which ont-e was bright as morn ! 

What language shall I borrow. 

To thank thee, detu-est Friend, 
For this thy dying sv>rrow. 

Thy pity without end ! 
O, make me thine forever, 

Aud should I fainting be, 
Loi\l, let me nevei', never. 

Outlive my love to thee. 

If 1, a wretch, should leave thee, 

Jesus, leave not me : 
In faith may I receive thee. 

When death shall set me free. 
When strength and comfort languish, 

Aud I must henw depart, 
Kelease me then from anguish. 

By thine owu wouude^l heart. 

Be near when 1 am dying, 

0, show thy cross to me ! 
And for my sua-or Hying, 

Come. Lonl, to set me fr«e. 
These eyes new faith i-eceiving. 

From Jesus shall not move ; 
For he who dies believing 

Dies safely — through thy love. 



-»-t 



a- 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



ii)7 



^- 



THE MINLSTKY OF AMGEtS. 

And is there care in Leaven ? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to tliese creatmes base, 
Tliat may compassion of their evils move if 
There is : — else much nwre wretched weie the 

case 
Of men than l>easts : hut the excec<ling /{race 
Of Highest God ! that loves hLi creatmes so, 
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, 
Tliat blessed angels he sends Xti and fro. 

To serve to wicked uxaii, to serve his wicked foe ! 

How oft do they their silver Iwwers leave, 
To come to succour us tliat succour- want ! 
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
The (littiug skyes, like flying pui-suivaut. 
Against lowle feeudes to ayd us militant I 
They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward. 
And their blight squaxlions round alxjut us 

jdant ; 
And all for love, and nothing for reward ; 

0, why should heavenly God to men have such 
regard ! 



NEAEEE, MY GOD, TO THEE. 

Kkakbk, my God, to tliee, 

Nearer to tliee ! 
E'en thougli it Ix; a cross 

That raiseth me ; 
Still all my song shall l^e, — 
Nearer, my God, to tb<5e, 

Nearer to thee ! 

Though, like the wanderer, 

The sun gone down, 
Darkness \xt over me. 

My rest a st<)ne ; 
Yet in my dreams I 'd 1« 
Nearer, my God, to thee, 

Nearer to thee I 

There let the way apjtear 

Steps unto heaven ; 
All that thou sendest me 

In mercy given ; 
Angels to Wkon me 
Nearer, my Goil, to thee. 

Nearer to thee ! 

Then with my waking thoughts. 
Bright with thy praise, 

Out of my stony griefs 
Bethel! '11 raise ; 

So by my woes to be 

Nearer, my Owl, to thee. 
Nearer to thee ! 



Or if on joyful wing 

Cleaving the sky, 
Sun, moon, and staj-s forgot, 

Upward I fly ; 
Still all my song sliall Ije, — 
Nearer, my God, to thee. 

Nearer to thee. 

SaKAH FLOWEfc hl> 



FROM THE KECESSE8 OF A UiWl.Y SPIRIT. 

FiiOM the recesses of a low ly spirit, 
Ouj- humble pi-ayer awjends : () Father I hear it. 
Upsoaring on the wings of awe and meekness. 
Forgive its weakness ! 

We see thy hand, — it leads us, it suj/ports us ; 
We hear thy voice, — it counsels and it courts us ; 
And then we turn away ; and still thy kindness 
Foigives our bliniluess. 

0, how long-suffering. Lord '. but thou de)ightJ,-st 
To win with love the wanilering : thou invitest. 
By smiles of mercy, not In' frowns or tenoi's, 
llan fiom his errors. 

Father anrl Saviour ! plant within each txjs<jm 
Th'- seeds of holiness, and bid them IJossom 
In fragrance an^i in Ixauty bright and vernal. 
And spiing eternal 

John bowjcikc. 



NEARER HOME. 

Oke sweetly s<;lenjn thought 
Comes to me o'er and o'er ; 

I 'm nearer my home to-day 
Than I ever liave l>een l>efore ; 

Nearer my Father's house. 

Where the many mansions lie : 

Nearer tlie great white throne, 
Nearer the ciystal sea ; 

Nearer the 1x.)und of life, 

Where we lay our burdens down ; 
Nearer leaving the cross. 

Nearer gaining the crown ! 

But the waves of that silent sea 
Roll dark l>eforc my sight 

That brightly the other side 
Break on a shore of light. 

O, if my mortal feet 

Have almost gaitH'd the brink ; 



-3 



^- 



338 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



--&' 



If it be 1 uni nearer home 
Even to-ilay than I think, — 

Father, perfect my trust ! 

Let my spirit feel, in death. 
That her feet are tirmly set 

On the Rock of a living faith ! 

PHCEBS CARV. 



1 



THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH. 

TiiK spaeious firmament on high. 

With all the blue ethereal sky. 

Ami spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Tlieir great Original proclaim ; 

The unwearied sun, from day to day. 

Does his Creator's power display. 

And publishes to eveiy land 

The work of an Almighty hand. 

.'^oon as the evening shades prevail, 
Tlie moon takes up the wondrous tale. 
And nightly to the listening earth 
liepeats the story of her birth ; 
Wlule all the stars that round her bum. 
And all the planets in their turn. 
Confirm tlie tidings as tliey roll. 
And spread tlie truth from pule to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
.Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though no I'eal voice or sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In Reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
Forever singing, as they shine, 
" The Hand that made us is divine/" 

Joseph Addison. 



LORD I WHEN THOSE GLORIOUS LIGHTS I 
SEE — 

HYMN AND PRAVEK FOR THE USE OF BELIEVERS. 

Loud ! when those glorious lights I see 

Witli which thou hast adorned the skies, 
Observing how they movkl be, 

-And how their splendor fills mine eyes, 
Methinks it is too large a grace. 

But that thy love ordained it so, — 
That creatures in so higli a place 

Should servants be to man below. 

The meanest lamp now shining there 

In size and lustre doth exceed 
The noblest of thy creatures here. 

And of our friendship hath no need. 



Yet these upon mankind attend 
For secret aid or public light ; 

And from the world's e.xtremest end 
Kepair unto us eveiy night. 

0, had that stimip been uudefaced 

Which first on us tliy hand had set, 
How highly should we have been graced. 

Since we are so much honored yet ! 
Good God, for what but for the sake 

Of thy beloved and only Son, 
Who did on him our nature take. 

Were these exceeding favors done? 

As we by him have honored been. 

Let us to lum due honoi's give ; 
Let his uprightness hide our sin, 

.And let us worth from him receive. 
Yea, so let us by grace improve 

What thou by natui'e doth bestow. 
That to thy dwelling-place above 

We may be raised Irom below. 

GEORGE WITHER. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 

H.A.ST thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause 
On thy bald, awful head, sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arve and Arveii-on at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines 
How silently ! Around thee and above, 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, — 
An ebon mass. Methinks thou piercest it. 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
It is thuie own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 
Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in 

prayer 

1 worshiped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling nielody. 
So sweet we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the mean while, wast blending with my 

thought, — 
Ye.-i, with my Hie and life's ovn\ secret joy, — 
Till the ililating soul, enrapt, transfused. 
Into the mighty vision passing, there, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven ! 

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears. 
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



339 



-ei 



Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
0, struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars. 
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink, 
Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
<_'o-herald, — wake, 0, wake, and utter praise ! 
Who sank tliy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
Wlio made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death. 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. 
Forever shattered and the same forever ? 
Who gave you your invulnerable life, 
Yourstrength, your speed, your fury, and your joy. 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
And who commanded (and the silence came). 
Here let the biUows stiffen, and have rest ? 

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice. 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts I 
Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
('lothe you witli rainbows ? Who, with living 

flowci-s 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? 
Ood ! — let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 
God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome 

voice ! 
Ye pine-gi-oves, ivith your soft and soul-like 

sounds ! 
Ami they too have a voice, yon piles of snow. 
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! 

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
Ye eagles, plajniiates of the mountain-stomi ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter fortli God, and fill the hills with praise ! 

Thou, too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing 
|ieaks, 
Oft fiom whose feet the avalanche, unheard. 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure 

serene, 
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, — 
Thou too again, stupendous Jfountain ! thou 
That, as I raise my head, awhUe bowed low 



In adoration, upward from tliy base 
Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused witli tears. 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me, — Rise, 0, ever rise ! 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the liills. 
Thou dread ambassador from Kartli to Heaven, 
Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky. 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 

SA.V1UF.L TAYLOR CoLKKIDGE. 



AMAZING, BEAUTEOUS CHANGE I 

AMAZlN'fr, beauteous change ! 
A world created new ! 
My thoughts with transport range. 
The lovely scene to view ; 

In all I trace, 

Sa\'iour divine. 

The work is thine, — 

Be thine the jiraise ! 

See cry.stal fountains play 
Amidst the liurning sands ; 
The river's winding way 
Shines through tlie thirsty lands ; 

New grass is seen. 

And o'er the meads 

Its cai-pet spreads 

Of living green. 

Where pointed biambles grew, 
Intwined witli liorrid thorn. 
Gay flowers, forever new. 
The painted fields ailorn, — 

The blushing rose 

And lily there, 

In union fair. 

Their sweets disclose. 

Where the bleak mountain stood 
AH bare and disarrayeil. 
See the wide-branching wood 
Diffuse its grateful shade ; 

Tall cedars nod. 

And oaks and pines, 

And elms and vines 

Confess the God. 

The tjTants of the plain 
Their savage chase give o'er, — 
No more they rend the slain. 
And thirst for blood no more ; 

But infant hands 

Fierce tigers stroke. 

And lions yoke 

In flower)' bands. 



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f 



340 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



n 



O, when, Almig)ity Lord ! 
Shall tbeso glad sceuos arise, 
To verify thy word. 
And bless our wondering eyes ? 
That earth may raise, 

With all its tongues, 

United songs 

Of ardent praise. 

PHILII' DODDRIDGE. 



THE SABBATH. 

How still the morning of the hallowed day ! 
Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed 
The jilowboy's whistle and the milkmaid's song. 
The st-ythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading (lowers. 
That yesterniorn liloonied waving in the breeze ; 
Sounds the most faint attract the ear, — the 

hum 
Of early beo, the trickling of the dew. 
The distant bleating, midway up the hill. 
Calmness sits throned on you uumoving cloud. 
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas 
The blackbiril'.s note comes mellower from the 

dale ; 
.\nd sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark 
Warliles his heaven-tuned song ; the hilling brook 
iMurniurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ; 
While from yon lowly roof, whose circling smoke 
O'ermouuts the mist, is heard at intervals 
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. 
Willi dovcliko wings Peace o'er von village 

broods ; 
The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din 
Hath ceased ; all, all around is ([uietness. 
Less fearful on this ibiy, the limping hare 
Stops, and looks back, and stops, ami looks on 

man. 
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, 
Unheedful of the psisture, roams at large ; 
And as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls. 
His Iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. 
JAMRS Gkahamb. 



±5- 



THE MEETINa. 

Thk older folk shook hands at last, 
Down seat by scat the signal passed. 
To simple ways like ours unused, 
H;ilf solemnized and half amused, 
With long-drawn breath and shrug. 
His sense of glad relief expressed. 
Outside, the hills lay warm in sun ; 
Tile cattle in the meadow-run 
Stood half-leg deep ; a single bird 
The green lepose above us stine<l. 



my guest 



" Wiat part or lot have you," he said, 
" In these dull rites of drowsy-head ? 
Is silence worship ? Seek it where 
It soothes with dreams the summer air ; 
Not in this close and rude-benched liall. 
But where soft lights and shadows fall. 
And all the slow, sleep-walking hours 
Glide soundless over grass and llowers ! 
From time and place and form apart. 
Its holy ground the human heart. 
Nor ritual-bound uor templeward 
Walks the free spirit of the Lord ! 
Our common Master did not pen 
His followers up from otlier men ; 
His service lilierty indeed, 
He built no church, he framed no creed ; 
15ut while the saintly Pharisee 
Made broader his phylactery, 
As from the synagogue was seen 
The dusty-sandaled Nazarene 
Through ripening cornlields lead the way 
Upon the awful Sabbath day. 
His sermons were the healthful talk 
That shorter made the mountain-walk. 
His wayside texts were llowers and birds. 
Where mingled with his gracious words 
The rustle of the tamarisk-tree 
.\nd ripple-wash of (ialilce." 

"Thy words are well, friend," I said ; 

" Unmeasured and unlimited. 

With noiseless slide of stone to stone. 

The mystic Church of God has grown. 

Invisible and silent stands 

The temple never made with hands. 

Unheard the voices still and .small 

Of its unseen confessional. 

He needs no special place of prayer 

Whose hearing ear is everywhere ; 

He brings not back the childish days 

That ringed the e.arth with stones of praise, 

Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid 

The plinths of Philre's colonnade. 

Still less he owns the selfish good 

And sickly growth of solitude, — 

The worthless grace that, out of sight, 

Flowers in the desert anchorite ; 

Dissevered from the suffering whole. 

Love hath no power to save a so\fl. 

Not out of Self, the origin 

And native air and .soil of sin. 

The living waters spring and flow. 

The trees with leaves of healing grow. 

"Dream not, friend, because I seek 
This quiet shelter twice a week, 
I better deem its pine-laid floor 
Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore ; 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



341 



-a 



But nature is not solitude ; 

She crowds us with her thronging wood ; 

Her many hands reacli out to us, 

Her many tongues are garrulous ; 

Perpetual riddles of surprise 

She otters to our ears and eyes ; 

She will not leave our senses still, 

But drags them captive at her will ; 

And, making earth too great tor heaven. 

She hides the Giver in the given. 

"And so I find it well to come 

For deeper rest to this still room, 

For here the habit of the soul 

Feels less the outer world's control ; 

The strength of mutual piii-pose pleads 

More earnestly our connnon needs ; 

And from the sUence multiplied 

By these still forms on either side, 

The world that time and sense have known 

Falls off and leaves us God alone. 

" Vet rarely through the charmed repose 
Unmixed the stream of motive Hows, 
A flavor of its many spring.s, 
The tints of earth and sky it brings ; 
In the still waters needs must be 
Some shade of human sympathy ; 
And here, in its accustomed place, 
I look on memory's dearest face ; 
The blind by-sitter guesseth not 
What shadow haunts that vacant spot ; 
Xo eyes save mine alone can see 
The love wherewith it welcomes me ! 
And still, with those alone my kin. 
In doubt and weakness, want and sin, 
I bow my head, my heart I bare 
As when that face was living there. 
And strive (too oft, alas ! in vain) 
The yieace of simple trust to gain. 
Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay 
The idols of my heart away. 

" AVeleome the silence all unbroken. 

Nor less the words of fitness spoken, — 

Such golden words as hers for whom 

Our autumn flowers have just made room ; 

Whose hopeful utterance through and through 

The freshness of the morning blew ; 

Who loved not less the earth that light 

Fell on it from the heavens in sight, 

But saw in all fail' fonns moi'e fair 

The Eternal beauty miiTored there. 

Whose eighty years but added grace 

And saintlier meaning to her face, — 

The look of one who bore away 

Glad tidings from the hills of day. 

While all our hearts went forth to meet 



The coming of her beautiful feet ! 

Or haply hers whose pilgrim tread 

Is in the paths where Jesus led ; 

Who dreams her childhood's sabbath dream 

By Jordan's willow-shaded stream. 

And, of the hymns of hope and faith, 

Sung by the monks of Nazareth, 

Hears pious echoes, in the call 

To pi-ayer, from Moslem minarets fall, 

Repeating where His works were wrought 

The lesson that her Master taught, 

Of whom an elder Sibyl gave. 

The prophesies of Cunuc'e cave ! 

" 1 ask no oigan's soulless breath 
■ To drone the themes of life and death. 
No altar candle-lit by day. 
No ornate wordsman's rhetiu-ic-play, 
No cool philosophy to teach 
Its bland audacities oi' speech 
To doubled-tasked idolaters, 
Themselves their gods and wor.shipers, 
No pul)iit hammered by the list 
Of loud-asserting dogmatist, 
Who borrows for the liand of love 
The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. 
I know how well the fathers taught, 
What work the later schoolmen wrought ; 
I reverence old-time faith and men. 
But God is near us now as then ; 
His force of love is still unspent, 
His hate of sin as imminent ; 
And still the measure of our needs 
Outgi'ows the cramping bounds of creeds ; 
The manna gathered yesterday 
Already savors of decay ; 
Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown 
Question us now from star and stone ; 
Too little or too nnich we know, 
And sight is swift and faith is slow ; 
The [lower is lost to self-deceive 
With shallow fonns of make-believe. 
We walk at high noon, and the bells 
Call to a thousand orach's. 
But the sound deafens, and the light 
Is stronger than our dazzled sight ; 
The letters of the sacred Book 
Glimmer and swim beneath our look ; 
Still struggles in the Age's breast 
With deepening agony of ijuest 
The old entreaty : ' Art thou He, 
Or look we for the Christ to be ? ' 

"God should be most where man is least,' 
So, where is neither church nor priest. 
And never rag of form or creed 
To clothe the nakedness of need, — 
Where farmer-folk in silence meet, — 



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342 



POEMS OF UELIOWN. 



■a 



B-^- 



I turn my bell-uiisummoiieil feet ; 

1 lay the critic's glass asiilc, 

I tread upon my letteroil i>rido, 

Anil, lovvost-sentud, testify 

To the oneness of humanity ; 

Confess the universal want. 

Anil share whatever Heaven may grant. 

llr fuxleth not who seeks his own. 

The soul is lost that 's saved nlono. 

Not on QUO favored forehead fell 

IH' old the fire-tongued miraelo, 

r>ut llamod o'er all the thronging host 

The liaiitism of the Holy (Ihost ; 

Heart answers heart ; in one desire 

Tlie lilending lines of prayer aspire ; 

■ Where, in my name, meet two or throe, 

Our Lord hath said, ' 1 there will he ! ' 

"So sometimes comes to soul and sense 
The feeling which is evideiue 
Tliat very near about ns lies 
The realm of spiritual mysteries. 
Tlie sphere of the supernal powers 
Impinges on this world of ours. 
The low and dark horizon lifts. 
To light the scenic terror shifts; 
The breath of a diWner air 
r>lo\vs down the answer of a prayer : — 
'I'liat all our sorrow, pain, and doubt 
.\ great compassion clasps about. 
And law and goodness, love and force, 
.\re wedded fast beyond divorce. 
Then duty leaves to love its task, 
The beggar Self forgets to ask ; 
With smile of trust and folded hands. 
The jiassivo soul in waiting stands 
To feel, as flowers the sun and dew. 
The One true Life its own renew. 

"So, to the calmly gathered thought 

The innermost of truth is taught. 

The mystery dimly understood. 

That love of God is love of good, 

.\ud, chiefly, its divinest traeo 

In Him of Nazareth's holy face ; 

That to be saved is only this, — 

Salvation from our sollishness, 

Kroni more than eletnontal fire. 

The soul's nnsanctified desire. 

From sin itself, and not the pain 

That warns ns of its chafing chain ; 

That woi-ship's deeper meaning lies 

In mercy, and not sacrifice. 

Not proud humilities of sense 

.\nd posturing of jHinitonce, 

Hut love's nnforced obedience ; 

That Book and Church and Day are given 

l\>r man, not God, — for earth, not heaven, 



The blessed means to holiest ends. 
Not masters, but benignant friends ; 
That the dear Christ dwells not afar, 
The king of some remoter st«r, 
But Hanicd o'er all the thronging host 
The baptism of the Holy Ghost ; 
Heart answers heart : in one desii-u 
Till' blending lines of prayer aspire ; 
' Whore, in my name, meet two or three,' 
Onr Lord hatli said, ' 1 there will be ! ' " 

John GRF.ENLliAh WliriTIEK. 



A PRAYER FOR LIFE. 

F.A.TiiKn, let me not die young ! 
Earth's beauty asks a heart and tongue 
To give true love and praises to her worth ; 

Her sins ami judgment-sufi'erings call 
For fearless nnirtyrs to redeem thy Earth 
From her disastrous fall. 
For though her s\nnmer hills and vales might 

seem 
The fair creation of a poet's dream, — 

Ay, of the Highest I'oet, 
Whose wordless rhythms are chanted by the 
gyres 
Of constellate star-choirs, 
That with deep melody How and overflow it, — 
The sweet Earth, — very sweet, dcsi)ite 
The rank grave-smell forever drifting in 
.\mong the odors from her censers white 
Ofwave-swungliliesandofwiud-svvungroses, — 
The Earth sad-sweet is deeply attaint with 
sin ! 
The pure air, which encloses 
Her and her starry kin. 
Still shudders with the nnsjient palpitating 
Of a great t'urse, that to its utmost shore 
Thrills with a deadly shiver 
Which has not ceased to quiver 
Down all the ages, nathless the strong beating 

Of Angel-wings, and the defiant roar 
Of Earth's Titanic thunders. 

Fair and sad. 
In sin and beauty, our belovi'd Earth 
Has need of all her sons to make her glad ; 
Has need of martyrs to retire the hearth 
Of her ipienched altars, — of heroic men 
With freedom's sword, or Truth's supernal pen. 
To shape the worn-out mold of nobleness again. 
And she has need of Poets who can string 
Their harps with steel to catch the lightning's 

fire. 
And pour her thunders from the clangingwire. 
To cheer the hero, mingling with his ehi 
Arouse the laggtird in the battle's rear, 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



— a 

343 ^^ 



^ 



Daunt the stem wicked, and from discord wring 

Prevailing harmony, while the humtilest soul 
Who keeps the tune the warder angels sing 
In golden dioirs above, 
And only wears, for crown and aureole. 

The glow-worm light of lowliest human love, 
Sliall lill with low, sweet undertones the 

chasms 
Of silence, 'twixt the booming thunder- 
spasms. 
And Earth has need of Prophets fiery-lipped 
And ileep-souled, to announce the glorious 
dooms 
Writ on the silent heavens in starry scrijit. 
And Hashing fitfully from her shuddering 
tombs, — 
Commissioned Angels of the new-born Faith, 

To teach the immortality of Good, 
The soul's God-likeness, Sin's coeval death. 
And Man's indissolulile lirotherhood. 

Yet never an age, when God lias need of him. 
Shall want its Man, predestined by that need. 
To jjour his life in fieiy word or deed, — 
Tlie strong Archangel of the Klohirn ! 

Earth's hollow want is prophet ol' his coming : 
In the low murmur of her tarnished cry. 
And heavy sobs breathed up despairingly, 

Ye hear the near invisible luimming 
Of his wide wings that fan the lurid sky 
Into cool rijijiles of new life and hope. 
While far in its dissolving ether ojie 
Deeps beyond deeps, of sapphire calm, to cheer 
With Sabbath gleams the troubled Now and 
Here. 

Father ! thy will be done ! 
Holy and righteous One ! 
Though the reluctant years 
May never crown my throbbing brow's with 
white, 
Nor round my shoulders turn the golden light 
Of my thick locks to wisdom's royal ermine : 
Yet by the solitary tears, 
Deeper than joy or sorrow, — by the thrill, 
Hi'.'her than hope or terror, whose quick genuin, 

I n those hot tears to sudden vigor sprung. 
Sheds, even now, the fruits of graver age, — 
By the long wrestle in which inward ill 
Fell like a trampled viper to the ground, - - 
73y all tliat lifts me o'er my outward jicers 
To that supernal stage 
Where soul dissolves the bonds by Nature 
bound, — 
Fall wlien I may, by pale disease unstrung. 
Or by the hand of fratricidal rage, 

I cannot now die young ! 

George s. Dorleich. 



I V I were told that I must die to-morrow. 

That the next sun 
Whichsinksshould bearme pastallfearandsoirow 

For any one. 
All the fight fought, all the short journey through. 

What should 1 do ( 

I do not think that I should shrink or falter. 

But just go on, 
Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter 

Aught that is gone ; 
But rise and move and love and smile and pray 

For one more day. 

And, lying down at night for a last sleeping. 

Say in that ear 
Which hearkeiLS ever : " Lord, within thy keei)ing 

How should I fear ? 
And when to-monow brings thee nearer still. 

Do thou thy will." 

I might not sleep for awe ; but peaceful, tender. 

My soul would lie 
All the nightlong ; and when the uiomingsplendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
1 think that I could smile — could calmly .say, 

" It Is his day." 

But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 

Held out a scroll. 
On which my life was writ, and 1 with wonder 

Beheld unroll 
To a long century's end its mystic clue. 

What shoidd I do '< 

What muld I do, blessed Guide and Master, 

Other than this ; 
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very long it be. 

While led by thee < 

Step after step, feeling thee close beside me. 

Although unseen. 
Through thorns, through flowers, whether tin- 
tempest hide thee, 
I Or heavens serene. 

Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray, 
Thy love decay. 

I may not know ; my God, no hand revealeth 

Thy coun.sels wise ; 
Along the path a decjwning shadow stealeth. 

No voice replies 
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell ; 

And it is well. 



^ 



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344 



PVKAtS or HMLIGION. 



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B- 



Lot mo kot!i> on, abiiUuj,' niul uulViuiug 

Thy will iihvays, 
'rhroiigli » long ceutiuy'a \iivuing ft'uitiou 

Ov a short day's ; 
Thuu oanst Hot oomo too soon ; aiul 1 cau wait 

It' thou fOiuB latt). 

SUSAN COOLUtl.B. 



THE FUOirr INTO KUYIT. 



Tu KKB "a ft logt^ml that 'a toUl of a gypsy who dwelt 

In tho lands where the pymniids bo ; 
And her i\^be was embivideivd with stars, and hor 
belt 

Witlv di'vioes right wondrous to see ; 
And sholivod in the days when our l.oulwasaehiUl 

I >u his nuithor's iniuiaoulate breast ; 
\\' hon he tied fi'onihis foes, — when to Kgyptoxiled, 

He wont down with St, Josepli the blest. 

'f his Egyi'tianheldconvei'sewith magic, methinks, 

And the future was given to her gaze ; 
Kor an obelisk marked her abode, and a siJiiux 

Dn her threshold ko|>t vigil always. 
She was (lensivo and over alone, nor was seen 

In the haunts of the dissolute erowd ; 
Hut oomni\inod with the ghosts of the Pharaohs, 
\ weeu. 

Or with visitors wrajiped in a sliivud. 

.\nd tlieni oauieanoldman ftom the desert oneday, 

With a nuiid on a mule by that rwid ; 
And a child on hor liosoni reclined, and tho way 

Led them straight to the gyjwy's alxide ; 
.\ud they soenred to have traveled a wearisome 
path, 

Fix>m thence many, many a h^igue, — 
Fji>m a tyrant's jnu'suit, from an enemy's wrath, 

Spent with toil and o'ercome with fatigHo, 

.Vud the gvpsy came forth from her dwelling, and 
prayed 

'I'luit the pilgrims would ivst them awhile ; 
Auvl she otl'ered her coiu-h to that deli<:ate maid, 

Who hail come many, many a mile. 
And slie fondled the babe with atfoction's cai'ess, 

.\nd she U'gged the old man wotild ivpose ; 
"Hero the stranger," she said, "ever finds free 
access. 

And the wanderer Imlm for his woes. " 

Thou her guests from the glaro of the noonday 
she led 
To a seat in her grotto so cool ; 
Whero she spread them a lianipiet of fruits, and 
a shed, 
■With K manger, was found for tlie niule ; 



With the wine of the palm-tree, with dates newly 
culled. 

All the toil of the day she beguiled ; 
And with song in a language mysterious she lulled 

On hor bosom the wayfaring child. 

When the gyjisy iiuon in her Kthiop hand 

Took the infant's diminutive palm, 
O, 'twas fearful to see how the features she scanned 

Of the babo in his slumbers so calm ! 
Well she noted each mark and each furrow that 
I'rossed 

O'er the tracings of destiny's line : 
"WiiENiB c-.\MK Yisf" sho cried, in a-stonish- 
n>out lost, 

"Kou nils I'niuii is of u.ne.uje Pivini; !" 

"Fixim the village of Nazareth," Joscpli replied, 

" Where we dwelt in tho laud of tho ,low. 
We have lied from a tyrant whose garment isdywl 

In the gore of the children he slew : 
We were told to renuviu till an angoTs command 

Should appoint us tho hour to return ; 
But till then wo inhabit the foreigners' land, 

Antl in Kgypt we make our sojourn," 

"Then ye tarry witli nm," cried the gypsy in joy, 

"And ye make of my dwelling your honu' ; 
Many years have 1 prayed that the Israelite boy 

(Hlossed hope of tho Gentiles I) would couui." 
And sho kissed both the feet of theinfant and kuelt. 

And adored him at oneo ; then a smile 
Lit the face of his mother, who cheerfully tlwolt 

With lu'r host on the banks of the Nile, 

FKANLis Mauonv (Father I'Rour). 



BURIAL OF MOSES, 



" Ant) he buried him in a valWy in ih 


f laml of M( 


kiK over n^lnst 


Beth'-iiooT : but no »ia» knowcth of hi-. 


scpulchei t 


nio this vlay." — 


Deul, sxxiv. 6. 







By Nebo's lonely mountain. 

On this side Joulan's wave. 

In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave ; 

Viut no man built that sepulchor. 

And no nrau Si>w it o'er ; 

Kor the angels of God upturned the sod, 

.And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever jMssed on earth j 

Yet no man heaixl tho trampling, 

Or saw the tjain go forth : 

Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 

-And the crimson streak on ocean's choek 

Grows into the gi-eat sun ; 



^ 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



W^ 



Noiselessly as th'- spring-time 

Her crown of venlure weaves, 

And all the trees on all the hills 

Unfold their thousand leaves : 

So without sound of music 

Or voice of them that wept, 

Silently down from the mountain's cromi 

The great pi'oeession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle 

On gray iJeth-peor's height 

Out of his I'ocky eyry 

Looked on the wondrous sight ; 

Perchance the lion stalking 

Still shuns that hallowed spot ; 

For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But, when the warrior dieth, 

His conira/les of the war. 

With arms reversed and muttled drums, 

Follow the funeral car ; 

They show tlie banners taken ; 

They tell his battles won ; 

And alter him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute-gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay the sage to rest. 

Anil give the Ijard an honored place, 

Willi costly marbles drest, 

In the great mii:ister transept 

Where lights like gloi'ies fall. 

And the .sweet choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned hall. 

This was the bravest wairior 

That ever buckled sword ; 

This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 

And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen 

On the deathless page; truths Iialf so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And li.ad he not high honor? — 

The hillside for a pall ! 

To lie in state while angeb wait, 

With stars for tapers tall '. 

\nd the ilark rock-jnnes, like tossing plumes, 

Over his Ijier to wave. 

And Cod's own liaiid, in that lonely land. 

To lay him in his gi-ave ! — 

In that strange grave without a name, 
Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again — wondrous thought I — 
Before the judgment-ilay, 



And stand, with glory wrapped around. 
On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife tliat won our life 
With the incarnate Son of God. 

lonely tomb in Moab's lanil ! 

dark Beth-[)eor's hill ! 

Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to he still : 

Gwl liath his mystiiiiks of grace, 

Ways that we cannontell. 

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved so well. 

CtCll, FKA-NCES ALeXANO£R. 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 

CEORCE III. AND A OVl.NG WOMAN IN WINDSOR FORES 

OlTSl'RBTCHEn Ixineatli the leafy sha<le 
Of Windsor forest's deepest glaile, 

A dying woman lay ; 
Three little children round her stood. 
And there went uji from the greenwood 

A woful wail that day. 

"O mother ! " was the niingld cry, 
"0 mother, mother! do not die. 

And leave us all alone." 
" lly blcsscil babes ! " she tried to say, 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low sobbing moan. 

And then, life struggle*! hard with death. 
And fust and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head ; 
And, ])i-ering through the deep wood maze 
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

" Will she not come ? " she said. 

Just then, the parting Ixiughs Ijctwcen, 
A little maid's light form was seen. 

All breathless with her s|)ced ; 
And, following close, a man came on 
(A portly man to look ujjoii). 

Who leil a janting steed. 

"Mother ! " the little maiden cried. 
Or e'er she reached the woman's side. 

And kissed her clay -cold cheek, — 
" I liave not idleii in the town. 
But long went wandering up and down, 

The minister to seek. 

" They told me here, they told me there, — 
I think they mocked me everywhere ; 
And wlien I fouml his home, 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



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And lieggc'il him on my bended knee 

To bring his book and come with me, 

llotlier ! 111! would not uome. 

" I told liini how juu dying hiy, 
And conld not go in peace away 

Witliout the minister ; 
I begged liim, for dear Christ his sake, 
l!ut (>, my heart was fit to break, — 

jMotlier ! he iBiuld not stir. 

"So, though my tears were blinding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be. 

To come again to you ; 
And here — close by — this squire I met, 
M'lio asked (so mild) what made me fret ; 

And when I t,.ld him true, — 

" ' 1 will go with you, cliild,' he said, 
' God sends mo to this dying bed,' — 

Mother, he 's here, hard by." 
While thus the lillle maiden spoke. 
The man, his baek ;igainst an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle oi^his nerk bung free, 

With iiuivering Hank and trembling kuee, 

Pressed close his bonny hay ; 
A statelier man, a statelier steed. 
Never on greensward paced, I rede, 

Thau those stood there that day. 

So, while the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his baek against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms, and in his look 
Something that, like a sermon-book, 

Preached, — "All is vanity." 

Hut when the dying woman's face 
Tnrueil toward him with a wishful gaze, 

He stepped to where she lay ; 
And, kneeling down, bent over her, 
Saying, " I am a minister. 

My sister ! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole, 
(Ood's words were printed on his sold !) 

Into the dying ear 
He breathed, as 't were an angel's strain. 
The things that unto life pertain. 

And death's dark shadows clear. 

He spoke of sinners' lost estate, 
In Christ renewed, regenerate, — 

Of God's most blest decree. 
That not a single soul should die 
Who turns repentant, with the cry 

" Be merciful to me." 



He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, 
Endured but for a little while 

In ])atience, faith, and love, — 
Sure, in God's own good time, to be 
Exchanged for an eternity 

(_)f ha|)piness above. 

Then, as the spirit ebbed away, 

He raised his hands and eyes to pray 

That peaceful it might pass ; 
And then — the orphans' sobs alone 
Were heard, and they knelt, every one, 

Close round ou the green grass. 

Svich was the sight their wandering eyes 
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, 

Who reined their coursers back, 
Just as they found the long astray. 
Who, in the heat of chase that day. 

Had wandered from their track. 

But each man reined his pawing steed, 
And lighted down, as if agreed. 

In silence at his side ; 
And there, uncovered all, they stood, — 
1 1 was a wholesome sight and good 

That day for mortal pride. 

For of the noblest of the land 

Was that deep-hushed, bareheaded band ; 

And, central in the ring, 
By that dead pauper on the ground. 
Her ragged orphans clinging round. 

Knelt their anointed king. 

KOUICUT niui CAUOLINll SOUTHEV 



THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS. 

He was of that stubborn crew 
Of errant saints, whom all men grant 
To he the true church militant : 
Such as do lnuld their faith upon 
The holy text of jiikc ami gun ; 
Pecide all eontrover.sies by 
infallible artillery, 
And ])rove their doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knoi:ks ; 
Call fire, and sword, and desolation 
A godly, thorough lieforiuation. 
Which always must be carried on 
And still lie doing, never done ; 
As if religion were intended 
For nothing else but to be mended. 
A sect whose chief devotion lies 
In odd perverse antipathies ; 
In falling out with that or this, 
And finding somewhat still amiss ; 



-A'P 



r 



POEMS OF BELIGION. 



■^7^ 



More peevisli, cross, and splenetic, 
Than dog distract, or monkey sick ; 
That with more care keep holiday 
Tlie wrong tlian others the i-iglit way ; 
Compound for sins they are inclined to, 
I!y damning those they have no mind to ;' 
Still so perverse and opjjosite. 
As if tliey worshiped God for spite ; 
The selfsame thing they will abhor 
One way, ami long anotlier for. 

Samuel Butler. 



[& 



THE FAITHFUL ANGEL. 

FROM '■ I'ARADISE LOST." 

The serapli Abdiel, faithful found 
Among the faithless, faithful only he ; 
Among innumerable false, unmoved. 
Unshaken, unseduced, untenifieil, 
His loyalty he kept. Ids love, his zeal ; 
Nor n\nnlier, nor example with lum wrought 
To swerve from truth, or change his I'onstant mind, 
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed. 
Long way through hostile scorn, whi('li he sus- 
tained 
Supenor, nor of violence feai-ed auglit ; 
And with retorted scorn his hack he turned 
On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed. 



THE REAPER'S DREAM. 

The road was lone ; the grass was dank 

With night-dews on the briery bank 

Whereon a weaiy reaper sank. 

His garb was old ; his vi-sage tanned ; 

The nisty sickle in his hand 

t'liuld find no work in all the land. 

He .saw the evening's chilly star 

Above his native vale afar ; 

A moment on the horizon's bar 

It hung, then sank, a.s with a sigh ; 

And there the crescent moon went by. 

An empty sickle down the sky. 

To soothe his pain, Slecj/s tender jialm 
Laid on his brow its touch of halm ; 
His brain received the slumberous calm ; 
Ai!fl .soon that angel without name, 
Her rnbc a dre.im, her face the same. 
The giver of sweet visions cMiiie. 

She touched his eyes ; no longer sealed, 
They saw a troop of reapers wield 
Their swift blades in a ripened field. 



At each thrust of their snowy sleeves 
A thrill ran through the future sheaves 
Rustling like rain on forest leaves. 

They were not lirawny men who bowed. 
With liaiN.^t V'liirs rough and loud, 
liut spirit -. ii:.'. Ill,' as a cloud. 
Like 111 111 li-liliiiiigs in their hold, 
The .silver sickles manifold 
Slid musically through the gold. 

O, liid the moniing stars combine 

To match the chorus cleai- and fine. 

That rippled lightly <lown the line, — 

A cadence of celestial rhyme. 

The language of that cloudless clime. 

To which their shining hands kejit time ! 

Behind them lay the gleaming rows. 
Like those long clouds the sunset shows 
On amber meadows of repose ; 
But, like a wind, the binders bright 
Soon followed in their mirthful might. 
And swejjt them into sheaves of light. 

noubliiig the sjilendor of the plain. 
There rolled the great celestial wain, 
To gather in the fallen grain. 
Its frame was built of golden bars ; 
Its glowing wheels were lit with stars ; 
The royal Harvest's car of cars. 

The snowy yoke that drew the load. 

On gleaming hoofs of silver trode ; 

And music was its only goad. 

To no command of word or beck 

It moved, and felt no other check 

Than one white arm laid on flic neck, — 

The neek, whose light was ovenvovmd 
With liells of lilies, ringing round 
Tlieir odors till the air was drowned : 
The starry foreheads meekly borne, 
With gaHands looped from horn to horn. 
Shone like the many-colored morn. 

The field was cleared. Home went the bands. 
Like children, linking happy hands. 
While singing through their father's lands ; 
Or, arms about each other thrown. 
With amber tresses backward blown. 
They moved as they were music's own. 

The vision brightening more and more. 

He saw the gamer's glowing door. 

And sheaves, like sunshine, strew the floor, — 

The floor was jasper, — golden flails. 

Swift-sailing as a whirlwind sails, 

Throbbed mellow music down the v.alcs. 



-s 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



^ 



He saw the mansion, — all repose, — 
Great conidors and porticoes. 
Propped with the columns, shining rows ; 
And these — for beauty was the rule — 
Tlie polished pavements, hard and cool, 
Eedoubled, like a crystal pool. 

And there the odorous feast was spread ; 
The fruity fragrance, widely shed, 
Seemed to the floating music wed. 
Seven angels, like the Pleiad seven. 
Their lips to silver clarions given. 
Blew welcome round the walls of heaven. 

In skyey garments, silky thin, 
The glad retainers iloated in 
A thousand forms, and yet no din : 
And from the visage of the Lord, 
Like splendor from the Orient poured, 
A smile illumined all the board. 

Far Hew the music's circling sound ; 
Then Iloated back, with soft rebound. 
To join, not mar, the convei'se round, — 
Sweet notes, that, melting, still increased. 
Such as ne'er cheered the bridal feast 
Of king in the enchanted East. 

Did any great door ope or close. 
It seemed the birth-time of repose. 
The faint sound died where it arose ; 
And they who passed from door to iloor. 
Their soft feet on the polished floor 
Jlet their soft shadows, — nothing more. 

Then once again the groups were drawn 
Through corridors, or down the lawn. 
Which bloomed in beauty like a dawn : 
Where countless fountains leapt alway. 
Veiling their silver heights in spray. 
The choral people held their way. 

There, midst the brightest, brightly shone 
Dear forms he loved in years agone, — 
The earliest loved, — the earliest flown. 
He heard a mother's sainted tongue, 
A sister's voice, who vanished young, 
While one still dearer sweetly sung ! 

No further might the scene unfold ; 
The gazer's voice could not withhold ; 
The very rapture made him bold : 
He cried aloud, with clasped hands, 
' ' happy fields ! happy bands. 
Who reap the never-failing lands ! 

" master of these broad estates. 

Behold, before your very gates 

A worn and wanting laborer waits ! 



Let me but toil amid your gi'ain. 

Or be a gleaner on the plain, 

So I may leave these fields of pain ! 

' ' A gleaner, I will follow far, 
With never look or word to mar, 
Behind the Harvest's yellow car ; 
All day my hand shall constant be, 
And every happy eve shall see 
The precious burden borne to thes ! " 

At morn some reapers neared the place. 
Strong men, whose feet recoiled apace ; 
Then, gathering round the upturned face. 
They saw the lines of pain and care. 
Yet read in the expression there 
The look as of an answered prayer. 

THOMAS BUCHANA.N READ. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



" L«t not ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure : 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor." — GRAY. 

JIy loved, my honored, much-i'espected friend. 

No mercenary bard his homage pays : 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end ; 

Mydearest meed, a friend'sesteemand praise. 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

W^hat Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier 
there, I ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angi-y sugh ; 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the Jileugh, 

The blackening trains o' craws to theirrepose ; 
The toilwom cotter frae his labor goes, — 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, — 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' e.xpectant wee things, toddlin', stacher 
through 
To meet their dad, wi'flichterin' noise an'glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily. 

His clean hearthstaue, his thriftie wifie's 
smUe, 



^ 



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349 



ti 



4^.- 



The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary i-arking cares beguile, 
And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. 

Bclyve the elder bairns come drapijiug in. 

At service out amang the fanners roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie riu 

A cannie errand to a ueibor town ; 
Tlieir eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown. 

In youtlifu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
('oniLS lianie, perhaps, to shew a bra' new gown, 

Or dejiosit her sair-won penny-foe. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

\Vi' joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view : 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheai-s, 

Gai'sauhl claes lookamaist as weel 's the new ; 
The father mi.xes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 

And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play ; 
"An' 0, be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

An' mind your duty, duly, mom an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's ]mth ye gang astray. 

Implore his counsel and assisting nught ; 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright ! " 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door. 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor. 

To do some errands and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the cons('ious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-strack anxious care inquires his 
name. 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weelpleased the mother hears it 'snaewild, worth- 
less rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's e'e ; 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
Butblateandlathefu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae 
grave ; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like 
the lave. 



happy love ! wliers love like this is found ! 
O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond com[pare ! 

1 've paced much this weary mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare : — 
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

(!ine cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the even- 
ing gale. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heait, 

A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth. 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring ait. 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjured arts ! dissemblingsmoolh ! 

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled > 
Is there no [>ity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their <'hild. 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distrac- 
tion wild ? 

But now the supper crowns their simple board. 

The halesome paiTitch, chief o' Scotia's food ; 
The soupe their only hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows hercood ; 
The dame brings fortli, in complimental mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck fell. 
An' aft he 's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 't was a towmond aidd, sin' lint was i' the 
bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha' -Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet reverently is laid aside, 

His lyart haff"ets wearing thin an' bare : 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a ]iortion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God !" he says with solemn 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

Theytune theirhearts,by far thenoblest aim ; 
Perhaps "Dundee's" wild-warbliag measures 
rise, 

Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heavenward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The jiriest-like father reads the sacred page, — 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 



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POEMS OF RELIGION. 



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u 



Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Anialek's ungracious progeny, 

Or how tlio royal bard did groaning lie 

Hfucath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 

Or .lob's pnthotie plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic lire ; 

Or other lioly seers tliat tune the Siicred lyre. 

reihaps the Christian volume is the theme, — 

1 lowguiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay liis head : 
How his lirst followers and serviuits sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to nuiny a land ; 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand. 
And heard great Hab'lon's doom pronounced by 
Heaven's command. 

Then, kiu^elingdown, to heaven's eternal King, 

The .saint, the father, and the luisband prays : 
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 
There ever bask in uncreated rays. 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While eireling Time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method and of art, 
Wlien nu'U display to congregations wide, 

1 'I'votion's every grace, except the heart ! 
Tlie I'owev, incensed, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous str.ain, the sacenlotal stole ; 
But, haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May heai-, well pleased, the language of the 
s'oul ; 
And in liis Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. 

Then homeward all take off their several way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And prolfer up to Heaven the warm request. 
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 

.Xud decks the lily fair in flowery pride. 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 

F(U' them and for their little ones provide ; 
But, chielly, in their hearts with grace divine j>re- 
sido. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 

springs, 

That makes her loved at home, revered abroad ; 

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

'An honest man's the noblest work of God !" 



And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind : 
What is a lordling's pomp ? — a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is 
sent. 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Uo blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content ! 
And, 0, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 

Then, liowe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous popnlace may rise the while, 

And stJind a wall of lire around their much-loved 

isle. 

Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide, 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted 
heart ; 
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
0, never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard 
In brightsuccession raise, herornamentandguard ! 

KOBeRT BUK.NS. 



THE OTHER WORLD. 

It lies around us like a cloud, — 

A world we do not see ; 
Yet the sweet closing of an eye 

M.iy bring us there to be. 

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; 

Amid our worldly cares 
Its gentle voices whisper love. 

And mingle with our prayers. 

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, 
Sweet helping hands are stirred. 

And palpitates the veil between 
With breathings almost heard. 

The silence — awful, sweet, and calm — 
They have no power to break ; 

For mortal words are not for them 
To utter or partake. 

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, 
So near to press they seem, ^ 

They seem to lull us to our rest, 
And melt into our dream. 



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351 



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And in the hush of rest they bring 

'T is easy now to see 
How lovely and how sweet a pass 

The hour of death may be. 

To close the eye, and close the ear, 
Wrapped in a trance of bliss. 

And gently dream in loving arms 
To swoon to that — from this. 

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 
Scarce asking where we are. 

To feel all evil sink away. 
All sorrow and all care. 

Sweet souls around us ! watch us still, 

Press nearer to our side. 
Into our thoughts, into our prayers, 

With gentle helpings glide. 

Let death between us he as nauglit, 
A dried and vanished stream ; 

Your joy be the reality, 
Our suffering life the dream. 



B-^- 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

All things that are on eartli shall wliolly pass 

away. 
Except the love of God, which shall live and last 

for aye. 
The foiTiis of men shall be as they had never been ; 
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh ami tender 

green ; 
The birds of the thicket shall end their plea.sant 

song. 
And the nightingale shall cease to chant the even- 
ing long. 
The kine of tlie pasture shall feel the dart that kills. 
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the 

hills. 
The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox. 
The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of 

the rocks. 
And the strong and fearless bear, in tlie troilden 

dust shall lie ; 
And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty 

whale, shall die. 
And realms shall be diss-olveii, and empires lie 

no more, 
And they shall bow to death, who raled from 

shore to shore ; 
.\nil the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell. 
With the rolling firmament, where the starry 

armies dwell. 



Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass 

away. 
Except the love of God, which shall live and last 

for aye. 



THE MA.STER'S TOUCH. 

I.N' the still air the music lies unheard ; 

In the rough marble beauty hides unseen : 
To make the music and the beauty, needs 

The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. 

Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand ; 

Let not the music that is in us die ! 
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us ; nor let. 

Hidden ami lo.st, thy form within us lie ! 

Spare not the stroke ! do with us as thou wilt ! 

Lettherebenaughtunfini.shed, broken, marred ; 
Complete thy purpose, that we may become 

Thy perfect image, tliou our God and Lord ! 



ALL'S ■WELL. 

The day is ended. Ere 1 sink to sleep. 
My weary spirit seeks repose in thine ! 

Father, forgive my trespasses, and keep 
This little life of mine ! 

With loving kindness curtain thou my bed. 
And cool in rest my burning pilgi-im feet ; 

Tliy pardon be the pillow for my head : 
So shall my rest be sweet. 

At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and thee. 
No fears my soul's unwavering faith ran shake ! 

AH 's well, whichever side the grave for me 
The morning light may break. 



Dear Friend ! whose- presence in the house, 

AVhose gracious word benign, 
Could once, at Cana's wedding feast. 

Change water into wine ; 

Come, visit us ! and when dull work 

Grows weary, line on line. 
Revive our souls, and let us see 

Life's water turned to wine. 

Gay mirth shall deepen into joy. 
Earth's hopes grow half divine. 

When Jesus visits us, to make 
Life's water glow as wine. 



-^ 



S52 



ivKMs or MUaiON. 



fh 



Gjx>w U'i^lit with «n^i;vl vi.iils, whou 
Tho IauxI ik>\us i>u( tlic ttiuo, 

tVr wlitm !ifU-si>«>kiu^»; t»iU!i to love. 
Not kuowiii^ luiuo nor tUiiw, 

TUo tuiraol* <\j>«\u is \v\\>\>gUt, 
Auvl water tvvtuwi to wine. 



Who shitU >H»ke tlvuWe .' — uot the evil inimla 

W'hioli like a slimlow o'er invtttiiyi lower; 
Tho s)>ivit (Hutio h«th so attvuuNvl, timls 
There I'wiiii^ t hut u>«,v own the i"«l<««r's jK>wer ; 
What <»«,Y she Hot ooufer, 

K'eu wheiv she luvtst iHUitleum ? 
They take not i>eai-e t'ixxtu her, 
Slu' >«»;*' sj>eak jnniee to them ! 

ANt>N'VUOl'S. 



QUIKT FROM HOD. 

tjvttsr hwn (5i.hI ! It kHMueth «ot to still 
The vast auvl hi^h asjuriii^ ol' the soul. 
The d>HH> e>\>otioits whieh the si«rit till. 
Autl sjHwl its ^>ur^^>se ouwaixl to the j»v»»l ; 
It vliuis not yovtth'a bright eye, 

l'>emls iu>t joy's Uvtty luvw, 
No i;HiUh\ts eivstasy 

Ne<'Al iw its )>re«euw K>w. 

U eiMues uot in a sullen fawn, to jJaw 

Life's great>vit jiinnl in an inglorious rest ; 
Th>vt»j;h a dull, lieaten traok its way to tJ'aw, | 
Aiul to lethai^io slunilvr lull the IxiNjast ; 
Action may Ih> its sivlieiv, > 

Mountain ^«ths, l<>nnvHess fleWs, 
O'er billows its eai^-ev ; 

JCAis is the i>vnver' it yieUls : 

To sojvntru in the worW. and yet aj«rt ; ' 

To tlwell with IJoil, yet still with wan to feel ; 
To l>ear aVut foivver in the heart 
The glrtUneiis which his sjxirit doth ivveal ; 
Not to vleeut evil goire 

t'twn every ejuthly seene ; j 

To see the stv«n\ ivnie orr, 
Uut feel his slrieUl Wtweeu, 

U giveth uot a stivi\j;th to human kind. 

To leave all sutleriug jHAvevless at its (\«et, 
Kut keejvs within the teroiJe of the iniml 
A gvJilou altar, surd a n>eivy-se<»t ; 

A spiritual ark, \ 

ISearing the \>e«oe ivf Uo<l ' 

AK've the waters dark. 
And o'e»' the desert's s\hI. 

How besu>til\rl within our souls to k«i' 

This treasuiv, tho AU-Meivit\\l hath given ; 
To feel, wheu we awake, and when we sleejv 
Itsiuiiuiservuud us, likeabrveae frxuu heaven ! 
Quiet at hearth and hvvme, 

\Vhei» the heart's joys l>egin ; 
Quiet whww'er we iw'im, i 

Quiet aivuuvl. within. 



THR WAY, XHR TRVTH. AND THK UKS, 

I O VHoi', grei>t Krienvl to all the swrs ivf mett. 

Who onoe ajuH-aiwl in luunhlest gnrse Ih>1ow, 
I Siir to tvbuke, to hivak the i'a\>tive's chain. 

And call thv l>\x<th>vn forth t\vm want and 



Wv' Uvk to thee ! thy truth is still the Wght 
Whiehguides the nations, ginning on theirway, 
I Stum Wing and falling in disitstrvus night, 
I Yet hoj>ing ever for- the j>erfeet vlay. 

I Yes ; thou art still the life, thou art the Way 
Th* holiest know ; light, lifts the Way ol 
heaven ! 
\ And they who deiirest hoj>e and deej^est jvroy. 
Toil by the light, Life, Way, which thou hast 
i;iven. 



TllRRK WAS &11.KN0K IX HKAVKK 

t\vN angel sj>irits ueevl ivjHNse 
lu the l\tll sunlight of the sky » 

And can the veil of slnn\l>er close 
A cheruKs Wight and Wasii\g ey« 1 

Have ser'«i>hin» a weary hiwv, 

A fainting heart, an aching hre«st ? 

Niv far tv\> high their )>nlses How 
To langnislr with inglorious I'est. 

0, not the death-like calm of slt-e|> 
Covxld hush the everlasting song ; 

No Mry di'eam or sluniKn' deep 
KjrtiHUi-e the r^i^t and holy throng. 

Yet not the lightest tone was hearvl 
Frvin angel voice or a>\g«'l hand ; 

And not ot\e jilnm^l pinion stirred 
Among the )>n«v and blissful l>and. 

For theiv was silenw in the sky, 
A joy not angel tv>«gu«« could t«U, 

As fivrn its mystic fount on high 
The i>ei»ce of (!o*l in st^lln^^ss tVU. 



"i-i- 



I 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



353 



^ 



O, wliat is bileu'* li«ie Ixilow ? 

Th« fruit of a wiiccalcl d*s|;ai)- ; 
Tlw; pause of i/aiu, th'j ilruaiii of woe ; — 

It is tiie lest of laptuie tl«e)c. 

And to tlie wayworn pilgrirji Uere, 

iloji; ki)i<lre<i seeins tJial pcifwt jxiace, 

TJian the full cltaiits of joy to hear 
JioU on, aijd never, uevy cease. 

From earthly aj^onies set fiee, 
Tire*! with the jwith Vm slowly tiwl, 

May »u<;h a silence vnAiJiitu: nie 
Into the ]iiiU/x of my Go<l 

ANONYMOUS. 



FOEEVEE WITH THE LOED. 

FoKUVKK with the Ixird ! 
Anjen ! so l<;t it Ije ! 
Life from the deaii is in that word, 
And immoitality. 

Here in the Ixidy i>ent, 
AhK";nt from hirn I roam, 
Vet nightly \iiU:\i my moving tent 
A "lay's march ncarei' home. 

My Father's house on liigh, 
Home of my S'jul ! how near. 
At tijnes, to faith's foreswring eye 
Thy golden gates apj)ear ! 

All ! then my spirit faints 
To reach the land I love. 
The briglit inlieritance of saints, 
Jerusalem alwve ! 

Y<-( 'louds will intervene. 
And all my piosjx-x-t flies ; 
Like Koah's dove, I flit };etwe<;n 
I{ough seas and st';nny skies. 

Anon the clouds dejtart. 
The winds and waters cease ; 
While swe<;tl/ o'er my gladdened heart 
Expands the lx)w of i^eace ! 

Beneath its glowing ardi, 
Along the liallowwi ground, 
I see cheruhie annic-s march, 
A camp of fire around. 

I hifar at mom and even, 
At noon and midnight hour, 
The choral liarmonies of h<aven 
Earth's Bahel tongues o'eri<ower. 



Then, then I tix\ that lie, 
Eememljered or forgot, 
The I/ord, is never faj from me. 
Though I ijer<:*ive him not. 

In darkness as in light, 
Hidden alike fiom view, 
I slwj;, 1 wake, as in his sight 
Who looks all nature thiough. 

All that I am, liave l.ieen. 
All that I yet juay Ije, 
He sees at once, as he hath seen, 
And shall forever see. 

" Forever with the I/jrd" : 
Father, if 't h thy will. 
The promise of tliat faithful word 
L'nfj thy child fulfill I 

So, when my latest breath 
Sliall lend the veil in twain, 
15y death I sliall es<;a|«; from death. 
And life eternal gain. 

James monto'jmlk 

THE SABBATH OF THE SfJL'L. 

Slkkf, sleep to-<iay, Uirnienting cares. 

Of earth and folly Wn ; 
Ye shall not dim the light that stri«ims 

From this wlestial morn. 

To-mo)row will l>e time enough 

To Icel your liai.'ih control ; 
Ye shall not violate;, this 'lay, 

The Salyl/ath of my soul. 

Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts ; 

lyct fires of vengeance die ; 
And, purged from sin, may I Ijchold 

A G<xJ of purity ! 



SEAECH AFTEE GOD. 

I mvam thee round about, thou my Go<l ! 

In thine aljode. 
I said unto tlie eartJo, " Speak, art thou he ? " 

She answered me, 
"I am not." I iuijuired of creatures all. 

In general. 
Contained therein. They with one voice proclaim 
That none amongst them challenged such a name. 

I asked the seas and all the deeps Wow, 

My Go*! to know; 
I aski:«l the reptiles and wliatever is 

In the abyss, — 



tt- 



-O 



a- 



554 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



■-n. 



Even from the shrimp to the leviatlian 

Imiiiiry ran ; 
But in tliose deserts which no line can sound, 
Tlie Llod I sought for was not to be found. 

I asked the air if that were he ; but lo ! 

It told me " No." 
I from the towering eagle to the WTen 

Demanded then 
If any feathered Ibwl 'mougst them were such ; 

But they all, much 
Offended with my question, in full choir, 



Unspeakalile, inscrutable, eternal, 

Lord over all ; 
The only terrible, strong, just, and ti'ue. 
Who hath no end, and no beginning knew. 

Ho is the well of life, for he doth give 

To all that live 
Both breath and being ; he is the Creator 

Both of the water. 
Earth, air, and tire. Of all things that subsist 

He hath the list, — 
Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims. 



Answered, "To find thy God thou must look He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their 
higher." names. 



1 asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars ; but 
they 

Said, "We obey 
The t!od thou seekest." I asked what eye or ear 

Could see or hear, — 
What in the world I might descry or know 

Above, below ; 
With an unanimous voice, all these things said, 
" We are not God, but we by him were made." 

I asked the world's great universal mass 

If that God was ; 
Which with a mighty and strong voice replied. 

As stupefied, — 
" I am not he, man ! for know that I 

By hun on high 
Was fashioned first of nothing ; thus instated 
;Vnd swayed by him by wliom I was created." 

I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flattery 
there 

Deceived each ear ; 
In the thronged city there was selling, buying. 

Swearing, and lying ; 
r the country, craft in simpleness arrayed, 

And then I said, — 
" Vain is my search, although my pains be great ; 
Where my God is there can be no deceit." 

A scrutiny within myself I then 

Even thus began : 
" I) man, what art thou ?" What more coidd I 
say 

Than dust and clay, — 
Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast. 

That cannot last ; 
Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn. 
Formed from that earth to which I must return ! 

I asked myself what this great God might be 

That fashioned me. 
I answered : The all-potent, sole, immense. 

Surpassing sense ; 



And now, my God, by thine illumining grace, 

Thy glorious face 
(So far forth as it may discovered be) 

Methiuks I see ; 
And though invisible and infinite. 

To human sight 
Thou, in thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest, 
In which, to our weak sense, thou comest nearest. 

0, make us apt to seek and quick to find. 

Thou, God, most kind ! 
Give us love, hope, and faith, in thee to trust, 

Thou, God, most just ! 
Remit all our ofienses, we entreat. 

Most good ! most great ! 
Grant that our willing, though imworthy quest 
May, through thy grace, admit us 'mongst the 
blest. 

THOMAS HErwOOD 



HUMILITY. 

The bird that soars on highest wing 
Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 

And she that doth most sweetly sing. 
Sings in the shade when all things rest : 

In lark and nightingale we see. 

What honor hath Humility. 

When Mary chose the better pai't. 

She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 
And Lydia's gently opened heart 

Was made for God's own temple meet. 
Fairest and best adorned is she 
Whose clothing is Humility. 

The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, 

In deepest adoration bends ; 
The weight of glory bears him down 

The most when most his soul ascends. 
Nearest the throne itself must be 
The footstool of Humility. 



-^ 



C0- 



POEMS OF liELIGION. 



35c 



ra 



EDWIN AND PAULrSUS: 

TH1£ CONVERSION OF NORTHUMBRIA. 

The black-haired gaunt Paulinus 
By ruddy Edwin stood : — 

" Bow down, king of Deira, 
Before tlie blessed liood ! 

Cast out thy heathen idols, 

And worship Christ our Lord." 

— But Edwin looked and pondered, 
And answered not a word. 

Again the gaunt Paulinus 

To ruddy Edwin spake : 
"God oilers life immortal 

For his dear Sou's own sake ! 
Wilt thou not hear his message. 

Who bears the keys and sword ? " 

— But Edwin looked and pondered, 
And answered not a word. 

Rose then a sage old wanior 

Wa.s fivescore winters old ; 
Whose beard from chin to girdle 

Like one long snow-wreath rolled : 
"At Yule-time in our idianiber 

We sit in wannth and light, 
While cold and howling round us 

Lies the black land of Night. 

"Athwart the room a sparrow 

Darts from the open door : 
Within the hajipy hearth-light 

One red flash, — and no more ! 
We see it come from darkness, 

And into darkness go : — 
So is our life, King Edwin ! 

Alas, that it is so ! 

" But if this jiale Paulinus 

Have somewhat more to tell ; 
Some news of Wlienee and Whither, 

And where the soul will dwell ; — 
If on that outer darkness 

The sun of Hope may shine ; — 
He makes life worth the living ! 

I take his God for mine ! " 

So spake the wise old Avarrior ; 

And all about him cried, 
" Paulinus' God hath conquered ! 

And he .shall be our guide : — 
For he makes life worth living 

Who brings this message plain. 
When our brief d.iy.s are over, 

Tliat we shall live again." 



THE LOVE OF GOD SUPREME. 

Thou hidden love of God, whose height, 
Whose depth unfathomed no man knows, 

I see from far thy beauteous light. 
Inly I sigh for thy repose. 

My heart is pained, nor can it be 

At rest till it finds rest in thee. 

Thy seci-et voice invites me still 
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove, 

And fain I would ; but though my will 
Be fi.xt, yet wide my passions rove. 

Yet hindrances strew all the way ; 

I aim at thee, yet from thee stray. 

" 'T is mercy all that thou hast brought 
My mind to seek her peace in thee. 

Yet while I seek but find thee not 
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see. 

Oh ! when shall all my wand'rings end, 

And all my steps to-thee-ward tend ? 

Is there a thing beneath the sun 

That strives with thee my heart to share ? 
Ah ! tear it thence and reign alone, 

The Lord of every motion there. 
Then shall my heart from earth be free. 
When it has found repose in thee. 

Oh ! hide this self from me, that I 
No more, but Christ in me, may live. 

My vile affections crucify. 

Nor let one darling lust survive. 

In all things nothing may I see. 

Nothing desire or seek liut thee. 

Love, thy sovereign aid impart. 
To save me from low-thoughteil care ; 

Chase this self-will through all my heart, 
Through all its latent mazes there. 

Make me thy duteous child, that I 

Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry. 

Ah ! no ; ne'er will I backward turn : 
Thine wholly, thine alone I am. 

Thrice happy he who views with scorn 
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame. 

Oh ! help, that I may never move 

From the lik-st footsteps of tliy love. 

Each moment draw from earth away 
My heart, that lowly waits thy call. 

Speak to my inmost soul, and say, 
" 1 am thy Love, thy God, thy All." 

To feel thy power, to hear thy voice. 

To taste thy love is all my choice. 

JOHN Wesley. 



■-& 



1P-..7: 



356 



rOKMS OF RELIGION. 



-R 



-f 



THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

As sliiulows fust by cloud and sun 

Klit o'er tlie summer grass, 
Sii, in tliy sight, Almighty One, 

Kartli's generations )iass. 

And vvliilii Iho years, an endless host, 

(•..inr 1. 1., sill,. suirUy on, 

'i'lii> 111 III. nI 11 s thai earth can boast 

.lust uli,lin and are gone. 

Vet doth the Star of Uethleheni shed 

A Ulster j)iiro and sweet, 
And still it loads, as once it led, 

'I'o the Messiah's feet. 

n l''athrr, may tliat holy star 
(irow every year more bright. 

And send its glorious beams afar 
To fill the world with light. 

William cullen Bryant. 



THE RIGHT MUST WIN. 

(t, IT is hard to work for God, 

To rise and take his jiart 
l'|ion this battle-liold of earth, 

And not sonietimrs lose heart ! 

He hides liimseU'so wondronsly, 
.\s though there were no God ; 

lie is least seen when all the powers 
Of ill are most abroad. 

Or he dcierts us lit the hour 

The fight is all but lost ; 
And seems to leave us to ourselves 

.Uist when we need hiiu most. 

Ill masters good, good seems to change 

To ill with greatest ease ; 
And, worst of all, the good with good 

Is at cross-purposes, 

.■\h ! God is other than we think ; 

1 1 is ways are far above. 
Far beyond reason's height, and reached 

Only by childlike love. 

AVorkinau of God ! 0, lose not heart, 
lint learn what God is like ; 

And in the darkest bnttle-field 
Tliou slialt kiMuv wheiv to strike. 



Thrice blest is he to whom is given 
The instinct that can tell 



That God is on the held when he 
Is most invisible. 

Blest, too, is ho who can divine 

Where real right doth lie. 
And dares to take the side tliat seems 

Wrong to mail's blindfold eye. 

For right is right, since God is God ; 

.\nil right tlie dav must win ; 
To doubt would he di.sloyalty, 

To falter would be sin ! 

FKlilM^RIC Wn,LIAM FAUL 



A DYING HYMN. 

E.MITII, with its dark and dreadful ills 

Recedes and fades away ; 
Lift uji your heads, ye heavenly hills ; 

Ye gates of death, give way ! 

My soul is full of whisjiered song, — 

My blindness is my sight ; 
The shadows that 1 feared so long 

Are full of life and light. 

Till' while my pulses fainter beat, 

My faith doth so abound ; 
1 fi'cl grow firm beneath my feet 

The green,, immortal gi'ound. 

That faith to me a courage gives 

Low as the grave to go : 
1 know that my Redeemer lives, — 

That 1 shall'live 1 know. 

The palace walls I almost see 

Where dwells my Lord and King! 

grave, where is thy victory ? 
O death, where is thy sting ? 

ALlcIi c, 



HOPEFtri.I,Y WAITING. 



Not as you meant, learned man, and good I 
Do I accept thy words of truth and rest ; 
God, knowing all, knows what for me is best, 
And gives mo what I need, not what he could. 

Nor always as I would ! 
I shall go to the Father's house, and sec 

Him and the Elder Brother face to face, — 
What day or hour I know not. 1-et mo bo 
Steadfast in work, and earnest in the race. 
Not as a homesick child who all day long 
Whines at its play, and seldom speaks in song. 



aj 



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POEMS OF RELIGIOX. 



357 



-a 



If for a time some loved one goes away, 
And leaves us our appointed «ork to do, 
Can we to him or to ourselves be true 
In mourning his departure day by day, 

And so our work delay ? 
Nay, if we love and honor, wo shall make 

The absence brief by doing well our task, — 
Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake. 
And at his coming only of him ask 

Approval of the work, which most was done. 
Not for ourselves, but our Beloved One. 

Our Father's house, I know, is liroad and grand; 
In it how many, many mansions arc ! 
And far beyond the light of sun or star, 
Four little ones of mine through that fair laud 

Are walking hand in hand ! 
Think you 1 love not, or that I forget 

These of my loins? Still this world is fair, 
And I am singing while my eyes are wet 
With weeping in this balmy summer air : 
Yet 1 'm not homesick, and the children here 
Have need of me, and so my way is clear. 

I would be joyful as my days go by. 
Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore 
Life's heaviest cross is mine forevermore, 
And I who wait his coming, shall not I 

On his sure word rely '! 
And if sometimes the way be rough and steep, 

Be heavy for the grief he sends to me. 
Or at my waking I would only weep. 
Let me remember these are things to be. 
To work his blessed will until he come 
To take my hand, and lead nii! safely home. 
A. l>. 1". Randolph. 



WHY THTTS LONGING? 

Why thus longing, thus forever sighing 
For the far off, unattained, and dim, 

While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Otfers up its low perpetual hymn ? 

Wouliist thou listen to its gentle teaching. 
All thy restless yearnings it would still, 

Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. 

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw. 

If no silken chord of love hath hound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, 
No fond voices answer to thine own, 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 



Not by deeds that gain the world's applauses, 
Not by works that win thee world-renown. 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses. 

Canst thou win and wear thi^ immortal crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 
Every day a rich rew-ard will give ; 

Thou wilt find by hearty striving only, 
And tndy loving, tliou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning 
When all nature hails the Lord of light, 

And his smile, nor low nor lofty scorning, 
Gladilens hall and hovel, vale and height ? 

Other hands may grasp the lield and forest, 
Pro\id proprietors in pomp may shine. 

But with fervent love if tliou adorest. 
Thou art wealthier, — all the world is thine. 

Yet if througli earth's wide domains thou rovest. 
Sighing that they are not thine alone, 

Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest. 
And tlieir beauty and thy wealth are gone. 

IlAKKIIil WlNbLpW SriWALL 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

Tlioi! Grace Divine, encircling all, 

A soundless, shoreless sea ! 
Wherein at last our souls must fall, 

Love of God most free ! 

When over dizzy heights we go. 
One soft hand blinds our eyes. 

The other leads us, safe and slow, 
Love of God most wise ! 

And though we turn us from thy face, 

And wander wide and long, 
Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace, 

O Love of God most strong ! 

The .saddened heart, the restless soul. 
The toilwoi-n frame and mind. 

Alike confess thy sweet control, 
Love of God most kind ! 

But not alone thy care we claim. 

Our wayward steps to win ; 
We know thee by a dearer name, 

Love of God within ! 

And filled and quickened by thy breath. 

Our souls are strong and free 
To rise o'er sin and fear and death, 

Love of God, to thee I 

Eliza Scldds b 



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^ 



358 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



U-- 



MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

Katiiku, 1 know that all my life 

Is jiortiouod out for lue. 
Ami the chaugi's that will surely eoiuo, 

I do not fear to soo ; 
But I ask thee for a present mind 

Intent on pleasing thee. 

I ask thoe for n thoughtful love, 
Tlirough eonsfant watching wise, 

To meet the glad with joyful smiles, 
And to wijic the weeping eyes ; 

And a heart at leis\ire from itself, 
To soothe and sympathize. 

1 would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro, 
Seeking for some givat thing to do, 

Or seci-et thing to know ; 
I W'Ould bo treated as a eliild, 

And guided where 1 go. 

Vherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
I have a fellowship with hearts 

To keep and eultivale ; 
.\iul a work of lowly lovo to do. 

For the Loi\l on whom 1 wait. 

.'^o I ask thee for the daily strength. 

To none that ask denied ; 
And a mind to lilend with outward life, 

While keeping at thy side, 
t'outent to fill a little space. 

If thou bo gliu'ified. 

.•\nd if some things I do not ask 

In my cup of blessing be, 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

With grateful love to thee ; 
.■\nd eareful, less to serve thee much 

Than to plea.-H- thee perfectly. 

Tlu-rc are briei-s besetting every path, 

Which call for patient caiD ; 
There is a cross in every lot, 

And an earnest need for prayer ; 
lUit a lowly heart that leatis on thee 

Is happy anywhere. 

In a service which thy love appoints, 

There ai-e no bonds for me ; 
For my secret heart is taught "the truth" 

That makes thy children " free" : 
And a life of self-reuomicing lovo 

Is a life of liberty. 

Anna l. Waring. 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 

I SAU) to Sorrow's awful storm 

Tliat beat against my breast, 
liage on, — thou mayst destroy this form. 

And lay it low at rest ; 
Hut still the spirit that now brooks 

Thy tempest, raging high. 
Undaunted on its fury looks, 

With steadfast eye. 

I said to Penury's meager train, 

Come on, — your threats 1 brave ; 
My last poor life-drop you may drain, 

And cru.sh me to the grave ; 
Yet still the spirit that endures 

Shall mock yoiu' force the while, 
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours 

With bitter smile. 

I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, 

Tass on, — I hoed you not ; 
Ye may pui-sue mo till my form 

And being are forgot ; 
Yet still the spirit, which you see 

Undaunted by your wiles. 
Draws from its own nobility 

Its highborn smiles. 

I said to Friendship's menaced blow, 

Strike deep, — my heart shall bear ; 
Thou canst but add one bitter woo 

To those already there ; 
Vet still the spirit that sustains 

This last severe distress 
Shall smile upon its keenest pains, 

.'\ud scorn redress. 

I said to Heath's uplifted dart. 

Aim sure, — 0, why delay ? 
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart, 

.\ weak, reluctant prey ; 
Foi- still the spirit, firm and free, 

Cnrullled by this last dismay. 
Wnipt in its own eternitv. 

Shall pass awav. 



1 SAW THEE. 
" W'hen thou w;ist uiulor the fiif-trec. I k»w thee.*' 

1 SAW theo when, as twilight foil, 
And evening lit her fnire>st star. 
Thy footsteps sought you ipiiet dell. 
The worUl's confusion left afar. 

I saw thee when thou stoodst alone, 
AVhere drooping branches thick o'erhung. 



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FOEMS OF RELIGION. 



359 



r^j 



Thy still retreat to all unknown, 
Hid in deep shadows darkly (lung. 

1 saw thee when, as died eaeh sound 
Of bleating lloek or w'oodland bird, 
Kneelini,', as if on holy ground. 
Thy viiici! the listening sileiiee heard. 

I .saw thy ealni uplifted eyes, 
And marked the heaving of thy breast, 
When nwe to heaven thy heartfelt sighs 
l''or |iiinn' life, for jiirfeet rest. 

1 saw the light that o'er thy faee 

Stole with a soft, sulTusing glow. 

As if, within, celestial gi-aeo 

I'.ri'iithed Ihe same bliss that angels know. 

I s.iw what (boil (lidsl not —above 
'I'by lowly head an open heaven ; 
And tokens of thy Kalher's love 
Willi smiles to thy ra]it spirit given. 

I s.nv lb..- fiom tliat saercd spot 
With lirm and peaceful .soul depart ; 
1, .lesus, saw thee, — doubt it not, — 
And road the secrets of thy heart ! 

KAV I'ALMl'.R, 



KitOM ".SAINT PAUL," 

ClIltlST ' I !im Chri.st's I and let thi' nanir sulliei 
yon, 

Ay, n.r me t(jo he greatly halli snlli.r.l : 
IiH, with nil winning words I wniiM mliri' you, 

I'anl liiis no honor and no IVimil Iml I'hrist. 

Yes, wilhiiut I'hoer of si.ster or of il;nigliler, 
Yes, Willi, lut stay of father or of sun. 

Lone (III llir hind ami lionnless on the water, 
I'ass I in p;itirnre till Ihr work be done. 

Yet not in solitude if Chri.st nnear me 

^Vaketh him workers for the great em|iloy, 

<>, not in solitude, if souls that hear me 
l':ilrli from riiy joy:inrr lli(^ surprise of jov. 

Tlrarts I have won of sister or of brother, 
t.'iiiek on the earth or hidden in tim sod, 

l.o, i'\erv heart awaiteth me, another 
Frinei in the lilameless family oftJod. 

Wli;it was their sweet desire and subtle yearning, 
Lovers, and ladies whom their song enrolls ' 

Faint to the (l.'inie which in my breast is burning. 
Less than tie love with which T ache for souls. 



^ 



Then with a ripjile and a radiance through me 
liis(! and be manifest, Moi-ning Star ! 

Flow on my .soul, thou kS|iirit, and renew me, 
l''ill witli thyself, and let the rest be fur. 

Safe to the hidden house of thine abiding 

I any the weak knees and the heart that faint* ; 

.'^liii'ld from the scorn and cover from the chiding ; 
(live Ihe world joy, but patience to the .saints. 

.Saints, did I say ? with your remembered faces. 
Dear men and women, whom 1 sought and slew! 

All, when we mingle in the heavenly places, 
llow will 1 w^eep to Stephen and to you ! 

I) for the strain that rang to our reviling 

Still, wh'en the bruised lindissank u]ion the sod ; 

I) for the eyes that looked their last in .smiling, 
Last on Ibis world here, but their first on Ood ! 

O, could I tell, ye surely would believe it I 
O, c'ouM 1 oidy say what I have si'i'U ! 

llow should 1 tell or how can ye receive it, 
llow, till lie bringeth you where I have been ? 

Therefore, O Lord, I will not fail or falter; 

Nay, but 1 ask it, nay, but 1 desire ; 
Lay on my lips thine embers of the altar, 

.Seal with thirsting and funnsli with lln' lire i 

Oive me a voice, a cry and a i'om]ilaining, — 
0, let my sound be .stormy in their eais ! 

Throat that would shout but cannot stay for 
straining, 
Eyes that would weep but cannot wait for tears. 

ijuick in a moment, inhnite forever, 

Send an arousal better than I jiray ; 
(Jive me a grace upon the faint cmleavor, 

Sends for my hire and rentecost to-day ! 

Hark what a so\ind, and too divine for hearing, 
Stirs (Ui the earth and trembles in the air ! 

Is it the thunder of the Lord's ajipcariiig? 
Is it the music of his people's prayer? 

Surrly be comc-th, and a thousand voices 

Shout to the saints and to the deaf are dumb i 

Surely he (■onuith, and the earth r(^joices, 
rilad in his coming wdm hath sworn, 1 come. 

This li.ilh he done, and .shall we not adore him ? 

This sh.all he do, .and can we .still despair? 
Com... let us quickly fling ourselves before him, 

( '.ast at his feot the burden of our care, 

Flash from our eyes the glow of our thanksgiving, 
nhid and regretful, confident ami calm ; 

Then through all life and wdiat is after living 

Thrill to the tireless music of a psalm. T 

1^^ 



L& 



360 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



'-fb 



Yea, thious;li life, death, thioiigli sorrow and | Oesiiisid with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely, 



through sinninj; 
He shall suttieo nie, lor he hath sullioed : 
Christ is the end, lor Christ was the beginning, 
Christ the beginning, lor the end is Christ. 

FRKUKKIC W. II. MVBKS, 



TUB OllKISTIAN CALLING. 

TiiY night is dark ; behold, the shade was deeper 
In the old g!ii\len of Gethsemane, 
When that ealm voice awoke the weary sleeper : 
' ' Couldst t liou not wateh one hour alone with me ? " 

O thou, so weary of thy self-denials ! 
And so impatient of thy little eross. 
Is it so hard to hear thy daily trials, 
'I'o eouut all earthly things a gainful loss ? 

What if thou ahvai/s sutler tribulation. 
And if thy Christian warfare never cease ; 
Tlu> gaining of the nuiet habitation 
Shall gjither thee to everlasting peace. 

But here we all must sutler, walking lonely 
The path that Jesus once himself hath gone : 
Watch thou in jNitience through the dark hour 

only. 
This one dark hour, — befoiv the eternal dawn. 

The captive's oar may jmuso upon the galley, 
The soldier sleep beneath his plumed crest. 
And Teace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley, 
l>ut thou, Christian I must not take thy rest. 

Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee, 
With llini who trod the wine-press all alone ; 
Thou wilt not tiud one hunuvn hand to aid thee, 
One human soul to comprehend thine own. 

Heed not the images forever thronging 
From out the foregone life thou liv'st no more ; 
Kaint-hearted mariner ! still art thou longing 
For the dim line of the receding shore. 

Canst thou forget thy Christian supersciption, 
" Hehold, we count them happy which endure " ? 
Whattivasure woiddstthou, in the land Egyptian, 
Kejwss the stormy water to secure ? 

Poor, wanderingsoul '. Iknowthatthouartseeking 
Some easier way, us all have sought before. 
To silence the reproachful inwai\l speaking, — 
Some landwanl path unto an island sliore. 



&- 



0, that thy faithless soul, one great hour only. 
Would comprehend the Christian's perfect life ; 



Yet calmly looking upwaril in its strife. 

In nu'ek olwdienoo to the heavenly Teacher, 
Thy weary soul can find its only peace ; 
Seeking no aid from any human creature, — 
Looking to Ood alone for his release. 

And he will come in his own tinte and power 
To sot his earnest-hearted children free : 
Watch only through this dark aiul painful hour. 
And the bright morning yet will break for thee. 

ANONYHOl'S. 



THE SOUL'S CRY. 

y i.ul.>Thccrti>ily.-— Cs. Ix 



vl. 3. 



0, E\1CK from the deeps 

W'itliin my soul, oft as 1 muse alone, 

Comes forth a voice that pleads in tender tone ; 

.\s when one long unblest 

Sighs ever after rest ; 

Or as the wind perpetual muruuiring keeps. 

1 hear it when the day 

Fades o'er the hills, or cross the sliimnu'ring sea ; 

In the soft twilight, as is wont to bo, 

Without my wish or will. 

While all is hushed and still. 

Like a sad, plaiutive cry heard far away. 

Not even the noisy crowd. 

That like some mighty torrent rusliing down 

Sweeps clamoring on, this cry of want can drown ; 

lint ever in my heart 

.M'rcsh the echoes start ; 

1 hear them still amidst the tumult loud. 

Each waking morn anew 

The sense of many a need returns agjiin ; 

1 feel myself a child, helpless as when 

I watched my mother's eye, 

As the slow hours went by. 

And from her glance my being took its hue. 

1 cannot shape my way 

Where nanudess perils ever may betide, 

O'er slippery steeps whereon my feet may slide ; 

Sonu' mighty hand I crave, 

To hold and help and save. 

And guide me ever when my steps would stray. 

There is but One, I know. 
That all my hourly, endless wants can meet ; 
Can shichl from harm, recall my wandering feet i 
My God, thy hand can feed 
And day by day can lead 

Where the sweet streams of peace and safety llow. 
Ray 1'.i 



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[fi- 




^- 



-a 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



WORLDLINESS. 

The World is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
Little we see in nature that is ours ; 

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon. 
The winds that ■nill be howling at all hours 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, 

For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 

It moves us not. — Great God ! 1 'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Haveglimpsesthat would make me less forlorn ; 

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his WTeathed liom. 



^- 



NATURE. 

The bubbling brook doth leaji when I come by. 
Because my feet find measure with its call ; 
The birds know when the friend they love is nigh, 
For I am known to them, both great and small. 
The flower that on the lonely hillside grows 
Expects me there when spring its bloom hasgiven ; 
And many a tree and bush my wanderings knows 
And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ; 
For lie who with his Maker walks aright. 
Shall lie their lord as .\dam was before ; 
His ear shall catch each sound with new delight, 
Each object wear the dress that then it wore ; 
Anil he, as when erect in soul he stood, 
Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. 

JOXES VERY. 



TTNTERN ABBEY. 

I HAVE learned 
To look on nature, not as in the hour 
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity. 
Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power 



To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean, and the living air. 
And the blue sky, and, in the mind of man, 
A motion and a spirit that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through all things. Then'lorc am I 

still 
A lover of the meadows, and the woods. 
And mountains, and of all that we behold 
From this green earth ; of all the mighty world 
Of eye and ear, both what they half create 
And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize 
In nature and the language of the sense 
The anchor ol' my purest thoughts. 

William WoRDSWOKrH. 



CORRESPONDENCES. 

HE.\AMKTERS AND PENTAMETERS. 

All tilings in nature are beautiful types to the 
soul that reads them ; 
Nothing e.\i.sts upon earth but for unspeakable 
enils ; 
Every object that speaks to the senses was meant 
for the spirit ; 
Nature is but a scroll ; God's handwriting 
thereon. 
Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood over- 
whelmed him, 
While in the image of God every soul yet lived, 
Everything stood as a letter or word of a langUiige 
familiar, 
Telling of truths which now only the angels 
can read. 
Lost to man was the key of those sacred hiero- 
glyphics, 
Stolen away by sin, till Heaven restored it ; 
Now with infinite pains we here and there spell 
out a letter, 
Here and there will the sense feelily .shine 
through the dark. 



^ 



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3G2 



POEMS UF NAT U HE. 



-^ 



Wlieu we perceive the light tliat breaks tlirough 
the visible symbol, 
What exultation is ours ! We the discovery 
have made, 
Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam lived 
sinless in Eden, 
Only long hidden it slept, and now again is 
revealed. 
Man unconsciously uses figures of speech every 
moment. 
Little dreaming the cause why to such terms 
he is prone, 
Little dreaming that everything here has its own 
coiTespondence 
Folded within its form, as in the body the soul. 
Gleams of the mystery fall on us still, though 
much is forgotten. 
And through our commonest speech illumine 
the path of our thoughts. 
Thus doth the lordly sun shine forth a type of 
God-head ; 
Wisdom and love the beams that stream on a 
darkened world. 
Thus do the sparkling waters flow, giving joy to 
the desert, 
And the fountain of life opens itself to the 
thirst. 
Thus doth the word of God distill like the rain 
and the dew-drops ; 
Thus doth the warm wind breathe like to the 
spirit of God ; 
And the green grass and the flowers are signs of 
the regeneration. 

thou Spirit of Truth, visit our minds once 
more ; 
Give us to read in letters of light tlie language 
celestial. 

Written all over tlie earth, written all over the 
the sky, — 
Thus may we bring our hearts once more to know 
our Creator, 

Seeing in all things around, types of the Infi- 
nite Mind. 

CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH. 



NATURE'S CHAIN. 

FROM "THE ESSAY ON MAN." 

Look round our world ; behold the chain of love 
Combining all below and all above. 
See plastic nature working to this end. 
The single atoms each to other tend. 
Attract, attracted to, the next in place. 
Formed and impelled its neighbor to embrace. 
See matter next, with various life endued. 



Press to one center still, the general good. 
See dying vegetables life sustain. 
See life dissolving vegetate again : 
All forms that perish other forms supply 
<By turns we catch the vital breath, and die); 
Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne. 
They rise, they break, and to tliat sea return. 
Nothing is foreign ; parts relate to whole ; 
One all-extending, all-preserving Soul 
Connects each being, greatest with the least ; 
Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast ; 
All served, all serving ; nothing stands alone ; 
The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown. 

Has God, thou fool ! worked solely for thy good, 
Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food ? 
Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, 
For 1dm as kindly spreads the flowery lawn. 
Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings ? 
.Toy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wing.s. 
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ! 
Loves of his own and raptures swell the note. 
The bounding steed you pompously bestride 
.Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. 
Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain ? 
The birds of heaven sliall vindicate their gi'ain. 
Thine the full harvest of the golden year? 
Part pay.s, and justly, the deserving steer : 
The hog that plows not, nor obeys thy call, 
Lives on the labors of this lord of all. 

Know, Nature's children all divide her care ; 
The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear. 
While man exclaims, "Seeall things for my use !" 
"See man for mine ! " replies a pampered goose : 
And just as short of reason he must fall 
Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. 

Grant that the powerful still the weak control ; 
Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole : 
Nature that tyrant checks ; he onlj' knows. 
And helps, another creature's wants and woes. 
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, 
Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove ? 
Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings ? 
Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings ? 
Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods, 
To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods ; 
For some his interest prompts him to provide. 
For more his pleasure, yet for more his pride : 
All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy 
The extensive blessing of his luxury. 
That very life his learned hunger craves. 
He saves from famine, from the savage saves ; 
Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast, 
And, till he ends the being, makes it blest ; 
Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, 
Than favored man by touch ethereal slain. 
Tlie creatui'e had his feast of life before ; 
Thou too umst perish when tliy feast is o'er ! 

ALEXANDER fUP 



e- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-t:] 



THE IDLER. 



When days are long and skies are briglit, 
Wlien woods are green and fields are breezy, 

1 takf my fill of air and light, 

And take — yes, take things rather easy. 

You men of figures sneer, I know, — 

Call mc an idle, dreamy fellow ; 
But my chief business here below 

Is, like the apple, to grow mellow. 

1 coax the fkh in cove or creek ; 

Jly light skiff rocks on rocking billow ; 
Or, weary, in some shade I seek 

A mossy hummock for my pillow. 

There, sti'etched upon the checkered grass. 
Above the bare, brown margin growing, 

1 watch the stiU, soft shadows pa.ss. 
Lulled by the hum of warm airs blowing. 

On bending spray of tallest tree 

The brown thrush balanced takes his station. 
And now in je.st, now soberly. 

Holds forth, half song and half oration. 

The red-capped workman on a limb, 
Uji, down, in circles briskly hopping. 

Nods to the helpmeet calling liim, 
With knowing air his sage head dropping. 

At times, by plashy shore, the still 

Wliite-belted watchman springs his rattle, 

Wliilf faintly from the distant liill 
Come tinkling bells and low of cattle. 

The waves in long procession tread 
Upon the beach in solemn motion. 

Fringed with white breakers ; overhead, 
Cloud-islands dot the upper ocean. 

I know you solid men will sneer ; 

Call me a thriftless, idle fellow ; 
But, as I said, my business here 

Is, like the apples, to gi-ow mellow. 

And since the summer will not stay, 
And since the winter follows fleetly. 

To fitly use the passing day 

Reipiires my time and thought completely. 

But, if of life I get the best. 

The use of wealth without its fetters. 

Am I more idle than the rest. 

Or wiser than the money-getters ? 



!&- 



CREATION. 



The earth was formed, but in the womb as yet 
Of waters, embryon immature involved, 
Appeared not ; over all the face of earth 
Main ocean flowed, not idle ; but, with warm 
Prolific humor softening all her globe, 
Fermented the great mother to conceive, 
.Satiate with genial moisture; when God said, 
" Be gathered now, ye waters under heaven. 
Into one place, and let dry land appear." 
hnmediately the mountains huge ajipear 
Emergent, and their bioad liare backs upheave 
Into the clouds ; their tops ascend the sky : 
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low 
Down sunk a hollow bottom broa<i and deep, 
Capacious bed of waters : tlutlier they 
Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled, 
.As drops on dust conglobing from the diy: 
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct. 
For haste; such flight the great command im- 
pressed 
On the swift floods ; as armies at the call 
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heaicl) 
Troop to their standard ; so the watery throng, 
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found, 
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain, 
Soft ebbing ; nor withstood them rock or hill ; 
Hut they, or under ground, or circuit wide 
With serpent error wandering, found their way. 
And on the washy ooze deep channels wore ; 
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be diy. 
All but within those banks, where rivers now 
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. 
The dry land. Earth ; and the great receiitacle 
Of congiegated waters, he called Seas ; 
And saw that it was good ; and .said, "Let tin' 

earth 
Put forth the verdant glass, herb yielding seed. 
And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind, 
Whose seed is in herself upon the earth." 
He scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then 
Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned. 
Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure 

clad 
Her universal face with pleasant green ; 
Then herbs of eveiy leaf, that sudden flowered 
Opening their various colors, and made gay 
Her liosom, smelling sweet ; and, these scarce 

blown, 
Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth 

crept 
The swelling gourd, iij) stood the corny reed 
Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub. 
And bush with frizzled hair implicit : last 
Rose, as in dance, the .stately trees, and spread 
Their branches liungwith copiousfruit, or gemmed 



f 



31)4 



POEMS OF XATURE. 



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t& 



Their blossoms : with high woods the fields were 

crowned, 
With tufts the valleys, and eaeh fountain-side ; 
With Iwalere long the rivei-s : that earth now 
Seemed like to heaven, a seat whore gods might 

dwell, 
Or wander witli delight, and love to haunt 
Her sacred shades : though God had yet not I'ained 
V [ion the earth, and man to till the ground 
None was ; but from the earth a dewy mist 
Went up, and watered all the ground, and each 
riant of the field ; which, ere it was in the earth, 
(iod made, and every herb, before it grew 
On the green stem ; God saw that it was good : 
So even and morn recorded the third day. 

Again the Almighty spate, "Let there be lights 
High in the expanse of heaven, to divide 
The day from night ; and let them be for signs. 
For seasons, and for days, and circling years ; 
And let them be for lights, as I oixlain 
Their office in the firmament of heaven. 
To give light on the earth " ; and it was so. 
And God made two great lights, great for their 

use 
To man, the greater to have rule by day. 
The less by night, altern ; and made the stare, 
.And set them in the firmament of heaven 
To illuminate the earth, and rule the day. 
In their vicissitude, and rule the night. 
And light from darkness to divide. God saw, 
Surveying his great work, that it was good : 
For of celestial bodies firet the sun 
A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome firet. 
Though of ethereal mold ; then formed the moon 
Globose, and every magnitude of stare, 
And sowed with stars the heaven, thick as a field : 
Of light by far the greater part he took. 
Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed 
In the sun's orb, made porous to receive 
And drink the liipiid light ; firm to retain 
Her gathered beams, great palace now of light. 
Hithci', as to their fountain, other stars 
Repairing, in their golden urns drew light. 
And hence the morning planet gilds her horns ; 
By tincture or reflection they augment 
Their small peculiar, though from human sight 
So far remote, with diminution seen. 
First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, 
liegent of day, and all the horizon round 
Invested w^itli bright rays, jocund to run 
His longitude through heaven's high road ; the 

gray 
Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced. 
Shedding sweet influence : less bright the moon, 
Uut opposite in leveled west was set. 
His mirror, with full face borrowing her light 
From him ; for other light she needed none 
In that aspect, and still that distance keeps 



Till night ; then in the east her turn she shines, 
Kevohcd on heaven's great axle, and Iut ragn 
With thousand lesser lights dividual holds. 
With thousand thousand stare, that then appeared 
Spangling the hemisphere : then first adorned 
With their bright luminaries that set and rose, 
Ghul evening and glad morn crowned the fourth 

day. 
.'\nd God said, " Let the waters generate 
Keptile with spawn abundant, living soul : 
.■\nd let fowl fly above the earth, with wings 
Displayed on the open firmament of heaven." 
.\nd God created the great whales, and each 
Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously 
The waters genenited by their kinds ; 
And every bird of wing after his kind ; 
And saw that it was good, ami blesseil them, 

saying, 
" He fruitful, multii)ly, and in the seas, 
.\nd lakes, and running streams, the watere fill ; 
And let the fowl be nuiltiplied on the earth." 
Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and 

bay 
With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals 
Of fish that with their fins, and shining scales. 
Glide under the green wave, in sculls that oft 
Bank the mid sea : part single, or with mate. 
Graze the sea-weed their pasture, and through 

groves 
Of coral stray ; or sporting with quick glance. 
Shew to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold ; 
Or, in their pearly shells at ease, atteiul 
Moist nutriment : or under rocks their food 
In jointed armor watch : on smooth the seal 
And bended dolphins play : part huge of bulk. 
Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait. 
Tempest the ocean ; there leviathan, 
Hugest of living creatures, on the deep 
Stretched like a promontory, sleeps or swims. 
And seems a moving land ; and at his gills 
Draws in, and at his trunk sixiuts out, a sea. 
Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores. 
Their brood as nunu^rous hatch, from the esjg that 

soon 
Bureting with kindly lupture forth disclosed 
Their callow young ; but feathered soon and Hedge 
They summed their pens ; and, soaring the air 

sublime. 
With clang despised the ground, under a cloud 
In jirospect ; there the eagle and the stork 
On cur's and cedar-tops their eyries build ; 
Part loosely wing the region, part more wise 
In common, rang»>d in figure, wedge their way. 
Intelligent of seasons, and set forth 
Their aery caravan, high over seas 
Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing 
Easing their flight ; so steere the prudent crane 
Her annual voyage, borne on winds ; the air 



e-*- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



365 



-r^ 



Floats as tliey pass, fanueii witli unnuiiibfcicd 

pluracs ; 
From biaiKjli to branch the smaller birds with 

songs 
Solaced the wooibs, and spread their painted wings 
Till even ; nor then the solemn nightingale 
Ceased warbling, but all night tuned hersoft lays; 
Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathed 
Their downy breast ; the swan with arched neck, 
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows 
Her state with oary feet ; yet oft they ^uit 
The dank, and, rising on stilf pennons, tower 
The mid aerial sky: others on ground 
Walked firm ; the crested cock whose clarion 

sounds 
The silent hours, and the other whose gay train 
Adorns him, colored with the florid hue 
Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus 
With fish replenished, and the air with fowl, 
Evening and morn solemnized the fifth day. I 

The sixth, and of creation last, arose 
With evening harps and matin ; wlien God said, 
"Let the earth bring forth soul living in her kind. 
Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the 

earth, 
Each in their kind." The earth obeyed, and 

straight 
Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth 
Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms. 
Limbed and full grown : out of the ground up 

rose. 
As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons 
In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den ; 
Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked : 
The cattle in the fields and meadows green; 
Those rare and solitary, these in flocks 
Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung. 
The grassy clods now calved ; now half appeared 
The tawny lion, pawing to get free 
Hishinder parts, then spri)igs,asbrokefrom bonds, 
And rampant shakes hisbrindedmane : theounce, 
The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole 
Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw 
In hillocks : the swift stag from under ground 
Bore up hLs branching head : scarce from his 

mold 
Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved 
His vastness : lleeced the flocks and bleating lose, 
As plants : ambiguous between sea and land 
The river-horse, and scaly crocodile. 
At once came fortli whatever creeps the ground. 
Insect or worm : those waved their limber fans 
For wings, and smallest lineaments cxa<;t 
In all the liveries decked of summer's pride, 
With spots of gold and purple, azure and green ; 
These as a line their long dimension drew, 
Streaking the ground with sinuous trace ; not 
aU 



Minims of nature ; some of serpent-kind. 
Wondrous in length and corpulence, involved 
Tlieir snaky folds, and added wings. First crejit 
The parsimonious emmet, provident 
Of future ; in small room large heart cnclo-sed ; 
Pattern of just eijuality |)erhaps 
Hereafter, joined in her jxipular tribes 
Of commonalty : swaraiiug next appeared 
The female bee, that feeds her husljand drone 
Deliciously, and builds her waxen celbi 
With honey stored : the rest are numberless. 
And thou their natures knowest, and gavest 

them names. 
Needless to thee repeat<;d ; nor unknown 
The ser])ent, subtlest Ix-ast of all the field, 
Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes 
And hairy mane terrific, though to thee 
Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. 

Mll-TOK. 



EACH AND ALL. 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked 

clown. 
Of thee, from the hill-top looking down ; 
The heifer that lows in the upland farm. 
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon. 
Deems not tliat great Napoleon 
Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 
Whilst his files sweep round you Alpine height; 
Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one ; 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
Singing at dawn on the alder hough ; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; 
He sings the song, but it pleases not now. 
For I did not bring home the river and sky ; — 
He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. 
The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave ; 
And the liellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted their safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
I feti;hed my sea-bom treasures home ; 
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
Had left their beauty on the shor^ 
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. 
The lover watched his graceful maid. 
As mid the virgin train she strayed. 
Nor knew her Ijeauty's best attire 
Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 
At last .she came to his hermitage, 
Lik(; the bird from the woodlandbs to the cage ; — 
The gay enchantment was undone. 



i 



[& 



3G6 



POEMS OF XATUKE. 



-a 



A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said, " 1 covet truth ; 

Beauty is unripe cliiUlliooti's cheat ; 

I leave it behind with tlie g-anies of youth." - 

As 1 spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-iiine curled its pretty wreath, 

Uunuing over the ehib-nioss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again I saw, again I hoard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; — 

Beauty through my senses stole ; 

1 yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



t^- 



RETIREMENT. 

INSCKII'TION IN A HP.RMITAGE. 

Beneath this stony roof reclined, 
I soothe to peace my pensive mind ; 
And while, to shade my lowly cave. 
Embowering elms their umbrage wave, 
And while the maple dish is mine, — 
The beechen cup, unstained with wine, — 
I scorn the gay licentious crowd. 
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. 

Within my limits, lone and still, 
The blackbird pipes in artless trill ; 
Fast by my couch, congenial guest. 
The wren has wove her mossy nest : 
From busy scenes and brighter skies, 
To lurk with innocence, she flies. 
Here hojies in safe repose to dwell. 
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell. 

At morn I take my customed round. 
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound. 
And every opening primrose count, 
Tliat trimly paints my blooming mount ; 
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude. 
That grace my gloon\y solitude, 
I teach in winding wreaths to stray 
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. 

At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book. 

Portrayed with many a holy deed 

Of martyrs, crowned with heavenly meed ; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim. 

Chant, eve I sleep, my measured hymn, 

And, at the close, the gleams behold n 

Of parting wings, bedropt with gold. • 



While such pure joys my liliss crcjite. 
Who but would smile at guilty state ? 
Who but would wish his lioly lot 
In calm oblivion's humlile grot ? 
Wlio but would cast his pomp away. 
To take my staflT, and amice gray ; 
And to the world's tumultuous stage 
Prefer the bhuneless hermitage ' 

THOMAS WARTON, 



COME TO THESE SCENES OF PEACE. 

Come to these scenes of peace. 
Where, to rivers murmuring. 
The sweet birds all tlie summer sing. 
Where cares and toil and sadness cease I 
Stranger, does thy heart deplore 
Friends whom thou wilt see no more ? 
Does tliy wounded spirit prove 
Pangs of hopeless, severeci love ? 
Thee the stream that guslies clear, 
Thee the birds that carol near 
Shall soothe, as silent tliou dost lie 
And dream of their wild hiUaby ; 
Come to bless these scenes of peace. 
Where cares and toil and sadness cease. 

WILLIAM Lisle Bowles. 



SEE, SEE I 

See, see ! 

How every tree. 

Every bower, 

Every flower, 
A new life gives to others' joys ; 

While that I 

Grief-stricken lie. 

Nor can meet 

With any sweet 
But what faster mine destroys. 
What are all the senses' pleasures 
When the mind has lost all measures ? 

Hear, hear ! 

How sweet and clear 

The nightingale 

And water's fall 
In concert join for others' ear ; 

AVhile to me. 

For harmony. 

Every air 

Echoes despair. 
And every drop provokes a tear. 
What are all the senses' jdeasures 
When the soul has lost all measures ? 

JOHN DlGBV. Earl of Bristol, 



^ 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



367 



-a 



ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY. 

I'NSKKN' .S)>irit ! now a eulin divine 

Comes forth Iroiu tlu'e, ii'joiuiiig c;ii-tli iind air ! 

Trees, hills, aud houses, all distiiietly .shine, 
And thy gi-eat ocean slumbers everywhere. 

The mountain ridge against the jiuqjle sky 
Stands clear and strong, with darkened rocks 
and dells. 

And elinidless brightness ojjens wide and high 
A home aerial, where tliy presenee dwells. 

The chime ol' bells remote, the murmuring sea, 
The song of birds in wliisijering copse and wood, 

The di.stant voice of children's thoughtless glee. 
And maiden's song, are all one voice of good. 

Amid the leave.s' green nuiss a sunny jilay 
Of llajili and shadow stirs like inward life ; 

The ship's white sail glides onward far away, 
Uuhaunted by a di-eani of storm or strife. 

].)UN sterli.ng. 



INVOCATION TO LIGHT. 

FROM "PAKADISF. LOST." 

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-liorn ! 
Or of the Kternal coeternal beam 
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. 
And nevei' but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 
Rright eltluenee of bright essence increate 1 
Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? I!efore the sun. 
Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
Of f!od, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
Won from the void and formless infinite. 
Thee 1 revisit now with bolder wing. 
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 
Through utterand through midillcdarknessbonie. 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
1 sung of f'haos and eternal Night, 
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend. 
Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe. 
And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; Init thou 
Kevisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs. 
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease 1 to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or .shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath. 
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 



Those other two ciiualed with me in f.de. 
So were 1 eijualed with them iu renown. 
Blind Thamyris and blind l\l;i'oiiii!i ;. 
And Tiresias and Thineus, pi o) ■bets nM : 
Then feed on thoughts thai volmiUiiy move 
Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful biid 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus v.itli the year 
Seasons return, but not to me returns 
Uay, or the sweet approach of even or morn. 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
Or (locks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
Hut cloud, instead, and evcr-during dark. 
Surrounds me, from the cheei ful ways of men 
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair 
Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased. 
And wisdom at one entrance (piite shut out. 
So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
Shine inward, and the mind throughall lierjiowers 
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence 
Purge and dis|ierse, that I may see and tell 
or things invisible to mortal sight. 



FROM THE "IIVMN TO LIGHT." 

Sav, from what golden quivers of the sky 
Do all thy winged arrows fly ? 
Swiftness and Power by birth are thine : 
From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word 
Divine. 

Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and 

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey ; 
And all the year dost with thee bring 
Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal 
spring. 

Thou, Scythian-like, do.st round thy landsabove 
The Sun's gilt tent forever move. 
And still, ;is thou in pomp dost go. 
The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. 

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn 
The humlile glow-wonns to adorn. 
And with those living spangles gild 
(Ogreatnesswithoutpride I) thebu.shesof thefield. 

Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright. 
And Sleep, the lazy owd of night ; 
Ashamed, and fearful to appear. 
They screen tln^ir horrid sha]ies with the black 
heniisj)herc. 

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said 

To shake his wings, and rouse his head : 



-^ 



a- 



308 



POEMS OF NATUHE. 



^ 



Aiul I'loiuiy I'aro h«s ol'teii took 
A geutle beamy siuilo, rellootwi Iroiu thy look. 

W hen, goiUless, tliou lift'st u|> thy wiikoiunl liead 
Dut of tho inoniing's iiurj>k' b«l, 
'I'liy nuiiv of binls alwut ihee phiy, 
Ami all the joyful world salutes the rising day. 

All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes. 
Is but thy several liveries ; 
Thou tJie rieh dye on theui Iwstow'st, 
Thy nimble peueil i«iuts this laiulseaiie as thou 
gvi'st. I 

.\ orinison giuiueut in the rose thou wear'st ; 
.\ crown of studded gold thou bear'st ; 
The virgin-lilies, in their white, 
Aro elad but with the lawn of almost naked light. 

The violet, Spring's little infant, stands 
Girt in thy purple swaildling-lvauds ; 
On the fair tulip thou dost dote ; 
Thou elotli'st it in a gay and jiarty-eolored coat. 

Throtigli the soft ways ol" Heaven, and air, and 
sea, 
Which open all their pores to thee. 
Like a clear river thou dost glide. 
And with thy living stream through the close 
chaniu^ls slide. 

Hut the vast ocean of \inlionnded day, 

In th' entpyrean Heaven does stay. 

Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below. 

From thence took first their rise, thither at last 

must How. 

.\BRAtiAM Cowley. 



DAYBRE.\K. 

.\ \viNi> eanui up out of the sea, 

.'\nd said, " t> mists, make room for me ! ' 

It luiiled the shij>s, and cried, "Sail on, 
Yc mariners, the night is gone!" 

.\nd hurried landwaitl far away, 
frying, " Awake ! it is the day !" 

It said unto the forest, " Shout ! 
Hang all your leafy iKtnners out ! " 

It touched the wood-bii\Vs folded wing, 
.\nd said, "0 blixl, awake and sing !" 

.\nil o'er the farms, "0 chanticleer. 
Your clarion blow ; the day is near ! " 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 

" Bow down, and hail the coming morn ! ' 



It sliouted through the bellVy-tower, 
"Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the clmivhyanl with a sigh, 
And said, " Not yet ! in ipiiet lie." 

1U-..NKV wapswortu Lo.ngfbllow. 



IT I gUlT THY BOWER I 

I'l' I ipiit thy bower ! late wears the hour, 
Long have the rooks cawed round the tower ; 
O'er llower and tave loud hums the liee, 
And the wiKl kid sports merrily. 
The sun is bright, the sky is clear ; 
^Vake, lady, wake I and hasten here. 

Up, maiden fair ! and bind thy hair. 

And rouse thee in the bive/y air ! 

The lulling stream that soothed thy dreiUil 

Is dancing in the sunny beam. 

Waste not these hours, so frosli, so gay : 

Leave thy soft couch luid haste away ! 

Up ! Time will tell the morning bell 
Its service-sound has cllim^d well ; 
The ag»'d crone keejis house alone. 
The retipers to the fields are gone. 
Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay : 
Lo ! while thou sleep'st they haste away ! 

Joanna Baillib. 



MORNINO. 

In the liarn the tenant cock, 

t'lose to (wrtlet perched on high, 

Briskly crows (the sheplu>r<l"s clock !) 
.Jocund that the morning 's nigh. 

Swiftly from the mountain's brow. 
Shadows, nursed by night, retire : 

And the peeping sunlieam now. 
Paints with giild the village spire. 

Philontel forsakes the thorn. 

Plaintive whei* she prates at night ; 
And the lark, to meet the morn. 

Soars lieyond the sheplieixVs sight 

Fi-om the low-roofetl cottage ridge. 
Sec the chattering swallow spring : 

Parting through the one-ai\-hwl bridge. 
Quick she dips her dappled wing. 

Now the pine-troe's waving top 
(.5ently givets the morning gjtle ; 

Kidlings now lH>gin to crop 
Daisies, on the dewv dale. 



-^ 



[& 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



369 



-a 



From the baluiy sweets, undoyed 
(Restless till her task be done), 

Now the busy bee 's employed 
.Sipping dew before the sun. 

Trickling through the creviced rock, 
Where the limpid stream distills, 

Sweet refreshment waits the Hock 
When 't is sun-drove from the hills. 

Colin 's for the promised corn 
(Ere the harvest hojies are ripe) 

Anxious ; — whilst the huntsman's horn. 
Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. 

Sweet, sweet, the warbling throng. 
On the white emblossomed spray ! 

Nature's universal song 
Echoes to the rising day. 

JuH.v 



THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

To claim the Arctic came the sun 
With banners of the burning zone. 
Unrolled upon their airy spars, 
They froze beneath the light of stars ; 
And there they float, those streamers old. 
Those Northern Lights, forever cold ! 

BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR. 



DAWN. 



The night was dark, though sometimes a faint 
star 
A little while a little space made bright. 
The night was long and like an iron bar 
Lay heavy on the land : till o'er the sea 
Slowly, within the East, there grew a light 
Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be 
The herald of a greater. The pale white 
Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the height 
Of heaven slowly climbed. The gi-ay sea grew 
Rose-coloied like the sky. A white gull flew 
Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East, 
Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. 
It was as on the opening of a door 
By one that in his hand a lamp doth hold, 
AVhose flame is hidden by the garment's fold, — 
The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. 

More bright the East became, the ocean turned 
Dark and more dark against the brightening sky, — 
Sharper against the sky the long sea line. 
The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine. 
Though white the outer branches of the tree. 



From rose to red the level heaven bunied ; 
Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, 
A blade of gold flashed on the horizon's rim. 

RICHAKU W. C.IUUER. 



PACK CLOUDS AWAY. 

Pack clouds away, and welcome day. 
With night we banish sorrow ; 

Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft. 
To give my love good morrow. 

Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
Notes from the lark 1 '11 borrow ; 

Bird, prune thy wing ; nightingale, sing, 
To give my love good morrow. 
To give my love good morrow, 
Notes from them all 1 '11 borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, robin redbrea.st. 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hill let music shrill 

Give my fair love good morrow. 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush. 

Stare, linnet, and cock-spari-ow. 
You petty elves, amongst yoiii'selves, 

Sing my fair love gooil morrow. 

To give my love good morrow, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow. 



Brx who the melodies of morn can tell ? 
The wild brook liabbling down the mountain- 
side ; 
The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simjile bell ; 
The pipe of earl)' shepherd dim descried 
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide 
The clamorous horn along the clifl's above ; 
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, 
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. 

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid 

sings ; 
The whistling jJowmau stalks afield ; and, 

hark ! 
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon 

rings ; 
Through rastling com the hare astonished 

s]>rings ; 

Slow tolls the village-clock the drow.sy hour ; 

The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; 

Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower. 

And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. 

James Bbattie. 



-tf 



[G- 



-f^, 



370 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



t: 



THE SABBATH MORNING. 

With silent awe I hail the sacred moi'n, 
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! 
A soothing calm on every breeze is bonie ; 
A graver murmur gurgles irom^he Hll ; » 
And echo answers softer 'from the hill ; 
Ajid sweeter sings the linnet from the thorn : 
The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. 
Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath morn ! 
The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; 
The sun a placid yellow luster throws ; 
The gales that lately sighed along the grove 
Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose ; 
Tlie hovering rack of clouds forgets to move, — 
So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! 
John Leyde.n. 



REVE DU MIDI. 

When o'er the mountain steeps 
The hazy noontide creeps, 
And the shrill cricket sleeps 
Under the grass ; 
When soft the shadows lie. 
And clouds sail o'er the sky, 
And the idle wmds go by. 
With the heavy scent of blossoms as they pass, — 

Then, when the silent stream 
Lapses as in a dream. 
And the water-lilies gleam 
Up to the sun ; 

When the hot and burdened day 
Rests on its downward way. 
When the moth forgets to jilay, 
And the plodding ant may dream her work is 
done, — 

Then, from the noise of war 
And the din of earth afar. 
Like some forgotten star 
Dropt from the sky, — 
The sounds of love and fear. 
All voices sad and clear, 
Banished to silence drear, — 
The willing thrall of trances sweet I lie. 

Some melancholy gale 
Breathes its mysterious tale. 
Till the rose's lips grow pale 
With her sighs ; 
And o'er my thoughts are cast 
Tints of the vanished jiast. 
Glories that faded fast. 
Renewed to splendor in my dreaming eyes. 



As poised on vibrant wings, 
Where its sweet treasure swings. 
The honey-lover clings 
To the red flowers, — 
So, lost in vivid light. 
So, rapt from day and night, 
I linger in delight, 
Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours. 

Rose terry Cooke 



A SUMMER NOON. 

Who has. not dreamed a world of bliss 
On a bright sunny noon like this. 
Couched by his native brook's green maze. 
With comrade of his boyish days. 
While all around them seemed to be 
Just as in joyous infancy ? 
Who has not loved at such an hour. 
Upon that heath, in birchen bower, 
Lulled in the poet's dreamy mood, 
Its wild and sunny solitude ? 
While o'er the waste of purple ling 
You mark a sultry glimmering ; 
Silence herself there seems to sleep. 
Wrapped in a slumber long and deep. 
Where slowly stray those lonely sheep 
Through the tall f'o.xglove's crimson bloom. 
And gleaming of the scattered broom. 
Love you not, then, to list and hear 
The crackling of the gorse-flowers near. 
Pouring an orange-scented tide 
Of fragrance o'er the desert wide ? 
To hear the buzzard's whimpering .shrill. 
Hovering above you high and still ? 
The twittering of the bird that dwells 
Among the heath's delicious bells ? 
While round your bed, o'er fern and blade. 
Insects in green and gold arrayed, 
The sun's gay tribes have lightly strayed ; 
And sweeter sound their humming wings 
Than the proud minstrel's echoing strings. 
WILLIAM Hown 



Beneath a shivering canopy reclined. 
Of aspen-leaves that wave without a wind, 
I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir 
The spiry cones that tremble on the fir ; 
Or wander mid the dark-gxeen fields of broom, 
When peers in scattered tufts the yellow bloom ; 
Or trace the path with tangling furze o'errun, 
When bursting seed-bells ci'ackle in the sun. 
And pittering grasshoppers, confus'dly shrill. 
Pipe giddily along the glowing hill : 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



371 



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Sweet grasshopper, who lov'st at noon to lie 
Serenely in the gi'Sen-ribbed clover's eye, 
To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest. 
Unseen thy form, and undisturbed thy rest. 
Oft have I listening mused the sultry day, 
And wondered what thy chirping song might say, 
When naught was heard along the blossomed lea. 
To join thy music, save the listless bee. 

John Levden. 



THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BTTEN. 

The midges dauce aboon the burn ; 

The dews begin to fa' ; 
The pairtricks down the rushy holm 

Set up their e'ening ca'. 
Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang 

Rings through the briery shaw. 
While, flitting gay, the swallows play 

Around the castle wa'. 

Beneath the golden gloaniin' sky 

The mavis mends her lay ; 
The redbreast pours his sweetest strains 

To charm the lingering day ; 
AVhile weary yeldrins seem to wail 

Their little nestlings torn. 
The merry wren, frae den to den, 

Gaes jinking through the thorn. 

The roses fauld their silken leaves. 

The foxglove shuts its bell ; 
The honeysuckle and the birk 

Spread fragi-ance through the dell. 
Let others crowd the giddy court 

Of mirth and revelry, 
The simple joys that nature yields 

Are dearer far to me. 

Robert Tannahill. 



THE EVENING WIND. 

Spirit that breatliest through my lattice : thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day ! 

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow ; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Riding all day the wOd blue waves till now. 
Roughening their crests, and scattering high 
their .spray. 

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! 

Nor I alone, — a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fullness of delight ; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the w'ind of night ; 



And languishing to hear thy welcome sound, 

Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. 
Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, — 
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; 

Curl the stm waters, bright w'ith stars ; and rou.se 
The wide old wood from his majestic rest. 

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs. 
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. 

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the 
grass. 

Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway 
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone. 

That they who near the churchyard willows stray. 
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 

^Liy think of gentle souls that ]jassed away. 
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 

Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men. 

And gone into the bouniUess heaven again. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep. 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing grows more 
deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep. 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go, — but the circle of eternal cliauge. 
Which is the life of nature, shall restore. 

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range. 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once nunc. 

Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange. 
Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore ; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 
William culle.n Bryant. 



THE EVENING STAR. 

St.\r that bringest home the bee, 
And sett'st the weary laborer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, 

That send'st it from above. 
Appearing when heaven's breath and brow 

Are sweet as hers we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies, 
A^Tiilst the landscape's odors rise. 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard. 
And songs, when toil is done. 



^ 



h 



From cottages whose smoke unstirred 
Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovei-s on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art, 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absence from the heart. 

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 

CAPE-COTTAGE AT SUNSET. 

We stood upon the ragged rocks, 
When the long day wa-s nearly done ; 

The waves had ceased their sullen shocks, 
And lapped our feet with murmuring tone. 

And o'er the bay in streaming locks 
Blew the red tresses of the sun. 

Along the west the golden bai-s 

Still to a deeper glory grew ; 
Above our heads the faint, few stars 

Looked out from the unfathomod blue ; 
And the fair city's clamorous jars 

Seemed melted in that evening hue. 

svmset sky ! purple tide ! 

friends to friends that closer pressed ! 
Those glories have in darkness died, 
Aiurye have left my longing breast. 

1 could'not keep you by my side. 

Nor fi.x that radiance in the west. 

WILLIAM BELCHER GLAZIER. 



SUNSET. 

If .solitude hath ever led thy steps 
To the wild ocean's echoing shore. 
And thou hast lingered there 
Until the sun's broad orb 
Seemed resting on the burnished wave, 

Thou must have marked the lines 
Of purple gold that motionless 

Hung o'er the sinking sphere : 
Thou must have marked the billowy clouds, 
Edged with intolerable radiancy, 
i'owering like rocks of jet 
Crowned with a diamond wreath. 
And yet there is a moment. 
When the sun's highest point 
Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge. 
When those far clouds of feathery gold. 
Shaded with deepest purple, gleam 
Like islands on a dark-blue sea ; 
Then has thy fancy soared above the earth, 
And furled its wearied wing 
Within the Fairy's fane. 



Yet not the golden islands 
Gleamii»g in yon flood of light. 

Nor the feathery curtains 
Stretching o'er the sun's bright couch, 
Nor the burnished ocean's waves 

raving that gorgeous dome. 
So fair, so wonderful a sight 
As Mab's ethereal palace could atTord. 
Yet Ukest evening's vault, that fairy Hall ! 
Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread 
Its floors of flashing light, 
Its vast and azure dome, 
Its fertile golden islands 
Floating on a silver sea ; 
Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted 
Through clouds of circumambient darkness, 
And pearly battlements around 
Looked o'er the immense of heaven. 

PERCY BVSSHE SIIELLBY. 



NIGHTFALL: A PICTXJRE. 

Low burns the summer afternoon ; 

A mellow luster lights the scene ; 
And from its smiling beauty soon 

The purpling shade will chase the sheen. 

The old, quaint homestead's windows blaze ; 

The cedars long, black pictures show ; 
And broaiUy slopes one path of rays 

Within the barn, and makes it glow. 

The loft stares out — the eat intent. 
Like carving, on some gnawing rat — 

With sun-bathed hay and rafters bent, 

Nooked, coliwebbcd homes of wasp and bat. 

The hartiess, bridle, saddle, dart 

Gleams from the lower, rough expanse ; 

At either side the stooping cart, 

Pitchfork and plow cast looks askance. 

1 White Dobbin through the stable-doors 

Shows his round shape ; faint color coats 
I The manger, where the farmer pours, 
I With rustling rush, the glancing oats. 

' A sun-haze streaks the dusky shed ; 

Makes spears of seams and gems of clunks : 
In mottled gloss the straw is spread ; 
And the gray grindstone dully blinks. 

The sun salutes the lowest west 

With gorgeous tints around it drawn ; 

A beacon on the mountain's breast, 
A crescent, shred, a star— and gone. 



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POEMS OF NATUliE. 



373 



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The landscape now prepares for night : 
A gauzy mist slow settles round ; 

Eve shows her hues in every sight, 
And blends her voice with every sound. 

The sheep stream rippling down the dell, 
Their smooth, sliarp lUfcs pointed straight; 

The pacing kine, with tinkling bell. 
Come grazing through the [lastuie-gate. 

The ducks are grouped, and talk in llts : 
One yawns with stretcli of leg and wing ; 

One rears and fans, then, settling, sits ; 
One at a moth makes awkward spring. 

The geese mai'ch grave in Indian file, 
The ragged patriarch at the head ; 

Then, screaming, flutter oil' awhile. 
Fold up, and once more stately tread. 

Brave chanticleer shows haughtiest air ; 

Hurls his shrill vaunt with lofty bend ; 
Lifts foot, glares round, then follows where 

His scratching, picking partlets wend. 

Staid Towser scents the glittering gi'ound ; 

Then, yawning, draws a crescent deep, 
Wheels his head-drooping frame around 

And sinks with fore-paws stretched for .sleep. 

The oxen, loosened from the plow. 

Rest by the pear-tree's crooked trunk ; 

Tim, standing with yoke-burdened brow, 
Trim, in a mound beside him sunk. 

One of the kine upon the bank 

Heaves her face-lifting, wheezy roar ; 

One smooths, with lapping tongue, her flank ; 
With ponderous droop one finds the floor. 

Freed Dobbin tlirough the soft, clear dark 
(■limmers across the pillared scene. 

With the grouped geese, — a pallid mark, — 
And scattered bushes black between. 

The fire-flies freckle every spot 

With fickle light that gleams and dies ; 

The bat, a wavering, soundless blot. 
The eat, a pair of prowling eyes. 

Still the sweet, fragi'ant dai'k o'erflows 
The deepening air and darkening ground ; 

15y its rich scent 1 trace the rose, 
Tlie viewless beetle by its sound. 

The cricket scrapes its rib-like bars ; 

The tree-toad purrs in whiiring tone ; 
And now the heavens are set with stars. 

And night and ipiiet reign alone. 



I EVENING. 

j FROM ■' DCS JUAN." 

I AVF, Maria ! o'er the earth and sea. 
That heavenliest hour of heaven is worthiest tliee .' 

Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour. 

The time, the clime, the .spot, where I so oft 
Have felt that moment in its fullest power 

.Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft. 
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower 

Or the faint dying day hymn stole aloft. 
And not a breath crept through the rosy air. 
And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with 
prayer. 

Ave Maria ! 't is the hour of prayer ! 

Ave Maria ! 't is the liour of love ! 
Ave Maria I may our spirits dare 

Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! 
Ave Maria ! that face so fair ! 

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty 
dove, — 
What though 't is but a [jjctured image? — 

strike, — 
That painting is no idol, — 't is too like. 

Sweet hour of twilight ! in the solitude 
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 

Wliich bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood. 
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er 

To where the last Ciesarean fortress stood. 
Evergreen forest ; wliicli Boccaccio's lore 

Ami Diyden's lay made haunted giound to me. 

How liave I loved the twilight hour and thee ! 

The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, 

Were the solo echoes, save my steed's and mini', 
And vesper bells that rose the boughs along ; 

The specter huntsman of Onesti's line, 

Hishell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng 

Which learned from this e.-caniiile not to fly 

From a true lover, — shadowed my mind's ey,. 

Hesperus I thou hringest all good tilings, — 
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer. 

To the young bird the parent's brooding wings. 
The welcome stall to the o'erlabored steer ; 

Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, 
AVhate'er our household gods protect of dear. 

Are gathered round us by thy look of rest ; 

Thou bring' st the child, too, to the mother'sbreast. 



Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts 
heart 

Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 
When they fromtheirsweet friends aretorn a]): 

Or fills with love the jtilgrim on his way, 



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374 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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As the far bell of vesper niakes him stait, 

Seeming to weep the dying day's deeay : 
Is this a I'aney which our reason scorns ? 
Ah ! surely nothing dies but something mourns. 

LORD DYRON. 



ODE TO EVENING. 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest oar, 
Like thy own solemn springs, 
Thy springs, and dying gales, — 

O nymph reserved, while now the lirighl-haiicd 

Sun 
.Sits in yon western tent, whoso cloudy skirts. 

With braid ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed : 

Now air is hushed, save whore the wcak-oyed bat, 
With short, shrill shriek Hits by on leathern 
wing ; 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small bvit sullen horn. 

As oft he rises midst the twilight inith. 
Against the pilgrim borne in lurdless hum ; 
Now teach me, maid conipikscxt. 
To lireathe some softened stiiiin, 

Wlioso numbers, stealing through thy darkening 

vale. 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 

As, musing slow, 1 hail 

Thy genial, loved return ! 

For when thy folding-star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp, 

The fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day, 

And many a Nymph who wreathes hor brows 

with sedge, 
.■\nd sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still. 

The pensive I'leasurcs sweet, 

I'rcpare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some w'ild and heathy scene ; 
Or lind some ruin midst its dreary dells, 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religio\is gleams. 

dr. if chill, blustering winds, or driving raiii, 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
That from the mountain's side 
^'iews wilds, and swelling Hoods, 



And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ; 
Anil hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 

Thy dewy lingers draw 

The gradual, dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he 

wont. 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve I 

While Summer loves to spoit 

Beneath thy lingering light ; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Affrights thy shrinking train. 

And rnddy rends thy robes, — 

So long, regardl'ul of thy quiet rule, 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest inlhunu'o own. 

And love thy fuvoriti^ nanu' ! 

WILLIAM Collins. 



The moon is up, and yet it is not night: 
Sunset divides the sky with her ; a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's mountains ; heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colors seems to bo 
Melted to one vast Iris of the w-est. 
Where the day joins the past eternity ; 
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
Floats through the azure air, an ishuul of tlu' 
blest. 

A single star is at her side, and reigns 
With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still 
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and ivmains 
Rolled o'er the peak of the far Khretian hill. 
As day and night contending were until 
Nature reclaimed her order : gently Hows 
The deep-dyed Brcnta, where their hues instill 
The odorous purple of a new-born rose. 
Which .streams upon her stream, and glassed 
within it glows, 

Filleil with the face of heaven, which, from 

afar. 
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, 
From the rich sunset to the rising star. 
Their nuigical variety diffuse : 
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o'er the mountains : parting day 
Pies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
With a new color as it gasps away, 
The last still loveliest, till 't is gone — and all is 
gray. 



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a- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



In-^ 



EVENING IN PARADISE. 

Now caiiiu still evening on, ami Iwilight gray 
Flail in her sober livery all things clail ; 
Silence aeuonipanieil ; for heast and bird, 
'I'liey to tlieii' grassy coneli, these to their nests, 
Were slnnk, all but the wakefnl nightingale ; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung. 

Sile was pleased : now glowed the linnament 

Wilh living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
'I'lie starry host, rode bi-ightest, till the moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
Apparent (jueen, unveiled her jieerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver niantl(! threw. 

When Adani thus to Kve : " Fair eonsort, the 
hour 
Ol' night, and all things now retired to rest. 
Mind us of like repose, since God hath .set 
Lalicjr and rest, as day and night, to men 
Successive ; and the timely dew of .sleep, 
Now falling with softslumberons weight, inclines 
Our eyelids. Other creatures all ilay long 
Kove idle, unemployed, and less ncx'il rest ; 
.Man hath his daily work of body or ndnd 
Appointed, which declares his dignity. 
And the regard of Heaven on all his ways ; 
While otiu'r animals uiiactive rang<'. 
And of their doings God takes no account. 
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east 
With llrst ai]proach of liglit, «•<■ nm.st be risen, 
And at our pleasant lalior, to reform 
Yon flowery arbors, yonder alleys green. 
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown. 
That mock our scant manuring, and reipiire 
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth. 
Those blossoms also, and those drojiping gums. 
That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsniootli, 
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread wilh ease ; 
Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest." 

To whom thus Eve with ]ieifpct beauty adorned : 
" My autlior and dispo.ser, what thou bidd'st 
riiaigucil I obey ; .so God ordains ; 
(;od is thy law, thou mine ; to know no more 
Is wouKin's happiest knowdedgo and her prai.sc. 
AVith thee conversing 1 forget all time ; 
All seasons and their change, all )ilease alike. 
Sweet is the breath of morn, fjcr rising sweet. 
With cliarm of earliest birds ; jileasant the .sun. 
When first on this delightful land he spreads 
Ills orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
(ilistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
After soft sliowi^vs ; and sweet the coming on 
Of grateful evening mild ; then .silent night, 
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon. 
And these the gems of heaven, her starry tiain : 
Hut neither breath of morn, when slie ascends 
With charms of earliest birds ; nor lising sun 
On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower. 



^ 



Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance aftiM. showers, 
Nor grateful evening nnid ; norsili'iit night 
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by nmon. 
Or glittering starlight, without thee is .sweet." 

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they passed 
On to their blissful bower. 

Mn.TON. 



Swii-Ti.Y walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
VVhiu'e, all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrilile'aml dear, — 

Swill be thy lliglil ! 

Wrap thy fonu in a mantle gray, 

Stardnwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land. 
Touching all with thine o|iiate wand, — 

Come, long-sought '. 

When I arose ami saw the dawn, 

I sighed for the(! ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turned to her rest, 
Lingering like an uidoved guest, 

I sighed for thee ! 

Thy brother Deatli canu-, and cried, 

" Wouldst thou me?" 
Thy sweet child Sleeji, the lilmy-eyi'd, 

Murmured like a noontide bee, 
"Shall I m-stle near thy side ? 
Wouhhst thou me ?" — And 1 replied, 

" No, not thcc ! " 

Drvilh will come when Ihou art dead, 

Soon, too .soon, — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would 1 ask the boon 
1 a.sk of thee, beloved Night, — 
Swift he thine aiiproacliing flight, 

Gome soon, soon ! 

I'rkcv IJvssnii SniiLLnv. 



Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
Thee, from report divine, and heard tliy name. 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, — 
This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 



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r3« 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



•^ 



Yet, 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came. 
And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 
Who could have thought such darkness lay con- 
cealed 
Within thy beams, Sun ! or who could find. 
Whilst Hy and leaf and insect stood revealed. 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind 
Why do we then shun death with anxious strife 
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ? 

Joseph Blanco white. 



If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued i 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ' 



'T IS night, when Meditation bids us feel 
We once have loved, though love is at an end : 
The heart, lone mourner of its baffied zeal. 
Though friendless now, will dream it had a 

friend. 
W ho with the weight of years would wish to bend , 
When Youthitself survives young Love andjoy ? 
Alas ! when mingling souls forget to blend. 
Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not he 
a boy ? 

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side. 
To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere. 
The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, 
And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. 
None are so desolate but something dear. 
Dearer than self, possesses or possessed i 

A tliought, and claims the homage of a tear ; 
A flashing pang ! of which the weary breast 
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. 

I 
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, | 

Where things that own not man's dominion 

dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean, — 
This is not solitude ; 't is but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her 
stores unrolled. 

But midst tlie crowd, the hum, theshock of men 
To hear to see, to feel, and to possess. 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ; 
Minions of splendor slirinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 



Lord bvron. 



NIGHT. 

HdW beautiful this night ! the balmiest sigh 
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear 
Were discord to the speaking quietude 
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon 

vault, 
Studded with stars unutterably bright. 
Through which the moon's uncloiuled grandeur 

rolls. 
Seems like a canopy which love has spread 
To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills. 
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow ; 
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend. 
So stainless that their white and glittering spires 
Tinge not the moon's pure beam ; yon castle steep, 
Whose banner hangeth o'er the timeworn tower 
So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it 
A metaphor of peace — all form a scene 
Where musing solitude might love to lift 
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; 
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone. 
So cold, so bright, so still. 



The orb of day 
In southern climes o'er ocean's waveless field 
Sinks sweetly smiling : not the faintest breath 
Steals o'er the unruflled deep ; the clouds of eve 
Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day ; 
And vesper's image on the western mam 
Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes : 
Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass, 
[ Rolls o'er the blackened waters ; the deep roar 
Of distant thunder mutters awfully ; 
Tempest unfolds its pinion o'er the gloom 
1 That shrouds the boiling surge ; the pitiless fiend, 
With all his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey ; 
The torn deep yawns, —the vessel finds a grave 
Beneath its jagged gulf. 



NIGHT. 

Night is the time for rest : 
How sweet, when labors close. 

To gather round an aching breast 
The curtain of repose. 

Stretch the tired limbs, and lay^the head 

Down on our own delightful be ' ' 



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• tiie ueau , 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 



Night is the time for dreams : 

The gay romance of life, 
When truth that is, and truth that seems, 

Mix in fantastic strife ; 
Ah ! visions, less beguiling far 
Than waking dreams by daylight are ! 

Night is the time for toil : 

To plow the classic field, 
Intent to find the buried spoil 

Its wealthy furrows yield ; 
Till all is ours that sages taught, 
That poets sang, and heroes wrought. 

Night is the time to weep : 

To wet witli unseen tears 
Those graves of Memor}', where sleep 

The joys of other years ; 
Hopes, tliat were Angels at their birth. 
But died when young, like things of earth. 

Night is the time to watch : 

O'er ocean's dark e.xpanse. 
To liail the Pleiades, or catch 

The full moon's earliest glance, 
That brings into the homesick mind 
All we have loved and left behind. 



Night is the time for care : 

Brooding on hours misspent, 
To see the specter of Despair 

T'ome to our lonely tent ; 
Like Brutus, midst his slumbering host, 
Sunmioued to ilie by Ciesar's ghost. 

Niglit is the time to think : 
When, from the eye, the soul 

Takes fliglit ; and on the utmost brink 
Of yonder starry ]ioIe 

Discerns beyond the aliyss of night 

The dawn of uncreated light. 

Night is the time to pray ; 

Our Saviour oft withdrew 
To desert mountains far away ; 

So will his follower do, — 
Steal from the throng to haunts nntrod. 
And commune there alone with God. 

Night is the time for Death : 

When all around is peace, 
Calmly to yield the weary breath. 

From sin and suffering cease. 
Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign 
To parting friends ; — such death be mine. 

JAMKS MONu;nMHKV 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 

'AtTTraCTlI), TptAAlOTOS. 

I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night 

Sweep througli her marble halls ! 
I saw her saljle skirts all fringed with light 

From the celestial walls ! 

1 felt her presence, by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 

The manifold, soft chimes. 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

JMy spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

holy Niglit ! from thee 1 leam to bear 

What man has bonie before ! 
Tliou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

-\nd they comiilain no more. 

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair. 

The best-beloved Niglit ! 

Henry wausworth Loncfkllow 



HYMN. 

FRO.\I "lllE SEASONS." 

These, as they change. Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
Wide flush the fields : the softening air is balm ; 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer months. 
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 
Shoots full perfection through tlie swelling year ; 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks. 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. 
By brooks and groves in hollow-wliispering gales. 
Thy bounty shines in autumn uiiconfined. 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In winter awful thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tenijiest rolled, 
M.ajestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing 
Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore. 
And humblest nature w'ith thy northern blast. 

Mysterious round I whatskill, whatforcedivine, 
Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train. 



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[fi- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



n 



[ZU- 



Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, 
Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole. 
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, 

thence 
The fair profusion that o'crspreads the spring ; 
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth tills grateful change levolves, 
With transport touclies all the springs of life. 

Nature, attend ! join every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness 

breathes : 
0, talk of hira in solitary glooms ; 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
And ye whose bolder note is heard afar. 
Who shake the astonished world, lift high to 

Heaven 
The impetuous song, and say from whom you 

rage. 
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
And let me catch it as I muse along. 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; 
Ye softer Hoods, that lead tlie humid maze 
Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
A secret world of wonders hi thysell', 
Sound his stupendous praise, — whose greater 

voice 
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and 

flowers. 
In mingled clouds to him, — whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil 

paints. 
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, tn him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's lieart, 
As home lie goes beneath the joyous moon. 
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
Uncoiisricus lies, .H'lise your mildest beams. 
Ye coiisli ll:itiMii,, while your angels strike, 
Amid the sp:ii]L;lr.l sky, the silver lyre. 
Oreat source uf day ! best image here below 
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. 
From world to world, the vital ocean round. 
On Nature write with every beam his praise. 
The thunder rolls : be hushed the pro.strate world ; 
While (doud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye nios.sy rocks. 
Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low. 



Ye valleys, raise ; for the great Shepherd reigns, 
And his unsntfering kingdom yet will come. 
Ye woodlands all, awake ; a boundless song 
Burst from the groves ; and when the restless day. 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
The listening shades, and teach the uiglit his 

praise. 
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles. 
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all. 
Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast. 
Assembled men to the deep organ join 
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; 
And, as each mingling flame Increases each, 
Iiione united ardor rise to heaven. 
Or if you rather choose the rural shade. 
And find a fane in every sacred grove, 
There let the shepherd's flute, tlie virgin's lay. 
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 
Still sing the God of seasons as they roll. 
For me, when I lorget the darling theme. 
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 
Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams. 
Or winter rises in the blackening east, — 
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 

Should fate command mc to the farthest verge 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles, — 't isnaught to me : 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where he vital breathes there must be joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall come. 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers. 
Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 
Where Universal Love not smiles around. 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
From seeming evil still educing good. 
And better thence again, and better still. 
In infinite progression. But I lose 
Myself in him, in light ineffable ! 
Come, then, exjiressive Silence, muse his praise, 
James Thomson. 

THE FOUR SEASONS. 

Springe is yeomen in, 
Dappled larke singe ; 

Snowe melteth, 

Runnell peltetli, 
Smelleth wiude of iievve buddiuge. 



Summer is yeomen in, 
Loude singe cucku : 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



379 



-t] 



Groweth seede, 

Blowutli meade, 

And spiingeth the weede iiewe. 

Autumne is yeomen in, 
Ceres tilletli home ; 
Reaper swiuketh. 
Fanner drinketh, 
Creaketh waine witli newe eorne. 

Winter is yeomen in 
With stormy sadde eheere ; 

In tlie paddocke, 

Whistle ruddoek, 
Brighte sparke in the dead yeare. 



EPIG^A ASLEEP. 

Arbutus lies beneath the snows, 
While Winter waits her brief repose, 
And says, "No fairer Hower grows ! " 

(Jl' sunny April days she dreams, 

Of robins' notes and murmuring streams, 

And smiling in her sleep she seems. 

She thinks her rosy buds expand 
Beneath the touch of childhood's hand, 
And beauty breathes throughout the land. 

The arching elders bending o'er 
The silent river's sandy shore, 
Their golden tresses trim once more. 

The |iussy- willows in their play 
Their varnished caps have flung away, 
And hung their furs on cx'ery spray. 

The toads their cheery nnisic chant. 
The squirrel seeks his summer haunt. 
And life revives in every plant. 

" I must awake ! I hear the bee ! 

The butterfly I long to see ! 

The buds are bursting on the tree ! " 

Ah ! blossom, thou art dreaming, dear, 
The wild winds howl about thee here, 
— The dirges of the dying year ! 

Thy gentle eyes with tears ai'e wet ; 
In sweeter sleep these pains forget ; 
Thy merry morning comes not yet ! 

William whiima.v Bailev- 



MARCH. 

Slaver of winter, art thou here again ? 
welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh ! 
The l.iitter wind makes not thy victory vain. 
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. 
Welcome, March ! whose kindly days and dry 
Make April ready for the throstle's song. 
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong ! 

Yea, welcome, March ! and though I die ere June, 
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, 
Striving to sw-ell the burden of the tune 
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise. 
Unmindful of the past or coming days ; 
Who sing, " joy ! a new year is begun ! 
What happiness to look upon the sun ! " 

0, what bcgetteth all this storm of blis."!, 
Hut Death himself, who, crying solemnly, 
Kven from the heart of sweet Forgetful ncss, 
Bids us, " Rejoice ! lest pleasurele.ss ye die. 
Within a little time must ye go by. 
Stretch forth your open hands, and, while ye live. 
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give " ? 
William Morkis. 



Dip downi upon the northern shore, 
sweet new-year, delaying long : 
Thou doest expectant Nature wrong ; 

Delaying long, delay no more. 

What stays thee from the clouded noons, 
Thy sweetness from its proper place ? 
Can trouble live with April days. 

Or sadness in the summer moons ? 

Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire. 
The little speedwell's darling blue, 
Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew, 

Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire. 

thou, new-year, delaying long, 
Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 
That longs to burst a frozen bud, 

And flood a fresher throat with song. 

Now fades the last long streak of snow ; 
Now bourgeons every maze of quick 
About the flowering squares, and thick 

By ashen roots the violets blow. 

Now rings the woodland loud and long. 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 
And drowned in yonder living blue 

The lark becomes a sightless song. 



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380 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
The Hocks are whiter down tlie vale, 
And milkier every milky sail 

On winding stream or distant sea ; 

AVIiere now the sea-mew pipes, or dives 
In yonder greening gleam, and fly 
The happy birds, that change their sky 

To build and brood, that live their lives 

From land to land ; and in my breast 
Spring wakens too ; and my regret 
Becomes an April violet, 

And Inuls and blossoms like the rest. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 



DIE DO\rN, O DISMAL DAY I 

Die aown, dismal day, and let me live ; 
And come, blue deeps, magnificently strewn 
With colored clouds, — large, light,and fugitive, — 
By upper winds through pompous motions blown. 
Now it is death in life, — a vapor dense 
Creeps round my window, till I cannot see 
The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens 
Shagging the mountain-tops. God ! make free 
This barren shackled earth, so deadly cold, — 
Breathe gently forth thy spring, till winter flies 
lu rude amazement, fearful and yet bold, 
While slie performs her customed charities ; 
I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare, — 
OGod, foroneclearday, a snowdrop, and sweet air ! 
David gray. 



43^ 



SUMMER LONGINGS. 

Au ! my heart is weary waiting. 
Waiting for the May, — 
Waiting for the pleasant rambles 
Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles. 
With the woodbine alternating. 

Scent the dewy way. 
Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, 
AVaiting for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is sick with longing. 
Longing for the May, — 
Longing to escape from study 
To the young face fair and niddy, 
And the thousand charms belonging 

To the summer's day. 
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing. 
Sighing for the May, — 
Sighing for tlieir sure returning. 
When the summer beams are burning. 



Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, 

All the winter lay. 
Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing. 

Sighing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is pained with throbbing, 
Throl)bing for the May, — 
Throbbing lor the seaside billows, 
Or the water-wooing willows ; 

Where, in laughing and in sobbing. 

Glide the streams away. 
Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing. 
Throbbing for the May. 

Waiting sad, dejected, weary, 
Waiting for the May : 
Spring goes by with wasted warnings, — 
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings, — 
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary 

Life still ebbs away ; 

Man is ever weaiy, weary. 

Waiting for the May ! 

DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY. 



WHEN THE HOUNDS OF SPRING. 

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces. 
The mother of months in meadow or plain 

Fills the shadows and windy jilaces 
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; 

And the brown bright nightingale amorous 

Is half as.suaged for Itylus, 

For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces ; 
The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. 

Come with bows bent and with emptying of 
quivers. 

Maiden most perfect, lady of light, 
With a noise of winds and many rivers. 

With a clamor of waters, and with might ; 
Bind on thy sandals, thou most fleet. 
Over the splendor and speed of thy feet ! 
For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, 

Round the feet of the day and the feet of the nigl it. 

Where .shall we find her, how^ shall we sing to her. 

Fold our hands round her knees and cling ? 
that man's heart were as fire and could spring 
to her, 

Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring ! 
For the stars and the winds are unto her 
As raiment, as songs of the harp-player ; 
For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her. 

And thesouth west-wind and the west- wind sing. 

For winter's rains and ruins are over. 
And all the season of snows and sins ; 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



z:rn 



J81 



The days divitling lover and lover, 

The light that loses, the night tliat wins ; 

And time remembered is grief forgotten. 

And frosts are slain and flowers Ijegotten, 

And in gi-een underwood and cover 
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

The full streams feed on flower of rushes, 
Ripe grasses trammel a traveling foot. 

The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes 
From leaf to flower and flower to fruit ; 

And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire. 

And tlie oat is heard above the lyre. 

Anil tlie lioofed heel of a satyr cruslies 
The eliestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. 

And Pan by noon and Bacchus by niglil. 

Fleeter of foot than the Heet-lbot kid, 
FoUow.s \vith dancing and fills with delight 

The Msnad and the Bassarid ; 
And soft as lips that laugh and hide. 
The laughing leaves of the trees divide. 
And screen from seeing and leave in sight 
The god pursuing, the maiden hid. 

The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair 
I Iver her eyebrows shading her eyes ; 
Tlic wild vine slipping down leaves bare 

liir bright breast shortening into sighs ; 
Tlic wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves, 
But the berried ivy catches and cleaves 
To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare 
The wolf that follows, the fawn tliat flies. 

; SWINBURNE. 



B-«- 



THE WINTER BEING OVER. 

The winter being over. 
In order comes the spring, 
Which doth green herbs discover. 
And cause the birds to sing. 
The night also expired. 
Then comes the morning bright, 
Which is so much desired 
By all that love the light. 

This may learn 

Them that mourn 
To put their grief to flight : 
The spring succeedeth winter. 
And day must follow night. 

He therefore that sustaineth 
Afllii.-tion or distress 
Which every member paineth. 
Ami fiudeth no release. — 
Ijct such therefore desjiair not, 
But on firm hope depend, 



Whose griefs immortal are not, 
And therefore nmst have eml. 

They that faint 

With complaint 
Therefore are to blame ; 
They add to their afflictions, 
And amplify the same. 

For if they could w'ith patience 
Awhile possess the mind, 
By inward consolations 
They might refreshing find. 
To sw'eeten all their crosses 
That little time they 'dure ; 
So might they gain by losses, 
And sharp would sweet procure. 

But if the mind 

Be inrlinod 
To unquietness. 
That only may be called 
The worst of all distress. 

He that is melancholy, 
Detesting all delight, 
His wits by sottish folly 
Arc ruinated quite. 
Sad discontent and murmurs 
To him are incident ; 
Were he possessed of honors, 
He could not be content. 

Sparks of joy 

Fly away ; 
Floods of care ai'ise ; 
And all delightful motion 
In the conception dies. 

But those that are contented 
However things do fall. 
Much anguish is preventeii. 
And they soon freed from all. 
They finish all their labors 
With much felicity ; 
Their joy in trouble savors 
Of perfect piety. 

Cheerfulness 

Doth express 
A settled pious mind, 
Which is not prone to grudging. 
From murniurinw refined. 



Thk Time hath laid liis mantle by 
(If wind and rain and icy chill. 

And dons a rich embioidery 

Of sunlight poured on lake and hill. 



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382 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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No beast or bird in earth or sky, 

Whose voice dotli not with gladness thrill, 
For Time hath laid his mantle by 

Of wind and rain and icy chill. 

River and fountain, brook and rill, 
Bespangled o'er with livery gay 
Of silver droplets, wind their way. 
All in their new apparel vie. 
For Time hath laid his mantle by. 



^ 



RETURN OF SPRING. 

God shield ye, heralds of the spring ! 
Ye faithful swallows, fleet of wing, 

Houps, cuckoos, nightingales, 
Turtles, and every wilder bird, 
That make your hundred chirpings heard 

Through the green woods and dales. 

God shield ye, Easter daisies all. 
Fair roses, buds, and blossoms small, 

And he whom erst the gore 
Of Ajax atul Narciss did print. 
Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint, 

I welcome ye once more ! 

God shield ye, bi'ight embroidered train 
Of butterflies, that on the plain 

Of each sweet herblet sip ; 
And ye, new swarms of bees, that go 
Where the pink flowers and yellow gi-ow 

To kiss them with your lip ! 

A hundred thousand times 1 call 
A hearty welcome on ye all ! 

This season how I love — 
This merry din on every shore — 
For winds and storms, whose sullen roar 

Forbade my steps to i-ove. 

From tlie French of i'lERRF. RoNSA 



The cock is crowing. 
The stream is flowing. 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter. 

The green field sleeps in the sun ; 
The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest ; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising ; 

There are forty feeding like one ? 

Like an ai'my defeated 
The snow hath retreated, 



And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; 
The plowboy is whooping — anon — anon ! 

There 's joy on the mountains ; 

There 's life in the Ibuntains ; 

Small clouds are sailing. 

Blue sky prevailing ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

WILLl.^.M WORDSWORTa 



SONG OF SPRING. 

Laud the first spring daisies : 

Chant aloud their praises ; 

Send the children up 

To the high hill's top ; 

Tax not the strength of their young hands 

To increase your lands. 

Gather the primroses. 

Make handfuls into posies ; 

Take them to the little girls who are at work in 

mills : 
Pluck the violets blue, — 
Ah, pluck not a few ! 
Knowest thou what good thoughts from Heaven 

the violet instills ? 

Give tlie children holidays, 

(And let these be jolly days,) 

Grant freedom to the children in this joyous 

spring ; 
Better men, hereafter, 
Sh.ill we have, for laughter 
Freely shouted to thewoods, tillall theechoesring. 
Send the children up 
To the high hill's top. 
Or deep into the wood's recesses. 
To woo spring's caresses. 

See, the birds together, 

In this splendid weather. 

Worship God (for he is God of birds as well as 
men) ; 

And each feathered neighbor 

Enters on his labor, — 

Sparrow, robin, redpole, fine li, thr linnet, and the 
wren. 

As the year advances. 

Trees their naked branches 

Clothe, and seek your pleasuie in their green ap- 
parel. 

Insect and wild lieast 

Keep no Lent, but feast ; 

Spring breathes upon the earth, and their joy 's 
increased, 

And the rejoicing birds break forth in one loud 
carol. 



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POEMS OF NATUUE. 



is.^ 



i;^^- 



Ah, come and woo the spring ; 

List to tlie birds that sing ; 

Pluck the primroses ; pluck the violets : 

Pluck the daisies, 

Sing their praises ; 

Friendship with the flowers some noble thought 

begets. 
Come forth and gather tliese sweet elve.- 
(More witching are they than the fays ol' old). 
Come forth and gather them yourselves ; 
Learn of these gentle flowers whose worth is more 

than gold. 

Come, come into the wood ; 

Pierce into the bowers 

Of these gentle flowers, 

Which not in solitude 

Dwell, but with each other keep society ; 

And with a simple piety, 

.\re ready to be woven into garlands for the good. 

Or, upon summer earth. 

To die, in virgin worth ; 

Or to be strewn before the bride, 

And the bridegroom by her side. 

Come forth on Sundays ; 

Come f >rl]i on Mondays ; 

Come foilh on any day ; 

Children, come forth to play : — 

Worship the God of Nature in your childhood ; 

Worship him at your tasks with best en<leavor ; 

Worship him in your sports ; woiship him ever ; 

Worship him in the wildwood ; 

Worship him amidst the flowers ; 

In the greenwood bowers : 

Pluck the buttercups, ami raise 

Your voices in his praise ' 



Ag.^ix the violet of our early days 

Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun. 

And kindles into fi'agrance at his blaze ; 

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done, 

Talk of to-morrow's cowslijis, as they run. 

Wild ap]de, thou art blushing into bloom ! 

Tliy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn! 

Wake, Imried lily ! spirit, quit thy tomb ! 

And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born ! 

Then, haste, sweet rose ! sweet woodbine, hymn 

the morn. 
Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light 
Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands 
From sea to sea, while daisies infinite 
Uplift in praise their little glowing hands. 
O'er every lull that under heaven expands. 

Ebenkzer Elliott. 



SWEETLY BREATHING, VERNAL AIR. 

SwEETT.Y breathing, vernal air. 
That with kind warmth doth repair 
Winter's ruins ; from whose breast 
All the gums and spice of the East 
Borrow their perfumes ; whose eye 
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky ; 
Whose clisheveled tresses shed 
Pearls upon the violet bed ; 
On whose brow, with calm smiles drest 
Tlie halcyon sits and builds her nest ; 
Beauty, youth, and endless spring 
Dwell upon thy rosy wing .' 

Thou, if stormy Boreas tlii'ons 
Down uholr forests when lie bl.iws. 
With a pregnant, (loweiy Imtli, 
Canst refresh the teeming earth. 
If he nip the early bvtd, 
If he blast what 's fail- or goo<l, 
1 f he scatter our choice flowers, 
ir he shake our halls or bowers. 
If his rude lireath threaten us. 
Thou canst stroke great /Eolu.s, 
.\n<l from him the grace obtain. 
To liinil Idm in an iron cliain. 



SPRING. 



Lo I where the rosy-ljosomed Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, ajipcar. 
Disclose the long-exp<'(ting flowers 

And waki! the purjde year ! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note. 
The untaught harmony of spring ; 
While, whispering [ilciisure as tliey fly. 
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky 

Their gathered fragrance fling. 

AVhere'er the oak's thick branches sti'etch 

A broader, browner shade. 
Where'er the rude and mess-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade, 
Besiile some water's rushy brink 
With me the Mu.se shall sit, and think 
(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardor of the crowd. 
How low, how little are the proud. 

How indigent the great ! 

Still is the toiling hand of care : 

The panting herds repose : 
Yet hark, how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 



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[S- 



384 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 



The insect youtli are on the wing, 
Eagei- to tiisto the honeyed spring 
Anil lloat aniiil the liciniil luiun ; 
Some liglitly n'er tlie cinivnt skim, 
S<inir show tlieir gayly gilded trim 
i.Uiiik-glaneing to the sun. 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Sneh is the race of man ; 
And they that creep, and they that fly. 

Shall end where they began. 
.Alike the busy and the gay 
liut lluttoi- through life's little day, 
In Foitune's varying colors drest ; 
Hrushed by the hand of vougli niiscliance 
t)r I'hilled by age, their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sjiortive kind reply ; 
I'dor moralist ! and what art thou ? 

A solitary lly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display ; 
On hasty wings thy youth is down ; 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone, — 

\\'e Irolic while't is May. 



SPRING, THE SWEET SPRING. 

SeitiNi:, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant 

king ; 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in aring. 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
Cnckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 

Tile palm and may make country houses gay. 
Lambs fri.sk and play, the sheplu'rds pipe all day, 
.•\ri(l we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet. 

Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit, 

1 n every street these tunes our oars do greet, 

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 

Spring I the sweet spring ! 

Thomas Nash. 



Heiioi.d the young, the rosy Sjuing 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing. 
While virgin graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languished into silent sleep ; 



And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the retiecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To llutter in a kincUn- sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the nuirky clouds away. 
And cultured Held and winding .stream 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
(iemming shoots the olive twine ; 
Clusters bright festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches ci'ccping. 
Through the velvet foliage peeping. 
Little infant fruits we see 
Nursing into luxury. 

l-rom the Greek of ANACREON, 
by THOMAS MOORB. 



MAY MORNING. 

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the cast, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. 
Hail, bounteous May ! that doth inspire 
Mirth and youth and warm desire ; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing. 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song. 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 



TO AUREUA. 

Sek, the flowery spring is blown. 
Let us leave the .smoky town ; 
From the mall, and from the ring, 
Every one has taken wing ; 
Chloe, Strephon, Corydon, 
To the meadows all are gone. 
W'hat is left you worth your stay ? 
Come, Aurelia, come away. 

Come, Aurelia, come and see 
What a lodge I 've dressed for thee ; 
But the seat you cannot see, 
'T is .so hid with jessamy. 
With the vine that o'er the walls. 
And in every window crawls ; 
Let ns there be blithe and gay ! 
Come, Aurelia, come away. 

Come with all thy sweetest wiles, 
AVith thy graces and thy smiles ; 
Come, and we will merry be. 
Who shall be so blest as we ? 



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POEMH OF NATURE. 



38.! 



-a 



We will tVolir; ,ill the ilay, 
Huste, Amelia, while we may : 
Ay ! ami shouM not life be ^'ay \ 
Yes, Amelia, — come away. 

joi 



MAY. 

May, Ihoii month of rosy beauty, 
Moiilh when pleasme is a ilnty ; 
Month of maids that milk the kine, 
I'osom rich, an<l health divini^ ; 
Month of he(« and month of (lowers, 
Month of blossom-huleii bowei'.s : 
Montli of little hands with daisies, 
Lovei'.s' love, and poets' praises ; 
I) thou merry month complete. 
May, the very name is sweet ! 
May w.as MAiu in olden times, 
And is still in JSeotti-sh rhynn^s — 
May 's the month that 's laughing now. 
I n<j sooner write the word, 
Than it .seems as though it heard, 
Anil looks up and laughs at me, 
Like a sweet fai;e, rosily, — 
Klushing from the paper's white ; 
Like a bri<ie that knows her power, 
Startled in a suinuiei- bower. 

If the rains that do us wrong 
< 'onie to kee|) thi' winter long 
And deny us thy sweet looks, 
I can love thee, swe(!t, in books, 
l.ove thee in the poets' pages. 
Where they keep thee green for ages ; 
Love and read thee as a lover 
Heads his lady's letters over, 
lireatfiing blessings on tlie art 
VVhii-h eommingles those that |iart. 

'I'h.-re is .\l;,y in books forever : 
.May will part from Spencer never ; 
.May 's in Milton, May 's in Prior, 
May 's in r'hau<,'cr, Thomson, Dyer ; 
May 's in all the Italian books ; 
.She has old and modern nooks, 
W'liere slie .sleeps with nymphs and elves 
In happy places they call shelves, 
Aod will lise anil dress your rooms 
With a drapiry thick with Ijlooms. 

''onie, ye rains, then, if ye will. 
May 's at home and with nie still ; 
I'ut c:ome rather, thou good weather, 
And linil us in the fields together. 



1 I'nia. a newer life in every gale ; 

'I'he winds that fun the Mowers, 
And with their welcome breathings (ill the sjdl. 
Tell of serener hours, — 
Of hours that glide unl'ell uway 
Beneath the sky of May. 

'I'he spirit of th(^ gentle 80uth*vind calls 

I'rom his blue throne of air, 
And whi're his whispering voice in music falln, 
Heauty is budding tliiMe ; 
'J'he bright ones of the valley break 
Their slumbers, and awake. 

Tlio waving verdure rolls along the plain, 

And the wide forest weaves, 
To welcome back its playful mates again, 
A canojiy of leaves ; 
And from its darkening shadow lloats 
A gush of trembling notes. 

Kaiiei- and biightei' spreads the reign of Mav ; 

'i'he tres.ses of the woods 
With the light dallying of the west-wind play ; 
And the full-brimnjing floods, 
As gladly to theij- goal they run, 
JIail the returning sun. 

/AMI'S r.ATI'S PnRCIVAI. 



THEYCOMKI THE MEKRY SUMMER MONTHS. 

TllKY come I the merry summer months of 

beauty, song, and Itoweis ; 
They come ! the gladsome months that biing 

thick Icafiness to bowers. 
L'p, up, njy heart ! and walk abroad ; fling lark 

and care aside : 
.Seek sih'Ut hills, or rest thyself where peaceful 

waters glide ; 
Or, underneath the .shadow vast of patriarchal 

tree, 
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt 

tranc|uillity. 

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful to 
the hand ; 

And, like the kiss of maiden love, the bree/e is 
sweet and bland ; 

The daisy and the butt<'rcup are nodding cour- 
t<"Ously ; 

It stirs their blood witli kindest love, to bless 
ami welcome thee ; 

And m.ark how with thine own thin locks — 
they now are silvery gray — 

That Idissful breeze is wantoning, and whisper- 
ing, " Be gay !" 



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l9' 



386 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 
i 



There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of 

yon sky 
But hath its own winged mariners to give it 

melody ; 
Tliou seest their glittering fans outspread, all 

gleaming like red gold ; 
And hark ! with shrill pipe musical, their merry 

course they hold. 
God l)less them all, those little ones, who, far 

above this earth, 
Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a 

nobler mirth. 

But soft ! mine ear upcaught a sound, — from 

yonder wood it came ! 
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe his 

own glad name ; — 
Yes, it is he ! the hermit bird, tliat, ajiart from 

all his kind, 
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft 

western wind ; 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! he sings again, — his notes are 

void of art ; 
But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep 

founts of tile heart. 

Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for tlionght- 
crazed wight like me. 

To smell again these summer flowers beneath this 
summer tree ! 

To suck once more in every breath their little 
souls away. 

And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's 
bright sunmier day, 

When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reck- 
less, truant boy 

Wandered through greenwoods all day long, a 
mighty heart of joy ! 

I 'm sadder now, — 1 have had cause ; but 0, 

I 'm proud to think 
That each pure joy-fount, loveil of yore, 1 yet 

delight to drink ; — 
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the 

calm, unclouded sky. 
Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the 

days gone by. 
When summer's loveliness and light fall round 

me dark and cohl, 
I '11 bear indeed life's heaviest curse, — a heart 

that hath waxed old ! 

\\'1LLIAM Mot herwell. 



Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in. 



B- 



The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 
We bargain for the gi'aves we lie in ; 

At the Devil's booth are all things sold. 

Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 
For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 

Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking : 
'T is heaven alone that is given away, 

'T is only God may be had for the asking ; 

There is no price set on the lavish summer. 

And June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And wliat is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune. 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life munnur, or see it glisten ; 
Every clod feels a stir of miglit, 

An instinct within it that reatlies and towers 
.'Vnd, grasping blindly above it lor light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over liills and valleys ; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
And there 's never a leaf or a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little liird sits at his door in the sun, 

A-tilt like a blossom among the leaves. 
And lets his illumined being o'errim 

With the deluge of summer it receives : 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
And the heart in her dumb lireast flutters and 

sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best ? 

Now is the high-tide of the year, 

And wluitever of life hath ebbed away 
Conies flooding hack, with a ripply clieer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it. 
We are luippy now because God so wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green : 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
We may .shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
Tliat skies are clear and grass is growing ; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear. 
That dandelions are blossoming near. 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are 
flowing. 
That the river is bluer than the sky. 
That the robin is plastering his house hard liy ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back. 
For other couriers we shoulil not laclc ; 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 



■& 



POEMS OF XATURE. 



38 



ra 



And Iiarlc ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 
Joy conies, grief goes, we know not how ; 
Everything is hapi)y now, 

Everything is upwaid striving ; 
'T is as easy now ibr the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 

'T is the natural way of living : 
Who knows whither tlie clouds have fled ? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake. 
And tlie eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The Iieart forgets its sorrow and ache ; 
The soul jiartakes the season's youth, 

And the sulpliurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth. 

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 

jAMiis Ri >siiLL Lowell, 



THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. 

Mother, motlier, tlie winds are at play, 
Pritliee, let me be idle to-day. 
Look, dear mother, the (lowers all lie 
Languidly under the bright blue sky. 
See, how slowly the streamlet glides ; 
Look, liovv the violet roguislily hides ; 
Even the butterfly rests on the lose, 
And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes. 
Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday snn. 
And the flies go about him one by one ; 
And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace, 
Without ever thinking of wa,shing her face. 
There flies a bird to a neighboring tree. 
But very lazily flieth he. 
Anil he sits and twitters a gentle note. 
That scarcely ruffles his little throat. 

You bid me be busy ; but, mother, hear 
How the humdrum grasshoppei- soundeth near, 
And the soft west-wind is so light in its jday, 
It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. 

I wish, 0, I wish I was yonder cloud, 
That sails aliout with its misty shroud ; 
Ijdoks and work I no more should see, 
And I 'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee. 
Caroline Oilman. 



IN SUMMER TIME. 

LiMiFA'-TOEKS ! whose branches high 
Shut out the noontide's sultry sky. 
Throwing a shadow cool and dim 
Along the meadow's grassy rim. 



How sweet in dreamy rest to lie, 
LTnlieeding how the moments fly : 
While woodland odors, faint and raie. 
Of fern and wild rose scent the air, — 
Ami liear tlie liglit winds play around 
From leaf to leaf with rustling sound, — 
And trill of bird, and insect's hum. 
And all the lulling tones that conic 
In summer tiTiic. 

Linden-trees ! so mossy-old. 
What pleasant memories you hold 
Of early childhood, and its days 
Of frolic, sport, and guileless ways ; 
A time of joyance, bright and fair, 
Beneath a mother's tender care. 
And ever on, till manhood brought 
JIaturer aims and deeper thought, — 
And Love arose, and life bccaim? 
All radiant with his ipienclilcss flame, 
As here, within your .shelter wide, 
We met and lingered side by ^ide, 

In summer time. 

Linden-trees ! as now once more 

1 live those happy moments o'er. 
And, stretched at lasr upon the grass. 
See picture altri piitnn- pass. 
Another, brighter \\s\ni\ stays 

My backward thoughts and fills my gaze 
For look ! where down yon shaded walk 
A merry troop, in cheerl'ul talk. 
And gleeful laugh, and .shout and song, 
Maud and the children pass along I 
O Lindens ! tell me what could bo 
More sweet to hear, or fair to see. 

In summer time ? 



SUMMER MORNING. 

FROM -THE SEASONS" 

Short is the doubtful em^iire of the night ; 
And soon, observant of approaching day, 
The lueck-eyed morn appears, mother of dews, 
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east, — 
Till far o'er ether .spreads the widening glow, 

I And, from before the luster of her face, 

I White break the clouds away. With ipiickened 
step. 
Brown night retires. .Young day pours in apace, 

i And opens all the lawny jirospect wide. 
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty to|i. 
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
Blue, through the ilusk, the smoking curi'euts 

1 .shine ; " 

I And from the bladed field the fearful bare 



-S 



a-: 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade 
The wild deer trip, and ot'tf ii turning gaze 
At early passenger. Miisii- awakes, 
The native voice of luulissenililed joy ; 
And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 
Housed by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 
His Hock, to taste the verdure of the morn. 

JAMUS THOMSON. 



& 



SONa OF THE SUMMER WINDS. 

Ul' the dale and down the bourne, 

(I'd- the meadow swift we tly ; 
Now we sing, and now we mourn, 

Now we whistle, now we sigh. 

By the gra.ssy-fring6d river, 

Through the murnuuing reeds we sweep ; 
Mid the lily-leaves we ipiiver, 

To their very hearts we creep. 

Now the maiden rose is blushing 

At the frolic things we say, 
While aside her cheek we 're rushing, 

Like some truant bees at play. 

Through the blooming groves we rustle. 

Kissing every bud we pass, — 
As we did it in the bustle. 

Scarcely knowing how it was. 

Down the glen, across the mountain, 

O'er the yellow heath we roam. 
Whirling round about the fountain. 

Till its little breakers foam. 

Bending down the weeping willows. 
While our vesper hymn we sigh ; 

Then unto our rosy pillows 
On our weary wings we hie. 

There of idlenesses dreaming. 

Scarce from waking we refrain, 
Moments long as ages deeming 

Till \vc 're at our play again. 

George darlev. 



THE STORY OF A SUMMER DAY. 

PEra'F.CT Light, which sliaid away 
The darkness from the light. 

And si't a ruler o'er the day. 
Another o'er the night ; 



Thy glory, when the day forth flies. 

More vively does appear. 
Than at midday unto our eyes 

The shining sun is clear. 

The shadow of the earth anon 

Kcnuivcs and drawis by, 
^\'llilc in the east, when it is gone. 

Appears a cleai'er sky. 

Which soon perceive the little larks, 

The lapwing and the snipe, 
.'Vnd time their songs, like Nature's clerks 

O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. 

Our hemisphere is polished clean, 
.Vnil lightened more and more ; 

While everything is clearly seen. 
Which seem6d dim before ; 

Except, the glistening astres bright, 
Which all the night were clear, 

OtVusked with a greater light. 
No longer do appear. 

The golden globe incontinent 

Sets up his .shining head, 
And o'er the earth and iirmanient 

Displays his beams abread. 

For joy the birds with bouldcn throata 

Against his visage sheen 
Take up their kindly music notes 

In woods and gardens green. 

The dew upon the tender crops. 
Like pearles white and round, 

Or like to melted silver drops, 
Hefrcslu's all the ground. 

The misty reek, the clouds of rain 
From tops of mountains skails. 

Clear are the highest hills and plain, 
The vapors take the vales. 

The ample heaven, of fabric sure, 

In cleanness does surpass 
The crystal and the silver pure. 

Or clearest polished glass. 

The time so tranquil is and still. 

That nowhere shall ye find. 
Save on a high and barren hill, 

The air of peeping wind. 

All trees and simples, great and small, 

That balmy leaf do bear. 
Than they were painted on a wall, 

No more they move or steir. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



389 



T^ 



Calm is the deeii and purple sea, 
Yea, smoother thau the sand ; 

Tlie waves, that weltering wont to be. 
Arc stable like the land. 

So silent is the cessile air, 

That every cry and call, 
'J'he hills and dales and forest fair 

Again repeats them all. 

'j'he nourishes and fragrant flowers, 
Tliroiigh Phcebus' fo.stering heat, 

Kefreshed with dew and silver showers, 
Cast up an odor sweet. 

The do^'ged, bu.sy liuniming-liees. 

That never think to drone. 
On flowers and flourishes of trees, 

(.'oUeet their liquor brown. 

The sun, mo.st like a speedy post. 
With ardent cour.se ascends ; 

The beauty of the heavenly host 
Up to our zenith tends ; 

Not guided by a Phaethon, 

Not trained in a chair. 
But by the high and holy One, 

Who does all where empire. 

The burning beams dow7i from liLs face 

So fervently can beat. 
That man and beast now .seek a place 

To save them I'rom the heat. 

Tlie liiiils beneath some leafy tree. 
Amidst the flowers they lie ; 

Tlie st.ible ships upon the sea 
Tend nil their sails to dry. 

With gilded eyes and open wings, 
Tlie cock his courage shows ; 

With claps of joy his breast he dings. 
And twenty times he crows. 

The dove with whistling wings so blue, 

The winds can fast collect. 
Her purple pens turn many a hue 

Against the sun direct. 

Now noon is went ; gone is midday, 
The heat does slake at last. 

The sun descends down west away. 
For three o'clock is past. 

The rayons of the sun we see 
Diminish in their strength, 

The shade of every tower and tree 
Extended is in length. 



Great is the calm, for everj'where 

The wind is settling down, 
The reek throws right up in the air 

From every tower and town. 

The gloaming comes, the day is spent, 

Tlie sun goes out of sight. 
And painted is the Occident 

With purple sanguine bright. 

The scarlet nor the golden thread, 
Who would their beauty try. 

Are nothing like the color red 
Ancl beauty of the sky. 

Our west horizon circular, 

From time the sun be set, 
Is all with mbies, as it were. 

Or roses red o'erfret. 

What pleasure were to walk and see, 

Kndlong a river clear. 
The perfect form of every tree 

Within the deep appear. 

0, then it were a seemly thing. 
While all is still and calm. 

The ]iraise of Ood to play and sing 
With cornet and with siialm ! 

All" laborers draw home at even. 

And can to other say. 
Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, 

Which .sent this summer dav ! 



SIGNS OF RAIN. 

=ORTY REASONS FOR NOT ACCF.PTING AN INVITATION C 

1 The hollow winds begin to blow ; 

2 The clouds look black, the glass is low, 

3 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 

4 And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 

5 Last night the sun went pale to bed, 

6 The moon in halos hid her head ; 

7 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 

8 For see, a rainbow spans the sky ! 

9 The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 

10 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. 

11 Hark how the chairs and tables crack '. 

12 Old Betty's nerves are on the rack ; 

13 Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry 

14 The di.stant hills are seeming nigh. 

15 How restless are the snorting swine I 

16 The busy flies disturb the kine, 

17 Low o'er the grass the swallow- wings, 

18 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings I 

19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 



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a-- 



390 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-Ri 



b- 



20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws ; 

21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise, 

22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 

23 The glowworms, numerous and light, 

24 Illumed the dewy dell last niglit ; 

25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 

26 Hoiii)ing and crawling o'er the green ; 

27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, 

28 And in the rapid eddy plays ; 

29 The frog has changed his yellow vest, 

30 And in a russet coat is dressed. 

31 Thougli June, the air is cold and still, 

32 The mellow blackbird's voice is shriU ; 

33 My dog, so altered in his taste, 

34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast ; 

35 And see yon rooks, how odd tlieir flight ! 

36 They imitate the gliding kite, 

37 And seem precipitate to fall, 

38 As if they felt the jjiercing ball. 

39 'T will surely rain ; 1 see with sorrow, 

40 Our jauiit must be put off to-morrow. 

Dr. EinvARD IKNNER. 



SUMMER MOODS. 

1 LOVE at eventide to walk alone, 
Down narrow glens, o'erhung with dewy thorn, 
W here from the long grass underneath, the snail. 
Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn. 
1 love to muse o'er meadows newly mown, 
Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air ; 
Where bees search round, with sad and weary 

drone. 
In vain, for flowers that bloomed but newly 

there ; 
While in the juicy corn the hidden (|uail 
Cries, "Wet my foot" ; .and, hid as thoughts 

unborn, 
The fairy-like and seldom-seen land-rail 
Utters "Craik, craik," like voices underground. 
Right glad to meet the evening's dewy veil, 
And see the light fade into gloom around. 

John Clare. 

RAIN IN SUMMER. 

Hnw beautiful is the rain ! 

.\fter the dust and heat. 

In the broad and fiery street, 

In the narrow lane. 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs. 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 

.\cross the window-pane 

It pours and pours ; 



And swift and wide. 

With a muddy tide. 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks ; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool ; 

His fevered brain 

Grows calm again. 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Clonic the boys. 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets. 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In tlie country, on every side. 

Where far ami wide. 

Like a leopanl's tawny ami spotted hide, 

Stretches the [ilain, 

To the dry grass and the drier grain 

How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient o.\en stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

Tliey silently inhale 

The rldver-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well-watered and smoking soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after toil 

Their l,a'\ge and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word. 

Near at hand, 

From under the sheltering trees. 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain, 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drojis 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these. 

The Poet sees ! 

He can behold 

Arniarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air ; 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



391 



^ 



Aiid from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery raiu, 

As the farmer scatters his gi'ain. 

He can licholil 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, — 

Have not been wholly sung or said. 

For his thought, that never stops, 

Folloivs the water-drops 

Down to the graves of the dead, 

Down through chasms and gulfs profound, 

To the dreary fountain-head 

Of lakes and rivers undergi'uuuil ; 

And sees them, when the rain is done, 

On the bridge of colors seven 

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

( Ipposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear. 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perjietual round of strange. 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to birth. 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth ; 

Till glimpses more sublime 

Of things, unseen before, 

Unto his wondering eyes reveal 

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel 

Turning foreveiTOore 

In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 

HI-LNRV WaDSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



SUMMER STORM. 

Untremulous in the river clear, 
Toward the sky's iinage, hangs the imaged bridge ; 

So still the air that I can hear 
The slender clarion of the unseen midge ; 

Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, 
Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases, 
Now- lulls, now swells, and all the while increases. 

The huddling trample of a drove of sheep 
Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases 
In dust on the other side ; life's emblem deep, 
A confused noise between two silences. 
Finding at last in dust precarious peace. 
On the wide marsh, the purple- blossomed grasses 
Soak up the sunshine ; sleeps the brimming 
tide 
Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes 
Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide 
Wavers the long gi'een sedge's shade from side 
to .side ; 



But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge, 
Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened 
spray ; 

Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge. 
And falUngstill it seems, and yet itclinibsalway. 

Suddenly all the sky is hid 

As with tlie shutting of a lid. 
One by one great drops arc lalling 

Doubtful and slow ; 
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling. 

And the wind breathes low; 
Slowly the circles widen on the river. 

Widen and mingle, one and all ; 
Heie and there the .slenderer Howei's shiver, 

Struck by an icy rain-drop's fall. 

Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter. 

The wind is gathering in the west ; 
The upturned leaves first whiten and Mutter, 

Then droop to a titful rest ; 
Up from the stream with sluggish flap 

Struggles the gull and floats away ; 
Nearer aud nearer rolls the thunder-clap, — 

We shall not see the sun go down to-day : 
Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh. 

And tramples the gi-ass with terrified feet. 
The startled river turns leaden and harsh, 

You canheartlie quickheartof thetenijiest beat. 

Look ! look ! that livid Hash ! 
And instantly follows the rattling thunder, 
As if some cloud-crag, split asunder. 

Fell, splintering with a ruinous cra.sli, 
On the F.arth, which crouches in silence under ; 

And now a solid gi'ay wall of rain 
Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile ; 

For a breath's space I see the blue wooil again. 
And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile. 
That seemed but now a league aloof. 
Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof; 
Against the windows the storm comes dashing. 
Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, 
The blue lightning flashes. 
The rapid hail clashes. 
The white waves are tumbling. 

And, in one baffled roar. 
Like the toothless sea mumbling 

A rock-bristled shore. 
The thunder is rumbling 
And crashing and crumbling, — 
Will silence return nevermore ? 

Hush ! Still as death. 
The tempest holds his breath 
As from a sudden will ; 
The rain stops short, but from the eaves 
You see it drop, and hear it from th" leaves, 
All is .so bodingly still ; 



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392 



POEMS OF XATUEE. 



■^a 



Again, now, now, again 
Plashes tlie rain in lieavy gouts, 
Tlie crinkled lightning 
Seems ever brightening, 
And loud and long 
Again the thunder shouts 

His battle-song, — 
One quivering flash. 
One wildering emsh. 
Followed by silence dead and dull, 
As if the clouil, let go. 
Leapt bodily below 
To whelm the earth in one mad overtlu'ow, 
And then a total lull. 

Gone, gone, so soon ! 
No more my half-crazed fancy there 
Can shape a giant in the air. 
No more I see his streaming hair, 
The WTithing portent of his form ; — 
The pale and quiet moon 
Makes her calm forehead bare. 
And the last fragments of the storm. 
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea. 
Silent and few, are drifting over me. 

James Russell Lowell. 



THE STORM. 

FROM " LEONORE." 

While yet the feeble accents hung 
Unfinished on his faltering tongue. 
Through the tall arches flashing came 
A broad and livid sheet of flame. 
Playing with fearful radiance o'er 
The upraised features of Leonore, 
The shrinking form of her trembling sire, 
The bridegroom's face of scowling ire. 
And the folded hands and heaving breast. 
And prophet-like mien of the aged priest ! 

'T was a breathless pause, — but a moment more. 
And that fierce, unnatural beam was o'er. 
And a stunning crash, as if earth were driven 
On thundering wheels to the gates of heaven, 
Bui-st, pealed, and muttered long and deep, 
Then sinking, growled itself to sl^ep. 
And alt was still. 

MARGARET DAVIDSON. 



t 



AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. 

The rain is o'er. How dense and bright 
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie ! 

Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight. 
Contrasting with the dark blue sky ! 



In grateful silence earth receives 
The general blessing ; fresh and fair. 

Each flower expands its little leaves. 
As glad the common joy to share. 

The softened sunbeams pour around 

A fairy light, uncertain, jjale ; 
The wind flows cool ; the scented ground 

Is breathing odoi-s on the gale. 

Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, 
Methinks some spirit of the air 

Might rest, to gaze below awhile, 
Then turn to bathe and revel there. 

The sun breaks forth ; from oft' the scene 
Its floating veil of mist is flung ; 

And all the wilderness of green 
With trembling drops of light is hung. 

Now gaze on Nature, — yet the same, — 
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, 

Luxuriant, lovely, as she came. 

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. 

Hear the rich music of that voice. 
Which sounds from all below, above ; 

She calls her children to rejoice. 

And round them throws her arms of love. 

Drink in her influence ; low-born care, 
And all the train of mean desire. 

Refuse to breathe this holy air. 
And mid this living light expire. 



A DROP OF DEW. 

See how the orient dew. 
Shed from the bosom of the morn 
Into the blowing roses, 
(Yet careless of its mansion new 
For the clear region where 't was born) 
Round in itself encloses. 
And in its little globe's extent 
Frames, as it can, its native element. 

How it the purple flower does slight. 

Scarce touching where it lies ; 
But gazing back upon the skies. 
Shines with a mournful light. 
Like its own tear. 
Because so long divided from the sphere ; 
Restless it rolls, and unsecure, 

Trembling, lest it gi-ow impure. 

Till the warm sun pities its pain, 

And to the skies exhales it hack again. 

So the soul, that drop, that ray 



-^ 
















" /« grate/ul silciuc e.irih reicirTs 

The gv„cral Mcsslug: /re^h and /.,ir 
Each fo'Mcr cxpatuls its little 1,-avts, 
As glad the common good to share. 

•' The so/tencd sutibcams four around 
A /airy light, uncertain, pale: 
The tvind Idoivs cool, the scented ground 
Is breathing odors on the gale." 






'\l-'T^^- 



f 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



393~^ 



Of the clear fountain of eternal day, 
t'ould it within the human flower lie seen, 
HememberlMf; still its former height, 
Shuns IIk' swuct leaves and blossoms green. 
And, ri'coUci'tiiig its own light, 
Does, in its fiure and circling thoughts, express 
The greater heaven in a heaven less. 
In how coy a figure wound, 
Every way it turns away ; 
So the world excluding round. 
Yet receiving in the day. 
Dark beneath, but bright above ; 
Here disdaining, there in love. 
How loose and easy hence to go ! 
How girt and ready to ascend ! 
Moving but on a point below. 
It all about does uj)Wards bend. 
Such did the manna's sacred dew distill, 
White and entire, although congealed and chill, — 
Congealed on earth, but does, dissolving, run 
Into the glories of the Almighty sun. 



A SITMMER EVENING'S MEDITATION. 

"One sun by day, by night ten thousaiul shine." — VoUNG. 

'T IS past, — the sultry tyrant of the South 
Has spent his short-lived rage ; more grateful hours 
Move silent on ; the skies no more-repel 
The dazzled sight, but, witli milil maiden beams 
Of tempered luster, eoui't the cherished eye 
To wander o'er their sphere ; where, hung aloft, 
Dian's bright crescent, like a silver bow, 
New striin:,' in lic:ivi ii, lifts its beamy horn.s 
Impatient l.ii III. niulit, and seems to push 
Her brotliir down the .sky. Fair Venus shines 
Even in the eye of day ; with sweetest beam 
Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood 
Of softened radiance with her dewy locks. 
The .shadows spread apace ; while mei.'kened Eve, 
Her idieek yet warm with blushes, slow retires 
Tlirough the Hes]ierian gardens of the West, 
And shuts the gates of Day. 'T is now the hour 
When Contemplation, from her sunless haunts. 
The cool damp grotto, or the lonely depth 
Of un])ierced woods, where rapt in solid shaile 
She mused away the gaudy hours of noon, 
And fed on thoughts unrijiened by the sun, 
Moves forward and with radiant finger points 
To yon blue concave swelled by bieath divine. 
Where, one by one, the living eyes of heaven 
Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether 
One boundless blaze ; ten thousand trcmliliug 

fire.s, 
And dancing lusters, where the unsteady eye. 
Restless and dazzled, wanders uneonfined 
O'er all this field of glories ; spacious field. 



And woi thy of the Master, — He whose hand 
With hieroglyphics elder than the Nile; 
Inscril)ed the mystic tablet, hung on high 
To public gaze, and said. Adore, man ! 
The finger of thy God. From what pure wells 
Of milky light, what soft o'erllowing urn. 
Are all these lamps so filled? — these friendly 

lamps, 
Forever streaming o'er the azure dee]) 
To point our path, and light us to our home. 
How soft they sliilc along their lueiil spheres, 
And, silent a.s the foot of Time, fulfill 
Their destined courses ! Nature's self is hushed, 
And but a scattereil leaf, which rustles through 
Till' thick-wove foliage, not a sound is heard 
To break the midnight air; though the raised ear, 
Intently listening, drinks in every breath. 
How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise ! 
But are they silent all ? or is thei'e not 
A tongue in every star that talks with man. 
And wooes him to be wise > nor wooes in vain ; 
This di'ad of midnight is the noon of thought, 
And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars. 
At this still hour the self-i'ollected soul 
Tmns inward, and beholds a stranger there 
Of high descent, and more than mortal rank ; 
An embryo C.od ; a spark of fire divine, 
Which nnist burn on for ages, when the sun 
(Fail- transitory creature of a day !) 
Has closed his golden eye, and, wrapt in shades. 
Forgets his wonted journey through the East. 

Ye citadels of light, and seats of gods ! 
Perhai)s my future home, from whence the soul, 
Hevolving periods ])a.st, may oft look back. 
With recollected tenderness, on all 
The various busy scenes she left below. 
Its deep-laid projects and its strange events, 
As on some fond and doting tale that soothed 
Her infant hour.s, — 0, be it lawful now 
To tread the luillowed circle of your courts. 
And with tnute wonder and delighted awe 
Approach your burning confines ! Seized in 

thought. 
On Fancy's wild and roving wing I sail. 
From the green borders of the peopled earth. 
And the pale tnoon, her duteous, fair attendant ; 
From solitary Mars ; from the vast orb 
Of .lupiter, whose huge gigantic bulk 
Dances in ether like the lightest leaf. 
To the dim verge, the suburbs of the system. 
When' (-heerless Saturn midst his Wiitery mo(jns 
Girt with a lucid zone, in gloomy pomp. 
Sits Iik(\ an exiled monarch : fearless thence 
I launi'h into the trackless deeps of .space. 
Where, bm-ning round, ten thousand suns appeal', 
Of elder beam, which ask no leave to shine 
Of our terrestrial star, nor borrow light 
From the proud regent of our scanty day ; 



e- 



394 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 



Sons of the morning, first-born of creation, 
And only less than Him who marks their track 
And guides their fiei-y wheels. Here must I stop, 
Or is there aught beyond ? What hand unseen 
Impels me onward through the glowing orbs 
Of habitable nature, far remote. 
To the dread confines of eternal night, 
To solitudes of waste unpeopled space. 
The deserts of creation, wide and wild ; 
Where embryo systems and unkindled suns 
Sleep in the womb of chaos ? Fancy droops. 
And Thought, astonished, stops her bold career. 
But, thou mighty Mind ! whose powerful word 
Said, "Thus let all things be," and thus they 

were, 
Where shall I seek thy presence ? how unblamed 
Invoke thy dread perfection ? 
Have the broad eyeUds of the mom beheld thee? 
Or does the beamy shoulder of Orion 
Support thy throne ? 0, look with pity down 
On erring, guilty man ; not in thy names 
Of terror clad ; not with those thunders armed 
That conscious Sinai felt, when fear appalled 
The scattered tribes ; thou hast a gentler voice, 
That whispers comfort to the swelling heart. 
Abashed, yet longing to behold her Maker ! 
But now my soul, unused to stretch her powers 
In flight so daring, drops her weary wing. 
And seeks again the known accustomed spot, 
Drest up with sun and shade and lawns and 

streams, 
A mansion fair and spacious for its guests, 
And all replete with wonders. Let mc here. 
Content and gi'ateful, wait the appointed time. 
And ripen for the skies : the hour will come 
When all these splendors bui'sting on my sight 
Shall stand unveiled, and to my ravished sense 
Unlock the glories of the world unknown. 

ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. 



^- 



A SUMMER EVENING. 

Howfinehasthedaybeen ! how bright was the sun! 
How lovely and joyful the course that he run. 
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun, 

And there ibllowed some droppings of rain ! 
But now the fair traveler 's come to the west. 
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best : 
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest, 

And foretells a bright rising again. 

Just such is the Christian ; his course he begins, 
Like the sun in a mist, whenhemournsforhissins. 
And melts into tears ; then he breaks out and 
shines. 



And travels his heavenly way : 

But when he comes nearer to finish his race. 

Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, 

And- gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, 

Of rising in brighter aiTay. 

ISAAC Watts. 



THE RAINBOW. 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky ; 
So was it when my life began. 
So is it now I am a man, 
So be it when I shall grow old. 

Or let me die ! 
The Child is father of the Man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

William Wordsworth. 



MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER. 

Low on the utmost boundary of the siglit. 
The rising vapors catch the silver light ; 
Thence fancy measures, as they parting fly. 
Which first will throw its shadow on the eye, 
Passing the source of light ; and thence away, 
Succeeded quick Ijy brighter still than they. 
For yet above these wafted clouds are seen 
(In a remoter sky still more serene) 
Others, detached in ranges through the air. 
Spotless as snow, and countless as they 're fair ; 
Scattered immensely wide from east to west, 
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest. 
These, to the raptured mind, aloud proclaim 
Their mighty She]iherd's everlasting name ; 
And thus the loiterer's utmost stretch of soul 
Climbs the still clouds, or passes tliose that roll, 
And loosed imagination soaring goes 
High o'er his home and all his little woes. 

Robert bloomfield. 



SEPTEMBER 

Sweet is the voice that calls 

From babbling waterfalls 
In meadows where the downy seeds are flying ; 

And soft the breezes blow. 

And eddying come and go 
In faded gardens where the rose is dying. 

Among the stubbled com 

The blithe (|uail pipes at morn. 
The merry partridge drums in hidden places, 

And glittering insects gleam 

Above the reedy stream, 
Where busy spiders .spin their filmy laces. 



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[& 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



395 



ft-.- 



At eve, cool shadows fall 

Across the garden wall, 
Aud on the clustered grapes to purple turning ; 

And pearly vapors lie 

Along the eastern sky. 
Where the broad harvest moon is redly burning. 

Ah, soon on field and hill 
The wind shall whistle chill, 

And pati'iarch swallows call their flocks together, 
To fly from frost and snow, 
Aud seek for lands where blow 

The fairer Ijlossoms of a balmier weather. 

The cricket chirps all day, 

' ' fairest summer, stay ! 
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning; 

The wUd fowl fly afar 

Above the foamy bar. 
And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning. 

Now comes a fragrant breeze 

Through the dark cedar-trees. 
And round about my temples fondly lingei'S, 

In gentle playfulness. 

Like to the soft caress 
Bestowed in happier days hy loving fingers. 

Yet, though a sense of grief 

Comes with the falling leaf. 
And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant, 

In all my autumn dreams 

A future summer gleams, 
Passing the fairest glories of the present ! 

George Arnold. 



The autumn is old ; 
The sear leaves are flying ; 
He hath gathered up gold. 
And now he is dying : 
Old age, begin sighing ! 

The vintage is ripe ; 
The harvest is heaping ; 
But some that have sowed 
Have no riches for leaping : 
Poor wretch, fall a-\veeping ! 

The year 's in the wane ; 
There is nothing adorning ; 
The night has no eve. 
And the day has no morning 
Cold winter gives warning. 



The rivers run chill ; 
The red sim is sinking ; 
And I am grown old, 
An<l life is fa.st shrinking ; 
Here 's enow for sad thinking ! 

THoM-\s Hood, 



THE LATTER KAIN. 

The latter rain, — it falls in an.\ious haste 
Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare. 
Loosening with searching drops the rigid waste 
As if it would each root's lost strength repair ; 
But not a blade grows green as in tlie spring ; 
No swelling twig puts forth its thickening leaves ; 
The robins only mid the harvests sing. 
Pecking the grain that scatters from the sheaves ; 
The rain falls .still, — the fruit all ripened drojis. 
It pierces chestnut-burr and walnut-shell ; 
The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops ; 
Each bui'sting pod of talents used can tell ; 
And all that once received the early rain 
Declare to man it was not sent in vain. 



AUTUMN. 

The warm sun is failing ; the bleak wind is 

wailing ; 
The bare houghs are sighing ; the pale flowers 
are dying ; 
And the Year 
On the earth, her death-bed, in shroud of leaves 
dead. 
Is lying. 
Come, months, comi^ away, 
From November to May ; 
In your saddest array 
Follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepuleher. 

The chill rain is falling ; the nipt worm is 

crawling ; 
The livers are swelling ; the thunder is knelling 

For the Year ; 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards 
each gone 
To his dwelling ; 
Come, months, come away ; 
Put on white, black, and gray ; 
Let your light sisters play, — 
Ye, follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And make her grave green with tear on tear. 
PERCY BvssHE Shelley. 



-3 



f 



396 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



n 



THE AUTUMN. 

The autumn time is with us ! Us apijroach 
Wa3 heralded, not many days ago, 
By hazy skies that veiled the bnizen sun, 
And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn, 
And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily 
By purpling clusters of the juicy grape, 
Swinging upon the vine. And now, 't is here, 
And what a change hath passed upon the face 
Of Nature, where thy waving forests spread. 
Then robed in deepest green ! All through the 

night 
The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art. 
And in the day the golden sun hath wrought 
True wonders ; and the wings of morn and even 
Have touched with magic breath the changing 

leaves. 
.\nd now, as wainln^ th.' dilating eye 
Atlnvart the v;iii.d Ini.Ui .i|ii> circling far, 
What gorgeousnrss, what blazonry, what pomp 
Of colors, bursts upon the ravished sight ! 
Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest, 
A golden glory ; yonder, where the oak 
Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash 
Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad 
The dog-wood spreads beneath a rolling field 
Of deepest crimson ; and afar, where looms 
The gnarlfed gum, a cloud of bloodiest red ! 

William d. Gallagher. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

There is a time, just when the frost 
Begins to pave old Winter's way. 

When Autumn, in a revery lost, 
The mellow daytime dreams away ; 

When Summer comes, in mnsing mind. 
To gaze once more on hill and dell. 

To mark how many sheaves they bind. 
And see if all are ripeneil well. 

With balmy breath she whispers low ; 

The dying flowers look up and give 
Their sweetest incense ere they go. 

For her who made their beauties live. 

She ent<;rs 'neath the woodland sh.ade, 
Her zephyrs lift the lingering leaf, 

And bear it gently where are laid 
The loved and lost ones of its grief. 

.'Vt last, old Autumn, rising, takes 
.\gain his scepter and his throne : 

AVith boisterous hand the tree he shakes. 
Intent on gathering all his own. 



Sweet Summer, sighing, flies the plain. 
And waiting Winter, gaunt and grim, 

Sees miser Autumn hoard his grain, 
And smiles to think it 's all for him. 

A.NO.WMOOS. 



ECHO AND SILENCK. 

In eddying course when leaves began to fly, 
And Autumn in her lap the store to strew 
As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo. 

Through glens untrod, and woods that frowned 
on high. 

Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I spy ! 
And lo, she 's gone ! In robe of dark green hue 
'T was Echo from her sister Silence flew. 

For ijuick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky 1 

In shade affrighted Silence melts away. 

Not so her sister. Hark ! for onward still. 

With far-heard step, she takes her listening way, 
Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill. 

Ah, mark the merry majd in mockfnl play 

With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill ! 

SIR EGEkTON BRYDGES. 

INDIAN SUMMER. 

When leaves growsear all things takesomber hue ; 
The wild winds waltz no more the woodside 

through. 
And all the faded gi-ass is wet with dew. 

A gauzy nebula films the pensive sky. 

The golden bee supinely buzzes by. 

In silent flocks the bluebirds southward fly. 

The forest's cheeks are crimsoned o'erwith .shame, 

The cynic frost enlaces every lane. 

The ground with scarlet blushes is aflame ! 

The one we love grows lustrous-eyed and sad, 
With sympathy too thoughtful to lie glad. 
While all the colore round are running mad. 

Tlu- sunbeams kiss askant the somber hill. 
The naked woodbine climbs the window-sill, 
The breaths that noon exhales are faint and chill. 

The ripened nuts drop downward day by day. 
Sounding the hollow tocsin of decay. 
And bandit squiiTels smuggle them away. 

Vague sighs and scents pervade the atmosphere. 
Sounds of invisible stirrings hum the ear. 
The morning's lash reveals a frozen tear. 

The hermit mountains gird themselves with mail. 
Mocking the threshers with an echo flail, 
The w-hile the afternoons grow crisp and pale 



J 



f 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



o97 



n 



Inconstant Suninier to the trojiics llees. 

And, as her rose-sails (.-iiteli tlie amorous hreezu, i 

Lo! bare, brown Autumn trembles to her knees! 

Tlie stealthy nights eneroaeli ujpun the days, 
The earth with sudilen whiteness is ablaze, 
And all her paths are lost in crystal maze ! 

Tread lightly where the dainty violets blew, 
Wheie the spring winds their soft eyes open Hew ; 
Sal'ely they sleep the churlish winter through. 

Though all life's [loilals ale indieed with woe, 
And liozen pearls are all the world can show. 
Feel ! Nature's breath is wanu beneath the snow. 

Look up, dear mourners ! Still the lilue expanse, 
Serenely tender, bends to catch thy glance ; 
Within thy tears sibyllic sunbeams dance I 

With lilooms full-sapped again will smile the land ; 
The fall is but the folding of His hand. 
Anon with fuller glories to expand. 

The dumb heart hid beneath the pulseless tree 
Will throb again ; and then the toi-pid bee 
Upon the ear will drone his drowsy glee. 

So shall the tru-int liluebirds backward fly. 
And all loved things that vanish or that die 
Return to us in some sweet By-and-By. 

Anonymous. 



WINTER SONG. 

SuMMKR joys are o'er; 

Flowerets bloom no more, 
Wintry winds are sweejiing : 
Through the snow-drifts peeping 

Cheerful evergi'een 

Rarely now is seen. 

Now no plumed throng 
Charms the wood with song ; 

Ice-bound trees are glittering ; 

Merry snow-birds, twittering, 
Fondly strive to cheer 
Scenes so cold ami di'ear. 

Winter, still I see 
Many charms in thee, — 
Love thy chilly greeting, 
Snow-storms fiercely beating, 
And the dear delights 
Of the long, long nights. 



^ 



NOl 

Nu sun — no Uioon ! 

No morn — no noon — 
No dawn — no dust — no proper time of day — 

No sky — no earthly view — 

No distance looking blue — 
No road — no street — no "t'other side thi 
way " — 

No end to any Row — 

No indications where the Crescents go- 
No top to any steeple — 
No recognitions of familial- jieople — 

No courtesies for showing 'em — 

No knowing 'em ! 
No traveling at all — no locomotion. 
No inkling of the way — no notion — 

" No go " — by land or ocean — 

No mail — no jiost — 

No news from any foreign coast — 
No park — no ring — no afternoon gentility — 

No company — no nobility — 
No wai-mth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, 
No comfortable feel in any member — 
No shade, no shine, no buttertlies, no bees, 
No fruits, no llowers, no leaves, no birds, 
November ! 



WINTER. 

I-ROM "THEf WINTER MORNING WALK." 

'T is morning ; and the snii, w'itli ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires the horizon ; while the clouds 
That crowd away before the driving wind. 
More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
Resemble most some city in a blaze. 
Seen through the leafless wood. His 



slautii: 



ray 



Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
Ami, tingeing all with his own rosy hue. 
From every herb and eveiy sjiiry blade 
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense. 
In s]>ite of gi'avity, and sage remark 
That 1 myself .am but a fleeting shade, 
I'rovokes me to a smile. With eye askame 
I view the muscular proportioned limb 
Tran.sfonned to a lean shank. The sliap.lc 

pair. 
As they designed to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step ; and, as I near a]i]iroach 
The c.'ottage, walk along the plastered wall, 
Preiiosterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents. 
And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 



^ 



fl- 



598 



FOE MS OF NATURE. 



L 



Of late unsiglitly and unseen, now sliine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apiiarel clad, 
And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleeji 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Tlieir wonted fodder ; not, like hungering man. 
Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He iroin the stack carves out the accustomed load, 
Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft. 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands. 
With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away : no needless care 
Lest storms should ovei-set the leaning pile 
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned 
The cheerful haunts of men, — to wield the ax 
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear. 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy and lean and shrewd with pointed ears. 
And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur, 
His dog attends him. Close behiml his heel 
Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or plows it with his snout ; 
Then shakes his powdei'ed coat, and barks for joy. 

Now from the roost, or from the neighboring pale, 
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
Of smiling day, they gossiped side by side. 
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 
The feathered tribes domestic. Half on wing. 
And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood. 
Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves 
To .seize the fair occasion. Well they eye 
The scattered grain, and, thievishly resolved 
To escape the impending famine, often scared 
As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 
Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
Or shed impervious to the blast. Resigned 
To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
His wonted strut, and, wading at their head 
With well-considered steps, seems to resent 
His altered gait and stateliness retrenched. 
How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 
The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 
Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? 
Earth yields them naught ; the imprisoned worm 

is safe 
Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 
Lie covered close ; and beny-bearing thorns, 
That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), 
Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
The long ]u-otracted rigor of the year 



Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and 

, holes 

Ten thousand seek an unmolested end. 

As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 



NEW ENGLAND IN WINTER. 

FROM "SNOW-BOUND." 

The sun that brief December day 

Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 

And, darkly circled, gave at noon 

A sadder light than waning moon. 

Slow tracing down the thickening sky 

Its mute and ominous prophecy, 

A portent seeming less than threat. 

It sank from sight before it set. 

A chill no coat, however stout. 

Of homespun stuff' could quite shut out, 

A hard, dull bitterness of cold. 

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race 

Of life-lilood in the sharpened face, 

The coming of the snow-storm told. 

The wind blew east : we heard the roar 

Of Ocean on his wintry shore. 

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 

Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — 
Brought in the wood from out of doors. 
Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
Kaked down the herd's-grass for the cows ; 
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; 
And, sharply clashing hom on hom. 
Impatient down the stanchion rows 
The cattle shake their walnut bows ; 
While, peering from his early perch 
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, 
The cock his crested helmet bent 
And down his querulous challenge sent. 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm. 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the «-indow-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Lookeil in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 

So all night long the storm roared on : 
The morning broke without a sun ; 
In tiny spher-ule traced with lines 
Of Nature's geometric signs. 
In starry flake, and pellicle. 
All day the hoary meteor feU ; 



-^ 



[& 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



39'.i 



:r^ 



And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown. 

On nothing we eould call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 

The blue walls of the lirmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvelous shapes ; strange domes and towers 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 

Or garden wall, or belt of wood ; 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flimg coat and high cocked hat ; 

Tlie well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof. 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 
Our father wasted : " lioys, a path ! " 
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 
Count such a sunmions less thaji joy ? ) 
Our buskins on our feet we drew ; 
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow, 
We cut the solid whiteness through. 
And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 
With dazzling crystal ; we had read 
Of rare .Vladdin's wondrous cave. 
And to our own his name we gave. 
With many a wish the luck were ours 
To test his lamp's supernal poweis. 
We reaclied the barn with merry din. 
And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
The old horse thrust his long head out. 
And grave with wonder gazed about ; 
The cock liis lusty greeting said. 
And forth his speckled harem led ; 
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked. 
And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 
The horned patriarch of the shee]>, 
Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep. 
Shook his sage head with gesture mute, 
And emphasized with stamp of foot. 



All day tlie gusty north-wind bore 
The loosening drift its breath before ; 
Low circling round its southern zone, 
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. 
No church-bell lent its Christian tone 
To the savage air, no social smoke 
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. 
A solitude made more intense 
By dreary-voiced elements, 
T The shrieking of the mindless wind. 



^~ 



The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, 
And on the glass the unmeaning beat 
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 
Beyond the circle of our hearth 
No welcome sound of toil or mirth 
Unbound the spell, and testified 
Of human life and thought outside. 
We minded that the sharpest ear 
The buried brooklet could not hear, 
The music of whose liipiid lip 
Had been to us companionship. 
And, in our lonely life, had giown 
To have an almosst luiman tone. 
As night drew on, and, from tlie crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged tlie west, 
The sun, a snow-blown traveler, ,^allk 
From sight beneath the smollieriiig lank. 
We piled, with care, our niglitly .stack 
Of wood against the cliinincy-back, — 
The oaken log, gi'een, huge, and thick, 
And on its top the stout back-stick ; 
The knotty forestick laid apart. 
And filled between with curious art 
The raggeil brush ; then, hovering near, 
We watched the first red blaze ap]iear, 
Heard the sharp erackh', cauglit the glean 
On whitewa.shed wall and sa;.'giiig ):eain. 
Until the old, rude-furiiislied room 
Burst, tlower-like, into ro.sy bloom ; 
While radiant with a miniie flame 
Outside tlie sparkling chift became. 
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 
The crane and jieudent tiammels showed ; 
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed ; 
While childish fancy, prompt to tell 
The meaning of tlie miracle. 
Whispered the old rhyme : " Under the tree. 
When fire outdoors burns merrily, 
There the tritehes are matinij leu." 

The moon above the cnstcrn wood 
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood. 
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. 
Dead white, save where some sharp -ravine 
Took shadow, or the somber green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. 
For such a world and such a night 
Most fitting that unwarming light, 
Which only seemed where'er it fell 
To make the coldness visible. 

Sliut in from all the world without, 
We sat the clean-winged health about. 
Content to let the north-wiu'l roar 
In bafHed rage at pane and door, 



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a-: 



400 



POKMS OF NATURE. 



-^ 



Whilo the rod lugs belbru us lirat 
The frost-line back with tiojiic lieat ; 
And evei-, when a louder blast 
Shoiik beam and rafter as it jiassed, 
The Tnerrier uj) its roaring draught 
The great tliroat of the ehiniuey laughed ; 
The house-dog on his jiaws outspread 
Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 
Tlie cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
A couehant tiger's seemed to fall ; 
And, for the winter fireside meet, 
Hetween the andirons' straddling feet, 
The mug of cider simmered slow, 
Tlie apples sputtered in a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from l)rn\vn October's wood. 

John grf.enleaf whittier. 



WINTER WALK AT NOON. 

Tr[E night was winter in his roughest mood, 
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
L' pon the southern side of the slant hills, 
And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 
The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
And lias tlie warmtli of May. The vault is blue 
Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
The dazzling splendor of the scene below. 

Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; 
And through the trees I view the embattled tower, 
Wlience all the music. 1 again perceive 
The .soothing influence of the wafted strains. 
And settle in soft musings as I tread 
The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms. 
Whose outspread brandies overarch the glade. 

No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
The redbreast warbles still, but is content 



than half .sup- 
it ting light 
lists he .shakes 

ll..|.soficc, 
■s below. 



With slender notes, and mori 

jiressed : 
Pleased with his solitude, and 
From spray to spray, wIhh '. i 1 
From many a twig tlic p nl. ui 
That tinkle in the willuird Ka 
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
Charms more than silence. Meditation liere 
May tliink down hours to moments. Here the 

heart 
May give a useful lesson to the head, 
And Learning wiser grow without his books. 

Wii.l:a,m Cowper. 



Till! day had been a c;din and sunny day, 
Anil tinged with amber was the sky at even ; 

The fleecy clouds at length had rolled away, 
.^nd lay in furrows on the eastern heaven ; — 



The moon arose and shed a glimmering ray, 
And rinind her orb a misty circle lay. 

The hoar-frost glittered on the naked heath. 
The roar of distant winds was loud and deep, 

The dry leaves rustled in each passing breath. 
And the gay world was lost in (juiet sleep. 

Such was the time when, on the landscape brown. 

Through a December air the snow came down. 

The morning came, the dreary morn, at last. 
And showed the whitened waste. The shiv- 
ering herd 
Lowed on the hoary meadow-ground, and fast 

Fell the light flakes upon the earth unstirred ; 
The forest firs with glittering snows o'erlaid 
Stood like hoar priests in robes of white arrayed. 
John II. brvam. 



WINTER PICTURES. 



Down swept the chill wind from the niouiitain 
peak. 

From the snow five thousand summers ohl ; 
On open wold and hill-top bleak 

It had gathered all the cohl. 
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; 
1 1 carried a shiver everywhere 
From the unleafed bouglis and pastures bare ; 
The little brook heard it and built a roof 
'Neath which he could house him, winti'i-iirool' ; 
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 
He groined his arches and matched his beams ; 
Slender and clear were his crystal spars 
As the lashes of light that trim the stars : 
He sculptured every summer delight 
In his halls and chambers out of sight ; 
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 
Down through a frost-leaved forest-erypt, 
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 
Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 
Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 
But silvery mosses that downward grew ; 
Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 
With ipiaint arabesciues of ice-fern leaf; 
Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 
For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and 

here 
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tojis 
And hung them thickly with diamond drops. 
Which crystaled the beams of moon and sun, 
And made a star of every one : 
No mortal builder's most rare device 
Co\ild match this winter-palace of ice ; 
'T was as if every image that mirrored lay 
In his depths serene through the suinmi'r day. 



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fl- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



401 



-a 



Each flitting shadow of earth anil sky, 
Lost the liappy model should be lost, 

Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 
liy 111'' cllin linildcrs of tlie IVost. 

Witliin tlie hall arc song and laughter. 

The clieeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

Willi the lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 
Tliruugh tlic deep gulf of the chimney wide 
Wallows the Yuledog's roaring tide ; 
'I'll.' Iiroad Hame-pennons droop and llai) 

Anil belly and tug as a Hag in the wind ; 
I.ikr a luriLst slirills tlic iiiiprisoucd saji, 

lliuiliil (n death in its galleries blind ; 
And swift little troojis of silent sjiarks, 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
do threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

hike herds of startled deer. 

Hut the wind without was eager and .sh.arp. 
Of .Sir Launful's gray liair it makes a harp, 
And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings. 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 
A I 'liristmas carol of its own. 
Whose burden still, as he might guess, 
Was — "Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" 
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
As he .shouted the wanderer away from the porch. 
And lie sat in the gateway and saw all night 
The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, 
Til rough the wiiiilow-.slits of the castle old. 
Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against tlie drift of the cold. 

There was never a leaf on bush or tree. 
The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
The river was dumb and could not .speak. 

For the frost's swift shuttles its .shroud had 
spun ; 
A single crow on the tree-to|i lileak 

From his shining fciithers shed cilf the 
Again it was morning, but .shrunk and 
As if her veins were sajiless and old. 
And she rose up decrepitly 
For a last iliiu look at earth and sea. 

JAMRS Ri-ssei.i. 



old sun ; 
old. 



e 



WTNTER SCENES. 

TiiK keener tempests ri.se ; and fuming dun 
From all the livid east, or piercing north, 
Thick idoiuls ascend ; in whose ca|)acious womb 
A vapory deluge lies, to snow congealed. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; 
And the sky saddens with the gathereil stonn. 



Through the hushed air the whiuning shower 

descen<ls 
At first thin wavering ; till at last the flakes 
l''all broad and wide and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. The cherished fields 
I'ut on their winter robe of purest white. 
'T is brightness all ; save wliere the new snow 

melts 
Along the mazy current. Low the woods 
I'.ow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid sun 
l-'aint from the west emits his evening ray, 
Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill. 
Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide 
The works of man. Droojiing, the laborer-ox 
.Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 
The winnowing store, and claim tlie Utile boon 
Which Providence assigns them. One alone. 
The redbreast, sacred to the household gods. 
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky. 
In joyless fields and tliorny thickets leaves 
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 
His annual visit. Half afniid, he first 
Against tlie window beats ; then, brisk, alights 
On the wann hearth ; then, hojijiingo'er the floor. 
Eyes all the smiling family askance. 
And peeks, and starts, and wonders where he is : 
Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds 
I'our forth their brown inhabitant.s. The h;iie, 
Though timorous of heart, and hard be.sct 
By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, 
And more unpitying man, the garden seeks. 
Urged on by fearless want. Tlic bleating kind 
Eye the bleak heaven, and ne.\t the glistening 

earth. 
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad dispersed, 
Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow 



WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL. 

I-KO.\I "LOVK'S LAUOK "S LOSr," 

When icicles hang by the wall. 

And Dick the sliepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall. 

And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
When blood is nipped, and ways he foul, 
Then nightlv sings the staring o«d, 

To-who ; 
To-wliit, to-who, a meriy note, 
While greasy .loan doth keel the ]iot. 

Wlieii all aloud the wind doth blow. 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 

And birds sit brooding in the snow 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 



■-^ 



a- 



402 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



ti 



When rousted crabs liiss in the bowl, 
riien iiiglitly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
To-wliit, to-who, a mcnv note, 
■While greasy ,Ioaii doth keel the pot. 



THE SNOW-STORM. 

ANNorNCKi) by all the tniinpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields. 
Seems nowhere to idight ; the whitcd air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heavou, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveler stopped, the eourier's feet 
Delayed , all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north-wind's masonry ! 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the tierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
Round every windward stake or tree or door ; 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage ; naught cares he 
l''or number or proportion. Mockingly, 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; 
.\ swan-like form invests tlie hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Manger the farmer's sighs ; and at the gate 
A tajiering turret overtops the work. 
.•\nd when his hours are numbered, and the world 
Is all his own, retiring as he were not. 
Leaves, when the sun appeare, astonished Art 
'I'o niinue in slow structures, stone by stone, 
I'liiilt in an age, the mad wind's night-work. 
The frolic architecture of the snow. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



THE SNOW-SHOWER. 

ST.\N'n here by my side anil turn, I pray, 
t")n the lake below thy gentle eyes ; 

The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, 
And dark and silent the water lies ; 

And out of that frozen mist the snow 

In wavering Hakes licgins to How ; 

Flake after flake 

They sink in the dark and silent lake. 

See how in a living swarm they come 

From the chambers beyond that misty veil ; 

Some hover awhile in air, and some 

Hush prone from the sky like summer hail. 

.\11, dropping swiftly or settling slow. 

Meet, and are still in the depths below ; 
Flake after Hake 

Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. 



©-^ 



I Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud. 
Come floating downward in airy play, 
Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd 

That whiten by night the Milky Way : 
There broader and builier masses fall ; 
The sullen water buries tlicin all, ^ 

Flake after Hake, — 
.\11 drowned in the dark and silent lake. 

.■\nd some, as on tender wings they glide 
From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray. 

Are joined in their fall, and, side by side. 
Come clinging along their unsteaily way ; 

As friend with friend, or husband with wife. 

Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; 
Kach mated flake 

Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. 

Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste 

Stream down the snows, till the air is white. 
As, myriads by myriads madly chased. 

They fling themselves from their shadowy 
height. 
The fair, frail creatures of middle sky. 
What speed they nnike, with their grave so nigh ; 

Flake after Hake 
To lie in the dark and silent lake ! 

I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; 

They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; 
Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear. 

Who were for a time, and now are not ; 
Like these fair children of clouil and frost. 
That glisten a moment and then are lost, — 

Flake after flake, — 
All lost in the dark and silent lake. 

Yet look agiiin, for the clouds divide ; 

A gleam of blue on the water lies ; 
.\nd far away, on the mountain-side, 

A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. 
But the hurrying ho.st that flew between 
The cloud and the water no more is seen ; 

Flake after flake 
At rest in the dark ami silent lake. 

William CULLE.N Bryant 



SNOW. — A WINTER SKETCH. 

The blessed morn has come agivin ; 

The early gray 
Taps at the sluniberer's window-pane. 

.\nd seems to say. 
Break, break from the enchanter's chain 

Away, away ! 



-^ 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



403 



-a 



'T is winter, yet tliere is no sound 

Along the air 
Of winds along their battle-ground ; 

But gently there 
The snow is falling, — all around 

How lair, how fair ! 



SNOW-FLAKES. 

Out of the bosom of the Air, 

Out of the cloud-folds of her gannents shaken, 
Over the woodlands brown and Ijare, 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
.Silent and soft and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy I'ancies take 

Suddenly shape in some divine expression, 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 
In the white countenance confession. 
The troubled sky reveals 
The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air, 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; 
This is the secret of despair. 

Long in its cloudy bo.som hoarded. 
Now whispered and revealed 
To wood and field. 

Henry Wadswohth Loncff.llow. 



THE MOTHER'S SACRinCE. 

The cold winds swept the mountain's height. 
And pathless was the dreary wild, 

And mid the cheerless liours of night 
A mother wandered with her child : 

As through the ilrifting snow she pressed. 

The baVje was sleeping on her breast. 

And colder still the winds did blow. 
And darker horn's of night came on. 

And deeper grew the drifting snow : 

Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone. 

" God ! " she cried in accents wild, 

" If I must peri.sh, save my child I " 

She stripjied her mantle from her brea.st. 
And bared her bosom to the storm. 

And round the child she wrapped the vest, 
And smiled to think her babe was warm. 

With one cold kiss, one tear .she slied. 

And sunk upon her snowy bed. 



At dawn a traveler passed by, 
And saw her 'neath a snowy veil ; 

The frost of death was in her eye. 

Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale. 

He moved the rolje from oil' the child, — 

'I'he babe looked up and sweetly smiled ! 

SEUA SMITl 



A SNOW-.STORM. 



"f IS a fearful night in the winter time, 

As cold as it ever can be ; 
The roar of the blast is heard like the chime 

Of the waves on an angry sea. 
The moon is full ; but her silver light 
The storm diishcs out with its wings to-night ; 
And over the sky from south to north 
Not a star Is seen, as the wind comes forth 

In the strength of a mighty glee. 

All day had the snow come down, — all day 

As it never came down before ; 
And over the hilLs, at sunset, lay 

Some two or three feet, or more ; 
The fence was lost, and the wall of stone ; 
Till! windows blocked and the wcll-curlis gone ; 
The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, 
And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift, 

As it lay by the fanner's door. 

The night sets in on a world of snow, 

While the air grows sharj) and chill. 
And the warning roar of a fearful blow 

Is heard on the distant hill ; 
Anil the norther, see ! on the mountiiiu jwak 
In Ills breath how the old trees writhe and shriek ! 
He shouts on the plain, ho-ho ! ho-ho I 
He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, 
And growls with a savage will. 

Such a night as this to be found abroad. 

In the drifts and the freezing air. 
Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road. 

With the snow in his shaggy hair. 
He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls ; 
He lifts his head, and moans and howls ; 
Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet. 
His nose is pressed on his ijuivering feet, — 

Pray, what does the dog do there ? 

A fanner came from the village plain, — 

But he lost the traveleil way : 
And for hours he trod witli might and main 

A path for his hoi-se and sleigh ; 
But colder still the cold winds blew. 
And deeper still the deep drifts grew. 



..4 



a^- 



-tO-J 



POEMS OP NATURE. 



-^ 



And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
At last in her struggles floundered down. 
Where a log in a hollow lay. 

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort. 

She plunged in the drifting snow. 
While her master urged, till his breath grew short, 

With a word and a gentle blow ; 
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight ; 
His hands were numb and had lost their might ; 
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh. 
And strove to shelter himself till day, 

With his coat and the buffalo. 

He has given the last faint jerk of the rein. 

To rouse up his dying steed ; 
Ami the poor dog howls to the blast in vain 

For help in his master's need. 
For a while he strives with a wistful cry 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags liis tail if the rude winds flap 
Till! skirt of the buflalo over his lap. 

And whines when he takes no heed. 

The wind goes down and the storm is o'er, — 

'T is the hour of midnight, past ; 
The old trees writhe and bend no more 

In the whirl of the rushing blast. 
The silent moon with her peaceful light 
Looks down on the hills with snow all white. 
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump," 
The blasted pine and the ghostly stump. 

Afar on the plain are cast. 

But cold and dead by the hidden log 

Ai'e they who came from the town, — ■ I 

The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog. 

And his beautiful Morgan brown, — 
In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, 
With his cap on his head and the reins in his 

hand, — 
The dog with his nose on his master's feet. 
And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, 

Where she lay when she floundered down. 

i GAMAGE Eastman. 



And the eternal moon, what time she fills 
Her orb with ai'gent, treading a soft measure, 
Witli iiueeuly motions of a bridal mood. 
Through the white spaces of infinitude. 



VIEW FROM THE EUGANEAlf HILLS,' NORTH 
ITALY. 

Ma.sy a green isle needs must be 

In the deep wide sea of misery. 

Or the mariner, worn and wan. 

Never thus could voyage on 

Day and night, and night and day. 

Drifting on his dreary way. 

With the solid darkness black 

Closing round his vessel's track ; 

Whilst above, the sunless sky. 

Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 

And behind, the tempest fleet 

Hurries on with lightning feet. 

Riving sail and cord and plank 

Till the ship has almost drank 

Death from the o'erbrimniing deep ; 

And sinks down, down, like that sleep 

When the dreamer seems to be 

Weltering througli eternity ; 

And the dim low line before 

Of a dark and distant shore 

Still recedes, as ever still 

Longing with divided will, 

But no power to seek or shun. 

He is ever drifted on 

O'er the unreposing wave 

To the haven of the grave. 



e^- 



O WINTER! WILT THOU NEVER GOV 

(I wiNTKR ! wilt thou never, never go ? 
O smnmer ! but I weary for thy coming, 
Jjonging once more to hear the Luggie flow, 
And frugal bees, laboriously humming. 
Now the east-wind diseases the infirm, 
'And must crouch in corners from rough weather ; 
Sometimes a winter sunset is a charm, — 
When the fired clouds, compacted, blaze together. 
And the large sun dips red behind the hills. 
1, from my window, can behold this pleasure ; 



Ay, many flowering islands lie 

In the waters of wide agony : 

To such a one this morn was led 

My bark, by soft winds piloted. 

— Mid the mountains Euganean 

I stood listening to the poean 

With which the legioned rooks did hail 

The sun's uprise majestical : 

Gathering round with wings all hoar. 

Through the dewy mist they soar 

Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 

Bursts, and then, as clouds of even. 

Flecked with fire and azure, lie 

In the unfathomable sky. 

So their plumes of purple grain. 

Starred with drops of golden rain. 

Gleam above the sunlight woods, 

As in silent multitudes 

On the morning's fitful gale 

Through the broken mist they sail ; 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



405 



r^ 



And the vapors cloven and gleaming 
Follow down the dark steep streaming, 
Till all is bright and clear and still 
Round the solitary hill. 

Beneath is spread like a green sea 
The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
Hounded by the vaporous air, 
ULiu.l.'d bv .ities fair; 
rndriiMMtli (l.iy's azure eyes, 
(_)ri:iii's iiuiNhng, Venice, lies, — 
A [ieoi>led labyrinth of walls, 
Amjihitrite's destined halls, 
Which her hoary sire now jtaves 
With his blue and beaming waves. 
Lo ! the sun upsprings behind. 
Broad, red, radiant, half reclined 
On the level ([uivering line 
Of the waters crystalline ; 
And before that chasm of light, 
As within a furnace bright, 
Column, tower, and dome, and spire 
Shine like obelisks of fire, 
Pointing with inconstant motion 
From the altar of dark ocean 
To the sapphire-tinted skies ; 
As the Hames of sacrifice 
From the marble shrines did rise. 
As to pierce the dome of gold 
Where ApoUo spoke of old. 

Sun-girt city ! thou hast been 

Ocean's child, and then his cjueen ; 

Now is come a darker day, 

And thou soon must be his prey, 

I f the power that raised thee here 

Hallow so thy watery bier. 

A less drear ruin then than now, 

With thy conquest-branded brow 

Stooping to the slave of slaves 

From thy throne among the waves. 

Wilt thou be when the sea-mew 

Flies, as once before it flew, 

O'er thine isles depopulate. 

And all is in its ancient state. 

Save where many a palace-gate 

With green sea-flowers overgi'own 

Like a rock of ocean's own, 

Topples o'er the abandoned sea 

As the tides change sullenly. 

The fisher on his watery way 

Wandering at the close of day 

Will spread his sail and seize his oar 

Till he pass the gloomy shore. 

Lest thy dead should, from their sleep 

Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 

Lead a rapid mask of death 

O'er the waters of his path. 



43-^- 



Xoon descends around me now : 

'T is the noon of autumn's glow, 

When a soft and purple mist 

Like a vaporous amethyst, 

(.)r an air-dissolved star 

Mingling light and fragrance, far 

From the curved horizon's bound 

To the point of heaven's profound, 

Fills the overflowing sky ; 

And the plains that silent lie 

Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 

Where the infant frost has trodden 

With his morning-winged feet, 

Whose l.iright print is gleaming yet ; 

And the red and golden vines 

Piercing with their trelliscd lines 

The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; 

The dun and bladed grass no less, 

Pointing from this hoary tower 

In the windless air ; the flower 

Glimmering at my feet ; the line 

Of the olive-sandaleil Apennine 

In the .south dindy islanded ; 

And the Alps, whose snows are s])read 

High between the clouds and sun ; 

And of living things each one ; 

And my spirit, which so long 

Darkened this swift stream of song, — 

Interpenetrated lie 

By the glory of the sky ; 

Be it love, light, harmony, 

n.lor, or the soul of all 

Which from heaven like dew doth fall, 

Or the mind which feeds tliis verse 

Peopling the lone uidverse. 

Noon descends, anfl after noon 

.'\utumn's evening meets me soon, 

Leading the infantine moon 

And that one star, which to her 

Almost seems to minister 

Half the crimson light she biings 

From the sunset's radiant springs : 

And the .soft dreams of the mom 

(Which like winged w'inds had home 

To that silent isle, which lies 

Mid remembered agonies. 

The frail bark of this lone being) 

Pass, to other sufferers fleeing. 

And its ancient pilot, Pain, 

Sits beside the helm again. 

Otlier flowering isles must be 

In the sea of life and agony; 

Other s[)irits float and flee 

O'er that gulf ; even now, perhaps, 

On some rock the wild wave wraps, 

With folding winds they waiting sit 



^ 



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•406 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



fb 



For my bark, to pilot it 

To some calm and blooming cove, 

Where for me, and those I love, 

May a windless bower be built, 

Far from passion, pain, and guilt, 

In a dell mid lawny hills, 

Wliicli the wild sea-murmur fills. 

And soft sunshine, and the sound 

(If old forests eclioing round, 

And the light and smell divine 

Of all Howers that breathe and shine. 

— We may live so happy there. 

That the spirits of the air, 

Kn vying us, may even entice 

To our healing paradise 

The ])olluting multitude ; 

But their rage would be subdued 

By that elime divine and calm. 

And the winds whose wings rain balm 

On the uplifted soul, and leaves 

Under whiidi the bright sea heaves ; 

While each breathless interval 

In their whisperings musical 

The inspired soul supplies 

With its own deep melodies ; 

And the love which heals all strife 

Circling, like the breath of life, 

All things in that sweet abode 

With its own mild brotluniiood. 

They, not it, would change ; aiul soon 

Every sprite beneath the moon 

Would repent its envy vain. 

And the earth grow young again ! 

Percy Bvsshe shellev. 



&- 



GRONOAR HILL. 

[The Vale of the Towy embraces, in its winding course of fifteen 
miles, some of tlie lovchesl scenery of South Wales. If it be less 
cullivated than the Vnic of Usk. its woodland views arc more ro- 
mantic and frequent. The neighborhood is historic and poetic 
^ound. From C.rongar Hill the eye discovers traces of a Ronun 
camp ; Golden Grove, the home of Jeremy Taylor, is on the oppo- 
site side of the river ; Merlin's chair recalls Spenser : ,ind a farm- 
house ne.ir the foot of Llangumnor Hill brinijs back the memory 
of its once Kenial occupant. Richard Steele. Spenser places the 
cave of .Merlin anions the dark woods of Dincvawr] 

Sii.KXT nymph, with curious eye, 
Who, the purple even, dost lie 
On the mountain's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man, 
Painting fair the form of things, 
AVliile the yellow linnet sings. 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale, — 
Come, with all thy various hues. 
Come, and aiil thy sister Muse. 
Now, while I'luebus, riding high, 
Gives luster to the laml and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song, — 



Draw the landscape bright and strong ; 

Grongar, in whose mossy cells 

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ; 

Grongar, in whose silent shade, 

For the modest Muses made, 

So oft 1 have, the evening still, 

At the fountain of a rill. 

Sat upon a Howery bed. 

With my hand beneath my head, 

While str.ayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood. 

Over mead and over wood. 

From house to house, from hill to liill, 

Till Contemplation had her till. 

Atiout his checkered sides I wind, 
."Vud leave his brooks and meads bchinil. 
And groves and grottoes where I lay. 
And vistas shooting beams of day. 
Wide and wider spreads the vale, 
As circles on a smooth canal. 
The mountains round, unhappy fate 1 
Sooner or later, of all height. 
Withdraw their summits from the skies. 
And lessen as the others rise. 
Still the prospect wider spreads, 
.\dds a thousand woods and meads ; 
Still it widens, widens still, 
And sinks the newly risen hill. 

Now 1 gain the mountain's Ijiow ; 
What a landscape lies below ! 
No clouds, no vapors inter\'ene ; 
But the gay, the open scene 
Does the face of Nature show 
In all the hues of heaven's liow ! 
And, swelling to embracer the light, 
Spreails around beneath the sight. 

Old castles on the cliH's arise. 
Proudly towering in the skies ; 
Rushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ; 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain-heads. 
Gilds the fleeces of the lloeks. 
And glitters on the broken rocks. 

Below me trees unnumbered rise. 
Beautiful in various dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue. 
The yellow beeeh, the sable yew. 
The slender fir that taper grows. 
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; 
And beyond, the purple grove. 
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love ! 
Gaudy as the opening dawn, 
Lies a long aiuf level l.awn, 
On which a dark hill, steep and high. 
Holds and charms the wandering eye ; 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood ; 
His sides are clothed with waving wood ; 
And ancient towers crown his brow, 



^ 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



40 



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Tliat Liist an awful look below ; 

WliDst! ivigged walls the ivy crceiis, 

Anil with her arms i'roin i'liUiiig keeps ; 

So Ipotli a safety from the wind 

111 mutual tk'iiendence find. 

"I'is now the raven's bleak abode ; 

"r is now the apartment of the toad ; 

And there the fox securely feeds ; 

And there the poisonous adder breeds, 

I 'oiieealed in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 

While, ever and anon, there fall 

Jlujje heaps of hoary, moldered wall. 

Yet Time has seen, — that lifts the low 

And level lays the lofty brow, — 

II lis .si'eu this broken pile complete, 

IIIl; with the vanity of state. 

Hut transient is the smile of Fate ! 

A liule rule, a little sway, 

.A suiilieam in a winter's day, 

I.s all the proud and mighty have 

Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers, how they run 
Tlirongh woods and meads, in shade and sun, 
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, — 
Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deep, 
Like human life to endless sleep ! 
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought 
To instruct our wandering thought ; 
Thus slic ilresses gi'een and gay 
Til dispiTsr our cares away. 

I'^viT charming, ever new. 
When will the landscape tire tlie view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow ; 
The woody valleys, warm and low ; 
The windy summit, wild and high, 
Roughly rushing on the sky ; 
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 
The naked rock, the shady bower ; 
The town and village, dome and fann, — 
Each gives each a double charm. 
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. 

See on the mountainji southern side. 
Where tlie prospect opens wide, 
Where the evening gilds the tide, 
Hiiw rinse and small the hedges lie ! 
What streaks of meadow cross the eye ! 
A stcii, methinks, may pass the stream. 
So little distant dangers seem ; 
So we mistake the Future's face. 
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass ; 
As yon summits, soft and fair, 
Clad in colors of the air. 
Which, to those who journey near, 
Barren, brown, and rough appear ; 
Still we tread the .same coarse way, — 
The present 's still a cloudy day. 

0, may I with myself agree, 



And never covet what I see ; 
Content me with a humble shade. 
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish ([uiet from the soul. 
'T is thus the busy heat the air, 
And misers gather wealth and care. 

Now, even now, my joys run high, 
As on the mountain-turf I lie ; 
While the wanton Zephyr sings, 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 
While the waters murmur dee]i ; 
While the shepherd charms his sheep ; 
Wliile the birds unbounded Hy, 
And with nmsic lill the sky, — 
Now, even now, my joys run high. 

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 
Search for I'eace with all your skill ; 
Open wide the lofty door, 
Seek lier on the marble floor : 
In vain you search ; she is not there ! 
In vain you search the domes of Care ! 
Grass and Howers Quiet troa<ls. 
On the meads and mountaindieads, 
Along with Pleasure, — close allied, 
Ever by each other's side, — 
And often, by tlie murmuring rill. 
Hears the thrush, while all is still 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. 



DOVER CLIFF. 

Cd.ME on, sir; here's the place: sland htill ! 

How fearful 
And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air 
Show scarce so gross as beetles : half-way down 
Hangs one that gathers samjihire, — dieadfu! 

trade ! 
Methinks he seems no biggei- than his head ; 
Tlie fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
A|i]iear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark. 
Diminished to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge. 
That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes. 
Cannot be heard so high. — I '11 look no more ; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple down headlong. 



ALPINE HEIGHTS, 

On Alpine heights the love of God is shed ; 
He paints the morning red, 
The flowerets white and blue. 
And feeds them with his dew. 

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells. 



f 



408 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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& 



Ou Alpine heiglits, o'er miiiiy a I'ragniut heath, 
The liiveliest breezes breathe ; 
So tree and pure the air, 
Mis breath seems Moating there. 

Ou Alpine heights a loving Father ihvells. 

Ou Alpine heights, beneath liis niikl bhio eye. 

Still vales and meadows lie ; 

The soaring glacier's ice 

(!leams like a paradise. 
On .Vlpine heights a loving Father dwells. 

Down .'Mpine heights the silvery streamlets flow ; 
There the bold chamois go ; 
On giddy erags they stand. 
And drink from his own hanil. 

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells. 

On Alpine heights, in troops all white as snow, 
The sheep and wihl goats go ; 
There, in the solitude, 
lie fdls their hearts with food. 

( >n .Mpine heights a loving Father ilwells. 

On Alpine heights the herdsman tends his herd ; 

His Shepherd is the Lord ; 

For he who feeds the sheep 

Will sure his otl'spring keep. 
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells. 

From the German of KRUMMACHER, 

by Charles T. Brooks. 



THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. 

NuMiT was again descending, when my nuile, 
That all day long had climbed among the clouds, 
Higher and higher still, as by a stair 
Let down from heaven itself, transporting nus 
Stopped, to the joy of both, at that low door 
So near the summit of the G reat St. Bernard ; 
That door which ever on its hinges moved 
To them that knocked, and nightly sends abroad 
Ministering spirits. Lying on the watch. 
Two dogs of grave demeanor welcomed me. 
All meekness, gentleness, though large of limb ; 
.■\nd a lay-brother of the Hospital, 
Who, as we toiled below, had heard by tits 
The distant echoes gaining on his ear. 
Came and held fast my stirrup in liis hand. 
While 1 alighted. 

Ou the same rock beside it stood the church, 
Reft of its cross, not of its sanctity ; 
The vesper-bell, for 't was the vesper-hour. 
Duly iiroclaiming through the wiMernoss, 
" All ye who hear, whatever be yoiu- work. 
Stop for an instant, — move your lips in prayer ! " 



And just beneath it, in that dreary dale, — 

If dale it might be called so near to heaven, — 

A little lake, where never tish leaped up, 

Lay like a spot of ink amid the snow ; 

A star, the only one in that small sky. 

On its dead surlace glinnucring. 'T was a scene 

Resembling nothing 1 hail left behind. 

As though all worldly tics were now dissolved ; — 

And to incline the mind still more to thought. 

To thought and sadness, on the eastern shore 

Under a bei-tling clilf stood half in shadow 

A lonely chapel destined for the dead. 

For such as, having wamlered from their way, 

Had perished miserably. Side by side. 

Within they lie, a mournful company 

All in tlndr shrouds, no earth to cover them ; 

Their features full of life, yet motionless 

In the broad day, nor soon to sutfer cliange. 

Though the barred windows, barred against the 

wolf, 
Are always open ! 



THE DESCENT. 

Jlv mule refreshed, his bells 
Jingled once more, the signal to depart. 
And we set out in the gray light of dawn. 
Descending rapidly, — by waterfalls 
Fast frozen, and among huge blocks of ice 
That in their long career had stopt midway ; 
At length, unchecked, unbidden, he stood still. 
And all his bells were nmflled. Then my guide. 
Lowering his voice, addressed me ; — " Through 

this chasm 
On, and say nothing, — for a word, a breath. 
Stirring the air, may loosen and bring down 
A winter's snow, — enough to overwhelm 
The horse and foot that, night and day, defilcil 
Along this path to conquer at Marengo." 

Samuel Rogers. 



SONG OK THE BROOK. 

I COME from haunts of coot and hern : 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern. 

To bir-ker down a valley. 

liy thirty hills I hurry down. 
Or slip between the ridges. 

By twenty thorps, a little town. 
And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 
To join the brimming river. 

For men may come and men may go. 
But I go on forever. 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



409 



-a 



I chattel- over stony ways, 
In little shai-ps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow. 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing. 

And here and there a lusty trout. 
And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go. 
But I go on forever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots : 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 
Among my skimming swallows ; 

I m.ake the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows ; 

I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars ; 

I loiter round my cresses ; 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

Alfred Tennyson. 

THE RHINE. 

FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." 



The castled crag of Drachenfels 

Frowns o'er the wide .ind winding Rluue, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between the banks which bear the vine. 
And hills all rich with blossomed trees, 

And fields which promise com and wine. 



And scattered cities crowning these. 

Whose far white walls along them shine, 
Have strewed a scene, which I should see 
With double joy, wert thou with me. 

And peasant-girls, with deep-blue eyes. 

And hands which ofter early flowers. 
Walk snuling o'er this paradise ; 

Aliove, the frecpient feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray. 

And many a rock which stec])ly lowers. 
And noble arch in proud decay. 

Look o'(!r this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — 
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 

I send the lilies given to me. 

Though long before thy hand they touch 
I know that they must withered be, — 

But yet reject them not as sucli ; 
For I have cherished them as dear. 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
Anil guide thy soul to mine even here. 

When thou behold'st them droojjing nigh, 
And know'st them gathered by the Kliine, 
Anil offered from my heart to thine ! 

The river nobly foams and flows. 

The charm of this enchanted ground, 
And all its thousand turns disclose 

Some fresher beauty vai-ying round : 
The haughtiest breast its wish might boimd 

Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
Nor could on earth a sjiot be found 

To nature and to me .so dear. 
Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ? 

Lord ijvron. 



ON THE RHINE. 

'T WAS mom, and beautiful the mountain's 
brow — 
Hung with the clusters of the bending vine - 
Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine 
We sailed and heard the waters round the ]irow 
In muraiurs parting ; varying as we go. 
Rocks after rocks come forward and retire, 
As some gray convent wall or sunlit spire 
Starts up along the banks, unfolding slow. 
Here castles, like the prisons of despair. 

Frown as we pass ; — there, on the vineyard's 

side, 
Tlie bursting sunshine pours its streaming tidi' ; 
While Grief, forgetful amid scenes so fair. 
Counts not the hours of a long summer's day. 
Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds awa 
William Lisi.r Bow 



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41 U 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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THE VALLEY BROOK. 

Fkesh IViim the louiitiiins of tho wooil 

A rivvilot of the valley came. 
Ami glideil on for luiiiiy a rood, 

Fhished with the morning's ruddy llame. 

The air was fresh and soft and sweet ; 

The slopes in spring's new verdure lay. 
And wet with dew-drops at my feet 

Bloomed the young violets of May. 

No sound of busy life was heanl 
.Xmid those pa.stures lone and still, 

Save the faint chirp of early bird, 
Or bleat of flocks along the hill. 

1 traced that rivulet's winding way ; 

New scenes of beauty opened round, 
AVhere meads of brighter verdure lay, 

And lovelier blossoms tinged the ground. 

"Ah, liappy valley stream ! " I said, 

"Calm glides thy wave amid the flowers, 

Whose fragrance round thy path is shed 
Through all tlie joyous summer hours. 

"0, could my years, like thine, be passed 
In sonu' remote and silent glen, 

■Where 1 conld dwell and sleep at last. 
Far from the tmstling haunts of men ! " 

But what new eclioes greet my ear ? 

The village school-boy's merry call ; 
And mid the village hum I hear 

The nuirmur of the waterfall. 

I looked ; the widening vale betrayed 
A pool that shone like burni.shed steel. 

Where that bright valley strciuii was stayed 
To turn the miller's ponderous wheel. 

Ah ! why should 1, I thought with shame. 

Sigh for a life of solitude, 
When even this stream without a name 

Is laboring for the common good. 

No longer let me shnn my part 

Amid the busy scenes of life. 
But with a warm and generous heart 

Press onward in the glorious strife. 

JOH.N Howard Brvant. 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes ; 
Flow gently, 1 "11 sing thee a song in thy pnvise ; 
My Mary "s asleep by thy nmrmuring stream, 



Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. I 1 fling the hours away. 



Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through 
the glen. 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny lU'n, 

Thou givcn-crested lapwing, thy screaming for- 
bear ; 

1 charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Alton, thy neighboring hills, 
Far marked with the courses of clearwinding rills ! 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My tlocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ! 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, .M'ton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy wateis her snowy feet lave. 
As, gathering sweet tlov;ercts, she stems thy clear 
wave ! 

Flow gently, sweet .-Xftmr, among thy green braes ; 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murnmring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

K.Uir.KT Bl'R.\S 



THE SHADED WATER. 

When that my mood is sad, and in the noise 
And bustle of the crowd I feel rebuke, 

1 turn my footstejis from its hollow joys 
And sit mc down beside this little brook ; 

The waters have a music to mine ear 

It glads me much to hear. 

It is a quiet glen, as you may see. 
Shut in from all intrusion by the trees. 

That s]iread their giant branches, broad and free. 
The silent growth of many centuries ; 

And make a hallowed time for hapless moods, 

A sabbath of the woods. 

Few know its quiet .-ihelter, — lume, like me, 
Do seek it out with svich a fond desire. 

Poring in idlesse mood on flower and tree. 
And listening as the voiceless leaves respire, — 

When the far-traveling breeze, done wandering, 

Kests here his weary wing. 

And all the day, with fancies ever new. 

And sweet comjianions from tlieir boundless 
store. 

Of merry elves bespangled all with dew. 
Fantastic ereatui'es of the old-time lore, 

Watching their wild but unobtrusive phiy. 



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£h- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



411 



^a 



«-. 



A gia<;ious couch — the root of an old oak 
Whose brandies yield it moss and canopy — 

Is mine, and, so it be from woodman's stroke 
Secure, shall never be resigned by nic ; 

It hangs above the stream that idly Hies, 

Heedless of any eyes. 

There, with eye sometimes shut, but upward bent. 
Sweetly I muse througli many a i|uiet lioui-. 

While every sense on earnest mission sent, 
Ketui'ns, thought-laden, back witli bloom and 
flower ; 

Pursuing, though rebuked by those who moil, 

A ijiohtuble toil. 

And still the waters, trickling at my feet, 
Wind on their way with gentlest melody. 

Yielding sweet music, which the leavi-s repeat, 
Above them, to the gay breeze gliding by, — 

Yet not so rudely as to send one sound 

Through the thick cop.se around. 

Sometimes a brighter cloud than all tlie rest 
Hangs o'er the aichway opening through the 
trees. 

Breaking the spell that, like a slumt>er, pressed 
On my worn sj)irit its sweet lu.xuries, — 

And with awakened vision upward bent, 

1 watch the firmament. 

How like its sure and undisturbed retreat — 
Life's sanctuary at last, secure from stoi-m — 

To the pure waters trickling at my feet 

The bending trees that overshade my form I 

So far as sweetest things of earth may seem 

Like those of which we dream. 

Such, to my mind, is the ]>hilosoi)hy 
The young bird teaches, who, with suilden flight. 

Sails far into the blue that spreads on high, 
Until I lose him from my straining sight, — 

With a most lofty discontent to fly 

Upward, from earth to sky. 

WlI.tJAM GILMORE SIMMS. 



TO SENECA LAKE. 

Ox thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail. 

And round his breast the ripples break. 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream. 
The dipping paddle echoes far. 

And flashes in the moonlight gleam. 
And bright reflects the polar star. 



The waves along thy pebbly shore, 

As blows the noith-wind, heave their foam. 

And curl around the dashing oar, 
A.S late the boatman hies him home. 

How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide. 

And see the mist of mantling blue 

Float round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 

A sheet of silver spreads below. 
And swift she cuts, at highest noon. 

Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake, 

0, I could ever sweep the oar. 
When early birds at morning wake. 

And evening tells us toil is o'er ! 



THE BUGLE. 

FROM "THE PRINCESS," 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes acioss the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, <lying, dying, dying. 

hark ! hear ! how thin and clear, 
And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
O sweet and far, from cliff ami scar. 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens rcjilying : 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

love, they die in yon rich sky. 

They faint on hill or field or river ; 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 
And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And an-swer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying, 
Alfred Tennvson. 



THE FALL OF NIAGARA. 

Thk thoughts arc .strange that crowd into my 

brain, 
While I look upward to thee. It would .seem 
As if (!od poured thee from his hollow hand, 
And hung his bow upon thine awful front. 
And s|iokc in that loud voice which seemed to him 
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's .sake 
The sound of many waters ; and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages l>ack. 
And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks 



^ 



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411: 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



^ 



h^- 



Det'ii fiilk'th unto dci'i). Ami what are wo, 
That hcai' tlio iiuestiou ol' that voice sublime ! 
0, wliat lire all the notes that ever rung 
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? 
Yea, what is nil the riot man eun make 
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar ! 
And yet, bold babbler, wdiat art thou to Him 
Wlio drowned a world, and heaped the waters far 
Above its lol'tiesl mountains ( — a light wave, 
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might 

John C. C. BKAINAKD. 



THE CATARACT OF LODORK. 

OUSCKIUED IN RUVMUS FOR TUB NURSIiRY. 

" How does the water 
Come down at Lodore ? " 
My little boy asked mo 
Thus, once on a tinu' ; 
And moreover he tasked me 
To tell him in rhyme. 
Anon at the word, 
There tirst came one daughter, 
And then came another. 
To second and third 
The request of their brother. 
And to hear how the water 
Comes down at Lodore, 
With its rush and its roar, 

As many a time 
They had seen it before. 
So I told them in rhyme, 
For of rhymes 1 had store ; 
And 't was in my vocation 
For their recreation 
That so I should sing ; 
Because 1 was Laureate 
To tlrem and the King. 

From its sources which well 
In the tarn on the fell ; 
From its fountains 
In the mountains. 
Its rills and its gills ; 
Throvigh moss and through brake, 
It runs and it creeps 
For a while, till it sleeps 
In its own little lake. 
.\nd thence at departing, 
Awakening and stiirting. 
It runs through the reeds, 
And away it proceeds. 
Through meadow and glado, 

In sun and in shailc. 
And through the wood-shelter, 
Among crags in its Hurry, 
Helter-skelter, 
Ilurry-skurry. 



Here it comes sparkling. 

And there it lies darkling ; 

Now smoking and frothing 

Its tumult and wrath in, 

Till, in this rapid race 

l)n W'hich it is bent. 

It reaches the place 

Of its steep descent. 

Tile cataract strong 
Tlien plunges along. 
Striking and raging 
As if a war waging 
Its caverns and rocks among ; 
Uising and leaping, 
Sinking and creeping, 
Swelling and sweeping, 
Showering and springing, 
Flying and Hinging, 
Writhing and ringing, 
Kddying and whisking, 
Spouting and frisking. 
Turning and twisting, 
.■\round and around 
With endless rebound : 
Smiting and lighting, 
A sight to delight in ; 
Confounding, astounding, 
Dizzying and deafening the ear w ith its sound. 

Collecting, projecting, 
Receding and speeding. 
And shocking and rocking, 
And darting and piuting. 
And threading and spreading, 
And whizzing and hissing, 
And drip|>ing and skipping. 
And hitting and splitting. 
And shining and twining. 
Ami rattling and battling, 
Aiul shaking and qnaking, 
And pouring and roaring. 
And waving and raving. 
And tossing and crossing, 
And (lowing and going, 
And running and stunning. 
And foaming and roaming. 
Ami dinning and spinning. 
And dropping and hopping. 
And working and jerking. 
And gnggling and struggling. 
And heaving and cleaving, 
And moaning and groaning ; 

And i;littcriiig and frittering. 
And gathering and feathering. 
And whitening and brightening. 
And (piivering atui shivering, 



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FOEMU OF NATURE. 



413 



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B-^ 



Anil ImiTyiiif; iiiid skurrying, 
And tliiiiiiliiiiig and lluiind«ring ; 

Dividing and gliding and sliding, 

And Tailing and brawling and si)rawling, 

And driving and riving aud striving, 

And sprinkling and twinkling and wiinkling. 

And sounding and bounding aud rounding. 

And bubbling ami trouliling aud doubling, 

And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 

Aud clattering and battering and sliatteriug ; 

Kctreating and beating and muetiug aud sheeting, 
I iilaying and straying aud playing aud spraying. 
Advancing aud prancing and glancing and dan- 
cing, 
Hccoiling, tunuoiliug aud toiling aud Iwiling, 
And gleaming aud streaming aud steaming aud 

beaming. 
And rushing aud Hushing and brushing audgush- 

iiig. 
And Happing aud rapping and clapping and slap- 

1 ''■'«. 
And curling and whirling aud purling and 

twirling, 
And thuui])ing and j>lumpiug and bnm]iing and 

jumping, 
And (lashing aud Hashing and splashing aud 

clashing ; 
y\i]d so never ending, but always descending. 
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending 
All at onco aud all o'er, with a mighty ujjroar, — 
And this way the water comes down at Lodore. 

ROBERT SOUTHEV. 



WHAT THE WINDS BRING. 

Wrpioii is the wind that brings the cold ? 

The nortli-vvind, Freddy, and all the snow ; 
Aud the sheep will scamper into tlie fold 

WIhm the north begins to blow. 

Which is the wind that brings the heat ? 

The south-wind, Katy ; and corn will glow. 
Anil pcTchcB redden for you to eat. 

When the south begins to blow. 

Which is the wind that bi'ings the rain ? 

The cast-wind, Arty ; and farmers know 
Th.it cows come shivering up the lane 

When the east begins to blow. 

Which is the wind that brings the flowers ? 

Th(! west-wind, Bessy ; and soft and low 
Tlic birdies sing in the summer hours 

Whi'U tlie west begins to blow. 

EDMUND Cl.ARENCU STEOMAN 



THE ORIENT. 

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
Are emblems of deeds that arc done in their 

clime ; 
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the 

turtle. 
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine. 
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever 

shine ; 
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oiipresscd with 

|>erfume, 
Wa.x faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom ? 
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
Aud the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 
Where t he tintsoftheearth, and the lines of the sky, 
In color though varied, in beauty may vie, 
Aud the pur|)le of ocean i.s deepest in dye ; 
1 Where the virgins are soft as tlie ro.scs they twine, 
And all, save the spirit of man. Is divine ? 
'T is the clime of the East ; 't is the land of the 

Sun, — 
Can he smile on such deeds as liis children liave 

done '. 
0, wild as the accents of lover's farewell 
Are the hearts which they bear and the talen 

wliich they tell ! 



FROM "PARADISE AND THE PERI." 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses 
Softly the light of eve roiroses, 
Anil, like a gloiy, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon, 
Whose head in wintry grandeur tow.jrs, 

Aud whitens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of flowei-s. 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one who lookf-' from upjier air 
O'er all the enchanted regions there. 
How beauteous must have been the glow. 
The life, how spai-kling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 
Of golden melons on their bank.s. 
More golden where the sunliglit falls ; 
flay lizards, glittering on the walls 
Of ruined shrines, }>usy aud bright 
As they were all alive with light ; 
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variou.sly in the erim.son beam 
or the warm west, — as if inlaid 



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414 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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Witli brilliimts tVom the mine, or nuule 

Of tearless rainbows, sucU us span 

The unuloiuled skies of reristaii ! 

And then, the mingling soiinils that come, 

Of sheplienl's ancient reed, with hum 

Of the wild bees of Palestine, 

Bamiuetiiig through the Howery vales ; — 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine. 

And woods, so full of nightingales ! 

TnOMAS MOORE. 



THE VALE OF CASHMERE. 

FROM "THE LIC.HI OF THF HARFM." 

Who has not heard of the Vale of ('ashniero. 
With its roses the brighti'st that earth evergave. 

Its temj-ilos, and grottoes, and fountains as clear 
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their 
wave ? 

0, to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the lake 
Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws. 

Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to 
take 
\ last look of her mirror at night ere she 

When the shrines through the foliage are gleam- 
ing half shown, 
Aud each hallows the hour by some rites of its 

own. 
Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells. 
Here the Magian his uru full of perfume is 

swinging. 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 
Kound the waist of some fair Indian dancer is 

ringing. 
Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly 

shines 
The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines ; 
When the waterfalls gleam like a quick fall of 

stars. 
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of 

Chenars 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet 
From the cool shining walks where the young 

people meet. 
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes 
A new wonder each minute as slowly it breaks. 
Hills, cupolas, foimtains, called forth every one 
Out of darkness, as they were just born of the 

sun ; 
When the spirit of fragrance is \\\i with the day. 
From his harem of night-llowers stealing away ; 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a 

lover 
The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over ; 



When the east is as warm as the light of lirst 

hojies. 

And day, with its banner of radiance unfurled, 

Shines in through the mountainous portal that 

opes, 

Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world ! 

THOMAS MOORE. 



A FOREST HYMN. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man 
learned 
To liew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them, — ere he fi'amed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll hick 
The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 
Amidst the cool aiul silence, he knelt down. 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. Foi- his simple heart 
Miglit not resist the sacred intluences 
Which, from the stilly twilight of the jilace, 
Aud from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
Aud inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
(lod's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That ourfrail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. 
Offer one hymn, — thrice happy if it find 
Acceptance in his ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hatli reared these venerable columns, thou 
Pidst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look 

down 
Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun 
Budded, and shook theirgreenleavesin thy breeze. 
And shot towards heaven. The eentury-liring 

crow. 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till at last they stooil. 
As now they stand, massy and tall and dark. 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults. 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Keport not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boa.st of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here, — thou 

fill'st 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summit of these ti-ces 
In music ; thou art in the cooler breath 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



415 '— ' 



That from the inmost darkii. ^'1 Up ilhi' 

Comes, scarcely felt; tlie bail,; !i i^ -louud, 

Tlic fresh moist ground, arc :ili m ' i:p i a m h thee. 

Jlere is continual worship ; — mtlure, here, 

In the tranquillity that thou dost love. 

Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around. 

From perch to pei'ch, the solitary bird 

Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its hc'rbs. 

Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 

()f half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

<-)f all the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in these shades. 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak, — 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost annihilated, — not a prince, 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep. 

E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 

Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest llowcr 

With scented breath, and look so like a smile. 

Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold. 

An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visilile token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this wide universe. 

My heart is a\ved within mc wlim 1 think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me, — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on thy works I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die ; but see again. 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful fomis. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Molder beneath them. 0, there is not lost 
One of Earth's charms ! upon her bosom yet, 
Aftir I 111' flight of untold centuries. 
The fi'csliiiess of her far beginning lies. 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy Death, — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne, the sepulchcr. 
And of the trhimphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid them.selves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they out- 
lived 
The generation bom with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the lioary trees and rocks 
Around them ; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 



But let me often to these solitudes 
lietire, and in thy presence ica.^sure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies. 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble, and are still. O God ! when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on hn- 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
With all the waters of the firmament. 
The swift dark whirlwind that uinoots the woods 
And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call, 
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his sti'il'es and follies by? 
O, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
(Jf the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to nieditJite, 
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty. 
And to the beavitiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the ordei- of our lives. 



TIIK PRIMEVAL KOKKST. 

Tjii.s is the forest primeval. The mumiuring 

pines and the hemlocks. 
Bearded with moss, and in gannents green, in- 

di.stinet in the twilight. 
Stand like Druids of old, witli voices sad and 

proiihctic. 
Stand like hui'iiers hoar, with beards that rest 

on their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 

neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 

wail of the forest. 
This is the forest primeval ; but where are the 

hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the wood- 
land the voice of the huntsman ? 

Hr.-NRV W. LONGFELLOW. 



SONG OF THE SOUTH. 

Of all the garden flowers. 

The fairest is the rose ; 
Of winds that stir the bowers, 

O, there is none that blows 
Like the south, the gentle south ; 

For that balmy breeze is ours. 

Cold is the frozen Noi-t.h, 

In its stern and savage mood ; 



^- 



•416 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



n 



Mid the gales come drifting forth 
lileak snows and drenching flood ; 

Hut the South, the gentle South, 
Thaws to love the willing blood. 

Bethink thee of the vales, 

Witli their birds and blossoms fair, — 
Of tlu> ihirkling nightingales, 

'I'luit cliarm the starry air, 
hi the South, the gentle South ; 
Ah ! our own dear home is there ! 

Where doth beauty brightest glow 
With each rich and radiant charm, 

Eyes of night and brow of snow. 
Cheery lips, and bosom warm ? 

In the Sotith, the gentle South, — 
There she waits and works her harm. 

Say, shines the star of love 

From the clear and cloudless sky, 

The shadowy groves above. 

Where the nestling ring-doves lie ? 

From the South, the gentle South, 
Gleams its lone and lucid eye. 

Tlien turn ye to the home 

Of your brethren and your bride ; 

Far astray your steps may roam, 
And more joys for thee abide 

In the South, our gentle South, 
Than in all the world beside. 

David M. Moir 



THE GREENWOOD. 

0, WHEN 'tis summer weather. 

And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, 

Tlu> waters clear- is humming round, 

And the cuckoo sings unseen. 

And tlie leaves are waving green, — 

O, then 't is sweet. 

In some retreat. 
To hear the murmuring dove, 
With those whom on earth alone we love. 
And to wind through the greenwood together. 

But when 't is winter weather, 

And crosses grieve. 

And friends deceive, 

And rain and sleet 

The lattice beat, — 

0, then 'tis sweet 

To sit and sing 
Of the friends with whom, in the days of spring 
We roamed through the greenwood together. 

William Lisle Bowles. 



THE BRAVE OLD OAK. 

A SONG to the oak, the brave old oak. 
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long ; 

Here 's health and renown to his broad gi-eencrown, 
j And his fifty arms so strong. 

There's fear in his frown when the suu goes down. 
And the lire in the west fades out ; 

And he showeth his might on a wild midnight. 
When the storm through his branches shout. 

Then here 's to the oak, the brave old oak, 
Who stands in his pride alone ; 

And still flourish he, a hale green tree. 
When a hmidred years are gone ! 

In the days of old, when the spring with cold 

Had brightened his branches gray. 
Through the grass at liis feet crept maidens sweet, 

To gather the dew of May. 
And on that day to the rebeck gay 

They frolicked with lovesome swains ; 
They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard 
laid. 

But the tree it still remains. 
Then here 's, etc. 

He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes 

Were a merry sound to hear. 
When the squire's wide hall and the cottage small 

Were filled with good English cheer. 
Now gold hath the sway we all obey, 

And a ruthless king is he ; 
But he never shall send our ancient friend 

To be tossed on the stormy sea. 
Then here 's, etc. 

HENRV F. CHORLEV. 



THE ARAB TO THE PALM. 

Next to thee, fair gazelle, 

Beddowee girl, beloved so well ; 

Next to the fearless Nedjidee, 

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; 

Next to ye both, I love the palm, 

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 

Next to ye both, I love the tree 
Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three 
With love and silence aiul mystery ! 

Our tribe is many, onr poets vie 
With any under the Arab sky ; 
Yet none can sing of the palm but I. 

The marble minarets that begem 

Cairo's citadel-diadem 

Are not so light as his slender stem. 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



417 



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He lifts hiiJ leaves in the sunbeam's glance, 
As the Almehs lift their arms in dance, — 

A slumberous motion, a passionate sign, 
That works in the cells of the blood like wine. 

Full of passion and sorrow is he, 
Dreaming where the beloved may be ; 

And when the warm south-winds arise. 
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs, 

Quickening odors, kisses of balm. 

That drop in the lap of his chosen j)alra. 

The sun may flame, and the sands may stir, 
But the breath of his passion reaches her. 

O tree of love, by that love of thine. 
Teach me how I shall soften mine ! 

Give me the secret of the sun, 
Whereby the wooed is ever won ! 

If I were a king, O stately ti'ec, 
A likeness, glorious ,'us might be. 
In the court of my palace 1 'd build for thee ; 

With a shaft of silver, burnished blight. 
And leaves of beryl and malachite ; 

With spikes of golden bloom ablaze. 
And fruits of topaz and chi-ysoprase ; 

And there the poets, in thy praise. 

Should night and morning frame new lays, — 

New measures sung to tunes divine ; 
But none, palm, should equal mine ! 

Bavard Taylor. 



THE PALM-TREE. 

Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm. 

On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm ? 

Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm ? 

A ship whose keel is of palm beneath. 
Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath. 
And a rudder of palm it steereth with. 

Branches of palm are its spars and rails. 

Fibers of palm are its woven sails. 

And the rope is of palm that idly traUs ! 

What does the good ship bear so well ? 
The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, 
And the milky sap of its inner cell. 



What are its jars, so smoolli and tine. 

But hollowed nuts, filled with oil ami wine, 

And the cabbage that ripens under the Line ? 

Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm ? 

The master, whose cunning and skill could charm 

Cargo and ship from the Vjounteous palm. 

In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat solt, 
Kiom a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed. 
And a palm thatch shields from tlie sun aloft ! 

His dress is woven of palmy strands. 

And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, 

Traced with tlie Prophet's wise commands ! 

The turban folded about his head 

Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid. 

And the fan that cools him of palm was made. 

Of threads of palm was the carpet spun 
Whereon he kneels wlien the day is done. 
And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one ! 

To him the palm is a gift divine, 
Wlierein all u.ses of man combine, — 
House and raiment and food and wine ! 

And, in the hour of his great release. 
His need of the palm shall only cease 
With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. 

" Allah il Allah ! " he sings his psalm 
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm ; 
"Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm ! " 

JOHN CREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



THE HOLLY-TREE. 

KE.VDER ! hast thou ever stood to see 

The holly-tree ' 
The eye that contemplates it well perceives 

Its glossy leaves 
Ordered by an intelligence so wise 
As might confound the atheist's sophistries. 

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen 

Wrinkled and keen ; 
No g|-azing cattle, through their prickly round, 

( 'an reach to wound ; 
But as they grow where nothing is to fear. 
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. 

1 love to riew these things with curious eyes, 

And moralize ; 
And in this wisdom of the holly-tree 

Can emblems see 
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme. 
One which may profit in the after-time. 



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POEMS OF N ATI' HE. 



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Thus, thovigh iiluvail, i>uivliimoo, 1 miglit nppwu' 

llivisli mill imsloiv ; 
To thoso who on my U'isinv \voi\Ul iutnuU', 

Ivosorvoil iiiul nuio ; 
liciitU' nt homo lUiiul my iVioiuls 1 ,1 Ih', 
l.ikt> the hij;h h'avos mum llio ho\lytivo. 

Ami should my youth — as youl h U upt, 1 know — 

Somo hmsUuoss show, 
All viiiu Hsiioiitics I, day by day, 

Would wear away, 
Till tlio smooth (ouipor of my ng« should be 
l.iki' tlio high U'livos upon the hoUy-tivo. 

And as, wlu'M all tlio sumuu'i' tivos aiv swu 

So bright and givon, 
Tlio hoUyloavos tlioii- I'adeloss hues display 

Loss bviglit thau thoy ; 
liut whou tho l>iiu' and wintiy woods wo soo, 
^Vllat thou so ohooiful ns tho hoUy-tivo ! 

So, serious should u\y youth appear auioiig 

The thoughtless thiviig ; 
So would I seem, amid the yoxiug aud gay, 

Moiv gmve than they ; 
That iu my ag<' as eheert'ul 1 might Ih> 
As the given winter of the liolly-tlx>e. 

ROllURT SlH'THEY. 



THE srU'E-TKiUS. 

TliK spieo-tre*" lives iu the gai\len git>en ; 

Ueside it the fountain tlows ; 
And a fair bii\l sits the Iwughs Ivtween, 

Aiul sings his melodious wws, 

N o giveuer giuxleu e'er was known 
Within the Innnuls of an earthly king ; 

N lovelier skies have over shone 
Thau those that illumine its eonstaut spring. 

That eoil-bouud stem has branehes three : 
On eaoh a thousand blossoms grow ; 

And, old as nught of time ean Ih<, 
The root stands last in the rwks Mow. 

In the spiey shade ne'er seems to tiro 
The fount that builds a silvery dome ; 

Aud tlakes of purple ami ruby fnv 
tiush out, imd siVH'kle amid the tVvun. 

The fair white biwl of flaming eivst, 
And asm* wings Knirojit with gold, 

>>e"er has he known a pause of ivst, 

Uut sings tho lament tliat he fi-anved of old ; 



h. 



" prineess bright ! how long tlie night 
Sinee thou art sunk in tlu> w»tors elear ! 



How sadly tliey How fixun the depth below, — 
How long \nust I sing and thou wilt not hoar I 

" The watei's play, and the llowera are gay. 

Ami the skies aiv sunny above ; 
I would that all eould fade and fall, 

Aud 1, too, eease to mourn my love, 

" t\ many a year, so wakeful and divar, 

1 have sorrowed and watehed, beloved, for lliee ! 

l!ut tlieiv oomes no bivath fixiui the ehauibei's of 
death. 
While the lifeless fount gushes under the troo." 

Tho skies grow dark, and they glaro with red ; 

The troe shakes oil" its spiey bloom ; 
Tho waves of the fount iu a blaek pool spivad ; 

Aud in thunder sounds the gaixlen's doom. 

Down springs the biitl with a long shrill cry. 

Into the sable aud angry Hood ; 
Anil the faee of the pind, as he falls from high, 

I'unlles in eiivling stains of blood. 

Uut sudden again ni>swells the fount ; 

Higher and higher the watei's How, — 
In a glittering diiunoiid aivli they mount. 

And round it the eolors of mornini; glow. 

Finer and finer the watery mound 
Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil. 

And tones of musie eirole around. 
And liear to tlio stars the fountain's tale. 

And swift the eddying rainKiw seiven 

Kails in dew on the grassy floor : 
I' nder the spiee-treo the giuxlen's queen 

Sits by her lover, who wails no moiv. 

lOllN STERLING. 



THE GRAPE-VINE SWING. 

LlTiiK and long as the seqiont tniin. 

Springing aud elinging from tive to tree. 
Now darting upwar>l, now down again. 

With a twist and a twirl that aiv stnuige to -see : 
Never took serpent a deadlier hold. 

Never the eongar a wilder spring. 
Strangling the oak with the Ih«'s fold, 

S|vuuiing the bweh with the oondor's wing. 

Yet no foo that we fear to seek, — 

The lH>y leajw wild to thy rude embr!UH> ; 
Thy bulging arms Iwir as soft a eheek 

As ever on lover's broast found place ; 
On thy waving train is a playful hold 

Thou shalt never to lighter grasp persuade ; 
AVhile a u>aiden .sits in thy drooping fold. 

And swings and sings iu the noonday sliade ! 



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giant straiigi; of our ijOut)ic.-iii woods ! 

I dream of t)if:(; still in tUo well-known s[K>t, 
Though our vessel strains o'er the oeean lloodu, 
And the northern forest beholdn thee not ; 

1 think of thee still with a sweet regret, 

As the corilage yields to my playful grasj), — 

Dost thou Sluing and cling in our woodlancls yet ? 

Docs the niaideu still swing in thy giant elasp I 



TO BLOSSOMS. 

Faiu pledges of a fruitful tree, 

Why do ye fall so fast ! 

Your date is not so pa«t 
But you may stay yet here awhile 

To blush and gently sniile, 
And go at last. 

What ! were ye born to be 

An hour or half's delight, 
And so to bid gooil night ? 

'T is pity Nature brought ye forth, 
Merely to show your worth. 
And lose you quite. 

But you are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave ; 

And aft^ir they liave shown their pride 
Like you awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

ROBERT hk 



ALMOND BLOSSOM. 

Blossom of the almond-trees, 
April's gift to April's bees, 
Birthday ornament of spring. 
Flora's fairest daught<-rling ; — 
f'orning when no flowerets dare 
Trust the cruel outer air. 
Whin the royal king-cup bold 
Dares not don his coat of gold. 
And the sturdy blaekthorn spray 
Keeps his silver for the May ; — 
Coming when no flowerets would, 
Save thy lowly sisterhood, / 

Early violets, blue and white,/ 
Dying for their love of light. 
Almond blossom, sent to teach us 
That the spring days soon will reach us. 
Lest, with longing over-tried. 
We die as the violets died, — 
Blossom, clouding all the tree 
With thy crimson broidery. 



Long before a leaf of green 

On the bravest bough is seen, — 

Ah ! when winter winiLt are swinging 

All thy re<i bells into ringing. 

With a bee in every bell, 

Almond bloom, we greet thee well ! 

Edwin ar.'.-old. 



THE PLANTING OK THK APPLE TKEE. 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; 
Wide let its hollow Ix.-d 1«; maije ; 
There gently Lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mold with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them t4;nderly. 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle-shc<:t ; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

Wliat plant we in this apple-trcc ? 
Bud.s, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
Boughs where the thrush with criuison breast. 
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest ; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shaiJoV lor the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in thus aijple-trcc ? 
Sweets for a hundred tlowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard jow, he pours 
Its fragrance througfi our open doors ; 

A world of blossoms for the l«e. 
Flowers for the sick girl's .■iilent room. 
For the glad infant sjirigs of bloom. 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant wc in this apple-tree ! 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 
And drop, when gentle aii-s come by. 
That fan tlie blue September sky. 

While children come, with cries of glee. 
And seek them where the fragi-ant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when, above this apple-trcc, 
The winter stare are <|uivering bright. 
And winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth, 

And guests in prouder homes sliall sec, 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



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Ami ftoldi'U oiango ol' tho Lino, 
Tlic I'niit ol' tlio iiiiiilo-troo. 

'I'lio iViiitaiic of this iijiiilc-trco 
Wiiuls iiini mir Mug of stri[io and stai- 
Sliall Ileal- to coasts tliat lio afar, 
Wlu'i'o men sliall woiulor at tlio view, 
Ami ask in what lair gi-ovos tlioy grew ; 

Ami sojoiiniei's beyoml the sea 
Shall think of ehihlhood's careless day 
And long, long houi-s of suiniuer play, 

In tho shade of the apjile-treo. 

Each year shall give this apide-treo 
A hroader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. 
And loosen, when tho frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but wu 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie. 
The suiiimci's songs, tho autumn's sigh, 

111 I lie boughs of the apple-tree. 

.\nd time shall waste this apple-tivo. 
O, when its aged biiiiiches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below. 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Opiiress the weak and helpless still l 

What shall the tasks of mercy be. 
Amid the toils, tho strifes, the teal's 
Of those who live when length ofycai's 

Is wasting this appUi-trco ? 

" Who planted this old applo-treo ?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gray-haired man shall answer thom : 

" A poet of tho land was he, 
l?orn in tho rude but good old times ; 
'T is said he made some ipiaint old rhymes 

On planting tho apple-tivo." 

William Cullen Bryant. 



h 



THE MAIZE. 



A SONG for the plant of my own native West, 

Whoro nature and freedom reside. 
By plenty still crowned, and by peace ever blest. 

To the corn ! the green corn of her ]>ride ! 
In climes of the East has the olive been sung. 

And the grape Vieen the theme of their lays. 
But for thee shall a harp of tho backwoods he 
strung. 

Thou blight, over beautiful maize ! 



Afar in the forest the rude cabins rise, 

And send up their pillars of smoko. 
And the topsof their columns are lost in the skios, 

O'er tho heads of the cloud-kissing oak ; 
Xetir the skirt of the grove, where the sturdy arm 
swings 

The ax till tho old giant sways, 
.\nd echo repeats every Ijlow as it rings. 

Shoots the green and the glorious maize I 

There buds of tho buckeye in spring arc tho lirst, 

And the willow's gold hair then appears. 
And snowy the cups of the dogwood that burst 

Hy the rcil biul, with pink-tinted tears. 
.\iid striped thi' bolls which the poppy holds up 

For the dew, and the sun's yellow rays, 
.\iid brown is the pawpaw's shade-blossoming clip, 

In the wood, near the sun-loving maize ! 

When through the dark soil the bright steel of 
the plow 

Turns the mold from its unbroken bed 
Tho plowman is cheered by the lincli on the 
bough. 

And the blackbird doth follow his tread. 
And idle, afar on tho landscape descried. 

The deep-lowing kino slowly graze, 
.'Viul nibbling the grass on the sunny hillside 

Are the sheep, hedged away from the maize. 

AVith springtime ami cultiui', in iiKirtial array 

It waves its green broadswoiils on high, 
.Viid lights with the giile, in a Huttering fray, 

.\nd the sunbeams, which fjill from the sky ; 
It strikes its green blades at the zephyi's at noon, 

And at night at the swift-Hying fays. 
Who ride through tho darkness the beams of tho 
moon, 

Through the spears and the flags of tho maize ! 

When till' summer is tienw -still its banners are 
green, j 

Each warrior's long beaixl growoth ri'd. 
His omerald-bright swoni is sharp-pointed and 
keen. 
And golden his tflssel-plumed head. 
.'\s a host of armed knights set a monarch at 
naught. 
That defy the day-god to his gnze. 
And, revived every morn from the battle that's 
fought, 
Fre-sh stand the green ranks of the maize ! 

Hut brown comes the autumii, and sear grows 
the I'orii, 

.\iid the woods like a rainbow ai-e ilrcssed, 
.\iid but for the cock and the noontide horn 

Old Time would be tempted to rest. 



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Tier' Iinniming tieo fans olF a shower of gold 
Fioiii the: inuUeiii'a long rod as it sways, 

All'! dry gi'ow the loaves which protecting infold 
The ears of the well-ri|)cned maize ! 

At l(!ngth Indian Summer, the lovely, cloth come, I 

With its blue frosty niglits, and days still, j 
When distantly clear sounds the waterfall's hum, 

And the sun smokes ablaze on the hill ! 
A dim veil hangs over the landscape and flood. 

And the hills are all mellowed in haze, 
While Fall, creeping on like a monk 'neath his 
hood, 

Plucks the thick-rustling wealth of the maize. 

And the heavy wains creak to the bams large 
and gray. 

Where the treasure securely we hold. 
Housed safefrom the tempest, dry-sheltfucdaway, 

1)111- blessing more precious than gold ! 
And long for this manna that springs from the 
sod 

Shall we gratefully give Him the praise, 
The source of all bounty, our Father and God, 

Who sent ua from heaven the maize ! 

WILLIAM W, KOSDICK, 



THE POTATO. 

I ',\i a careless potato, and care not a pin 

How into existence I came ; 
If they planted me drill-wisi: or dibbled me in. 

To me 'tis exactly the same. 
The bean and the pea may more loftily tower. 

Hut I care not a l)utton for them ; 
Defiance I nod with my beautiful fhjwer 

When the earth is hoed up to my stem. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE PUMPKIN. 



When till- gray-haired New-Knglauder sees round 

his boarrl 
The old broken links of all'ei-tion restored, 
When the care-weaiied man seeks his mother 

oii'-e more. 
Anil Ihi: worn matron smiles where the girl smiled 

before. 
What moistens thelip, an<! what biightens the eye ? 
What calls back the past like the rich pumjikiii- 

pie ', 

(I, fruit loved of boyhood 1 the old days recalling, 
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts 

were falling ! 
When wihl, ugly faces we carved in its skin, 
Olaringoutthroughthedark witha camlle within ! 
When we laughed round the (•oin-hca[i, with 

hearts all in tune, 
Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon. 
Telling tales of the fairy who traveled like steam 
In a puni])kin-shell coach, with two rats for her 

team ! 

Then thanks for thy present ! — none sweeter or 

better 
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter ! 
Fairer hands never wrought at a jiastry mori' fini'. 
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than 

thine ! 
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to 

express. 
Swells my heart thatthy shadow may never he less. 
That the days of thy lot may h(^ lengthenerl ludow, 
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine 

grow. 
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky 
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own pumjikin-jiiit ! 
John Grkrnli af Whittihr. 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 



ONthebar.ksoftheXenil,thedarkSpanishmaiden Day-staks ! that ope your frownless eyes to 

Comes up with the fniit of the tangled vinc^ laden ; twinkle 

And the Creole of (Juba laughs out to beliold p^om rainbow galaxies of eaitli's creation. 

Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres .^,,,1 ,lew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 



of gold ; 

Yet with dearerdelight fromhishome in the North, 
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth. 
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit 

shines, 
And the sun of September melts down on his vines. 



As a libation. 

Ye matin worshipers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun, God's lidless eye, 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high. 



t. 



Ah : on Thanksgiving Day, when from East and y, ,„.i„ht mosaics ! that with storied beauty, 
from West, , ., . The floor of Nature's temple tesselate. 

From North and from South come the pilgnm ! ^^.,^^j „„„,«„„« emblems of instrnctive dutv 
"'"^S"^'*'' I Your fonns create ! 



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422 



PUEMS OF NATURE. 



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'Neath cloistered boughs, each tkmxl bell that 
swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the piwsinj; air, 
Makes Sabbath in the tields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to tluHlonics wluMo criiiubling arch and column 

Attest the reclilcnoss of mortal hand, 
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn. 
Which God hath planned ; 

To that cathedral, boumUess as our wonder, 
Whose (juenchlcss lamps the sun and moon 
supply ; 
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, 
Its dome the sky. 

There, as in solitude and shade I wander 
Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the 
sod. 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God, 

Your voiceless lips, tiowcrs ! are living preach- 

Eacli cup a pulpit, every leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral apostles ! that in dewy s]ilendor 

" Wci'p without woe, and lilush without a 
crime," 
0, may I deeply le^un, and ne'er surrender 
Your lore sublime ! 

"Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy glory. 

Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours ! 
How vain your grandeur ! ah, how transitory 
Are liunum dowel's ! " 

In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist. 
With whicli thou paintest Nature's wide-spread 
hall. 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all ! 

Not useless are ye, flowers ! though made for 
pleasure ; 
Bloomingo'er field and wave, by day and night. 
From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! wliat instructors hoary 

For such a world of thought could furnish scope ? 
Each fading caly.x a memento mori, 
Y'et fount of hope. 



Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! 

Upraiseii from seed or bulb interred iu earth, 
Yo are to me a type of resurrection 
And second birth. 

Were I iu churchless solitudes remaining, 
Far from all voice of teachers and divines. 
My soul would fnid, iu flowers of God's ordaining. 
Priests, sermons, shrines I 

HOKACH SMITH. 



I wiLi, not have the mad Clytie, 

Whose head is turned by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly ((uean, 

Whom, therefore, 1 will shun ; 
The cowslip is a country wench, 

The violet is a nun ; — 
But 1 will woo the dainty rose. 

The queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 

Iu too much haste to wed, 
.\nd clasps her rings on every hand ; 

The wolfsbane 1 should dread ; 
Nor will 1 dreary rosemarye. 

That always mourns the dead ; — 
But 1 will woo the dainty rose. 

With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint. 

And so is no mate for me ; 
And the ilaisy's dieek is tipped with a blush. 

She is of such low degree ; 
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, 

And the broom's betrothed to the bee ; — 
But 1 will plight with the dainty rose. 

For fairest of all is she. 

Thomas Hood. 



PROM "HASSAN BEN KHALED." 

Then took the generous host 
A basket filled with roses. Every guest 
(-'ried, "Give me roses !" and he thus addressed 
His words to all : " He who exalts them most 
In song, be only shall the roses wear." 
Then sang a guest : "The rose's cheeks are fair ; 
It crowns the purple bowl, and no one knows 
If the rose colors it, or it the rose." 
And sang another : " Crimson is its hue. 
And on its breast the morning's crystal dew 
Is changed to rubies." Then a third replied : 
" It blushes in the sun's enamored sight, 
As a young virgin on her wedding night. 



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423 



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Wlifiii tVorii her face the IjiiiJcgrooinlirttttlie veil." 
WIk.ii M had sung tlieir songs, I, Jluitsaii, tried. 
"'I'hi,' rijw,-," I Hang, " in either red or iiale, 
l.iki- maidens whom the llaiiic of passion bums, 
Aii'l love or jeahjusy controls, Ijy turns. 
Its Imds are lijis i)re]iaring for a kiss ; 
Us open flowers are like tlie blush of blLss 
On lovers' cheeks ; the thorns its armor an-, 
Arid in its center shines a golden star, 
iVs on a favorite's cheek a seijiiin glows ; - 
And thus the garden's favoi-ite is the rose." 
The niastei' from his open Irnsket shook 
The roses on my liead. 



'I'm: rose had been waslied, just washed in a 
shower. 

Which Mary to Anna conveyed, 
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, 

And weighed down its beautiful head. 

The cup was all fdled, and the leaves were all wet. 

And it seemed, to a fanciful view. 
To weeji for the buds it had left witli regret. 

On the flourishing bush where it grew. 

I hastily seized it, unfit as it wxs 
For a nosegay, so drijiping and drowned, 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
1 snapped it, it fell to the ground. 

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part 

.Some act by the delicate mind, 
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resigned. 

This I'legant rose, had I shaken it less, 

Might have bloomed with its owner awhile ; 

And the tear that is wiped with a little address, 
May be followed perhaps by a smile. 

William cowper. 



THE MOSS ROSE. 

TiiK angel of the flowers, one day, 
liineath a rose-tree sleeping lay, — 
That Bjiirit to whosf; charge 't is given 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. 
Awaking from his light repose. 
The angel whispered to the rose : 
"0 fondest object of my care. 
Still fairest found, where all are fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me 
Ask what thou wilt, 't is granterl thee." 
" Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, 
" (Jn me another grace bestow." 



The s[iirit paused, in silent thought, — 
What grace was there that flowi:r had not I 
"V was but a moment, — o'er the rose 
A veil of moss the angel throws, 
And, robed in natuie's simplest weed. 
Could theie a flower tliat rose exceed ? 

From the Ocmun of KRUMUACHfIR 



THE ROSE. 

PROM •TJIE LADV OP THE LAKP. • 

"The rose is fairest when 't is budding new. 
And hope is brighli'sl when it dawns from fears ; 

The rose is sweetest washeil with morning drw. 
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. 

O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
1 bid your blossoms in my txinnct wave, 

Emlilem of hope and love through future years I" 
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's bioad 
wave. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNINO 
DEW. 

Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears 
.Speak gi'ief in you. 
Who were but Iwrn 
.lust as the modest morn 
Teemed her refreshing dew ? 
Alas ! you have not known that shower 
That mars a flower. 
Nor felt the unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind ; 
Nor are ye worn with years, 

Or warjied an we, 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to oiiihans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 

Sjieak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep ; 
Is it for want of sleep, 
Or childish lullaby ? 
Or that ye have not seen as yet 
The violet ? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweet heart to this 1 
No, no ; this sorrow shown 

liy your tears shed. 
Would have this lecture read, — 
"That things of greatest, bo of meanest worth, 
Conceived with giief arc, and with tears brought 
forth." 

KOBEKT HERklf.K 



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TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

Tuol' blossom, luight with uutuiim ilow, 
Ami ooloitxl with the hoavou's own bUio, 
That oponest when the iiuiot liglit 
Siicfoeiis the keen luul ffosly iiij;ht ; 

Thou oomest uot when vioU'ts lean 
O'er wandering brooks ami springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple ilivsseil, 
Nod o'er the ground-binl's liidden nest. 

Thou waitest late, and ooni'st alone. 
When woods are luvre and biiils aiv llown. 
And frosts and sliortening days porteml 
The aged Yeju- is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
l-ook through its fringes to the sky. 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A Hower from its cerulean wall. 

1 would that thus, when I shall see 
Tlie hour of death draw near to nie, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart. 
May look to heaven as 1 depart. 

William cullen Bryant. 



THE PRIMROSE. 

Ask me why 1 send you here 
Tliis sweet Infanta of the yeere ? 

Ask nie why 1 send to you 
This l'riuiix>se, thus bepearled with dew ? 

1 will whisi>er to your eaivs. 
The sweets of love aro mixt with tears. 

Ask me why this (lower does show- 
So yellow-gi-een and sickly too < 

Ask me wliy the stalk is weak 
And Ix'uding, yet it doth not bn-ak > 

1 will answer, these discover 
What fainting hopes are in a lover. 

Robert Hekrick. 



THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 

Mild oftspring of a dark and sullen sire ! 
WHiose modest form, so delicately tine. 

Was nursed in whirling storms 

And cradled in the winds. 

Thee, when young Spring first iiuestioned Win- 
ter's sway. 
And dared the st>u\ly blusterer to the fight. 

Thee on this l>ank he threw 

To mark his victory. 



In this low vale tlie promise of tlie year, 
Soruue, tliou openest to the nipping gale, 

I'nnoticiil and alone. 

Thy tender elegiuice. 

So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms 
Of chill advei-sity ; in some lone walk 

Of life she real's her head, 

l_Uiscure and unobserved ; 

\\'hile every bleaching breeze that on her blows 
Chastens her spotless purity of breast. 

And hardens her to liear 

Serene the ills of life. 

MKNKv KiKKE White. 



THE RHODORA. 

UNBS ON BEING ASKIiU, wmiNCb IS THE FLOWERt 

I s May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
1 found the fresh ihodora in the woods. 
Spreading its leatless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook : 
The purple pet;Us fallen in the pool 

Made the black watei-swith their beauty gay, — 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, 

And court the tlower that cheapens his array. 
Khodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the mai-sh and sky. 
Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing. 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose I 
I never thought to ask ; 1 never knew. 

But in my simple ignorance suppose 

The selfsame Power tliat brought me there brought 

you. 

RAi I'M Waldo emekson. 



THE BROOM-FLOWER. 

0, THE broom, the yellow broom! 

The ancient poet sung it. 
And dear it is on summer daj-s 

To lie at rest among it. 

1 know the realms where people sjiy 
Tlie tlowers have not their fellow ; 

1 know where tliey sliine out like suns. 
The crimson and the yellow. 

1 know where ladies live enchained 

In luxury's silken fetters. 
And flowei-s as bright as glittering gems 

Are used for written letter. 

But ne'er was flower so fiiir as this. 
In modern davs or olden ; 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



:r9i 



425 



It groweth on its nodding stem 
Like to a gailand golden. 

And all about my mother's door 
Shine out its glittering bushes, 

And ilown the glen, where clear as light 
The mountain-water gushes. 

Take all the rest ; but give me this, 
And the bird that nestles in it, — 

I love it, lor it loves the broom, — 
The green and yellow linnet. 

Well, call the rose the nueen of llowers, 

And boast of that of Sharon, 
Of lilies like to marble cups, 

And the golden rod of Aaron : 

I care not how these flowers may be 

15eloved of man and woman ; 
The Ijroom it is the flower for me, 

That growelh on the common. 

0, the broom, the yellow broom ! 

The ancient jioet sung it, 
And dear it is on summer days 

To lie at rest among it. 

MARY HOWITT. 



VIOLETS. 

Welco.me, maids of honor ! 

You do bring 

In the Spring, 
And wait upon her. 

She has virgins many, 

Fresh and fair ; 

Yet you are 
More sweet than any. 

Y' are the maiden Posies, 

And, so gi-aced. 

To be placed 
'Fore damask roses. 

Yet though thus respected. 

By and by 

Ye do He, 
Poor girls, neglected. 

ROBKRT HERRICK. 



THE VIOLET. 

■O FAINT, delicious, springtime violet ! 

Thine odor, like a key, 
Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let 

A thought of sorrow free. 



The breath of distant fields upon my brow 
Blows through that open door 

Thcsound of wind-fjorne bells, more sweetand low. 
And sadder than of yore. 

It comes afar, from that l>eloved place. 

And that beloved hour. 
When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, 

Like grajies above a bower. 

A spring goes singing through its reedy gra.ss ; 

The lark sings o'er my head. 
Drowned in the sky — 0, pass, ye visions, pass! 

I would that I were dead ! — 

Why luist thou opened that forbidden door, 

From which I ever flee > 
O vanished joy ! O love, that art no more, 

Let my vexed sjiirit be ! 

violet ! thy odor through my brain 

Hath searched, and stung to grief 

This sunny day, as if a curee did stain 
Thy velvet leaf. 



TO A MOtTNTALN DAISY. 



VITH THH VU 



Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou 's met me in an evil hour. 
For I maun cru.sh amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonny gem. 

Al.xs I it 's no thy neibor sweet, 
The bonny lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward springing, blithe to greet 

Tlie purpling east. 

C'auld blew the bitter-liiting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield : 
But thou beneath the random bield 

0' clod or stane, 
Adorns the hi.stie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
Thy suawie bosom sunward spread. 



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426 



POEM a OF NATURE. 



■a 



Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share upteai's thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

(.)u life's rough ocean luckless starred ! 

Unskillful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to sufTering worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
By human pride or cunning di'iven 

To misery's brink, 
Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine, — no distant date : 
Stern Ruin's plowshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom ! 

Robert Burns, 



THE DAISY. 

Star of the mead ! sweet daughter of the day. 
Whose opening flower invites the morning ray. 
From the moist cheek and bosom's chilly fold 
To kiss the tears of eve, the dew-drops cold ! 
Sweet daisy, flower of love ! when birds are paired, 
'T is sweet to see thee, with thy bosom bared, 
Smiling in virgin innocence serene. 
Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. 
The lark with sparkling eye and rust-ling wing 
Kejoins his widowed mate in early spring, 
And, as he prunes his plumes of russet hue. 
Swears on thy maiden blossom to be true. 
Oft liave I watched thy closing buds at eve, 
Which for the parting sunbeams seemed to grieve ; 
And when gay morning gilt the dew-bright plain. 
Seen them unclasp their folded leaves again ; 
Nor he who sung "The daisy is so sweet ! " 
More dearly loved thy pearly form to greet. 
When on his scarf the knight the daisy bound, 
And dames to tourneys shone with daisies crowned. 
And fays forsook tlffe purer fields above. 
To hail the daisy, flower of faithful love. 

John LeydhN- 



B-- 



THE SUNFLOWER. 

Ah, sunflowei' ! weary of time. 
Who countest the steps of the sun. 
Seeking after that sweet golden clime. 
Where the traveler's journey is done ; 

Where the youth pined away with desire, 
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow. 
Arise from their graves, and aspire 
Where my sunflower wishes to go. 

WILLIAU BLAKE. 



THE DAISY. 

There is a flower, a little flower 
With silver crest and golden eye. 

That welcomes every changing hour. 
And weathers every sky. 

The prouder beauties of the field 
In gay but quick succession shine ; 

Race after race their honors yield, 
They flourish and decline. 

But this small flower, to Nature dear. 
While moons and stars their courses run, 

Inwreathes the circle of the year. 
Companion of the sun. 

It smiles upon the lap of May, 

To sultry August spreads its charm, 

Lights pale October on his way. 
And twines December's arm. 

The jiurple heath and golden broom 
On moory mountains catch the gale ; 

O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume. 
The violet in the vale. 

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 

Plays on the margin of the rill. 
Peeps round the fo.x's den. 

Within the garden's cultured round 
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 

And blooms on consecrated ground 
In honor of the dead. 

The lambkin crops its crimson gem ; 

The Willi bee murmurs on its breast ; 
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem 

Light o'er the skylark's nest. 

'T is Flora's page, — in every place, 
In every season, fresh and fair ; 

It opens with perennial grace. 
And blossoms everywhere. 



-4 



[& 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



42'; 



-t] 



On waste and woodland, rock and plain, 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 

The rose lias but a summer reign ; 
The daisy never dies ! 



DAFFODILS. 



; Montgomery. 



1 WANDERED lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills 

When all at once I saw a crowd, — 
A host of golden daffodils 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the Milky Way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I, at a glance. 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 

A poet could not but be gay 
In such a jocund company ; 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to nie had brought. 

For oft, when on my couch I lie. 

In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

wiLLi.AM Wordsworth. 



y-.- 



DAFFODILS. 

Fair daflbdils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early -rising sun 

Has not attained its noon. 
Stay, stay, 

Until the hastening day 
Has run 

B\it to the even-song ; 
And. having prayed together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay as you. 

We have as short a spring ; 
As quick a growth, to meet decay. 
As you or anything. 

We die. 
As your hours do, and dry 
Away, 



Like to the summer's rain. 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

ROBERT hef 



THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

By the dusty roadside. 

On the sunny hillside. 

Close by the noisy brook. 

In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere ; 

All round the open door. 

Where sit the aged poor ; 

Here where the children play, 

In the bright and merry May, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

In the noisy city street 

My pleasant face you 'II meet, 

Cheering the sick at heart 

Toiling his busy part, — 
Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 
You cannot see me coming, 
Nor hear my low sweet humming ; 
For in the starry night. 
And the glad moniing light, 

I come quietly creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 
More welcome than the flowers 
In summer's pleasant hours ; 
The gentle cow is glad, 
And the merry bird not sad. 

To see me creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everjTvhere ; 
When you 're numbered with the dead 
In your still and naiTow bed. 
In the happy spring I '11 come 
And deck your silent home, — 

Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

My humble song of praise 

Most joyfully I raise 

To Him at whose command 

I beautify the land, 
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. 



^^ 



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428 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-^ 



THE lATY GREEN. 

0, A DAINTY [ilaut is the ivy green, 

That creepeth o'er ruins old ! 
Of riglit choice food uiv his meals, 1 ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed. 

To (ilea-sure his dainty whim ; 
.\nd the moldering dust that yeai-s have made 

Is a merry meal for him. 

Crecjiing where no life is seen, 
A rare old jdaut is the ivy green. 

F.ast he stealeth on, though ho weal's no wings. 

And a stanch old heart has he ! 
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To his friend, the huge oak-tree ! 
.\nd slyly he ti'aileth along the gi'ound, 

And his leaves he gently waves. 
And he joyously twines and hugs around 

The rich mold of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed. 

And nations have scattered been ; 
But the stout old ivy shall never fade 

From its hale and hearty green. 
The brave old plant in its lonely d.ays 

Shall fatten upon the p:vst ; 
For the stateliest building man can raise 
Is the i\-y's food at last. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the ivy green. 

Charles Dickens. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The luelancholy days are come, the saddest of 
the year. 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, aiul meadows 
brown and sear. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn 
leaves lie dead ; 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rab- 
bit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the 
shrubs the jay. 

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all 
the gloomy day. 

^\'llere are the flowere, the fair young tlowci-s, that 

lately sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a Iieauteous 

sisterhood ? 
Alas I they all aiv in their graves ; the gentle race 

of flowers 



Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and 

good of oui-s. 
The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold 

November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely 

ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long 

.\ud the brier-rose and the orchis died andd the 
summer glow ; 

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in 
the wood, 

And the yellow sunflower by the brook in au- 
tumn beauty stood. 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as 
falls the plague on men, 

And the brightness of their smile was gone from 
upland, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still 

such days will conic. 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 

winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heanl, though 

all the trees are .still. 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the 

rill : 
The south-wind searches for the flowers whose 

fragrance late he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the 

stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful 

beauty died. 
The fair meek blossom that grew up aiul faded 

by my side. 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the 

forests cast the leaf. 
And we wept that one -so lovely should have a 

life .so brief ; 
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young 

friend of ours. 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the 

flowers. 

WILMAM CL't.LEN BRYANT. 



THE USE OF FLOWERS. 

Gop might have bade the earth bring forth 

F.nough for great and small. 
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree. 

Without a flower at all. 
We might have had enough, enough 

For every want of ours. 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 

.•\nd vet have had no flowers. 



!&- 



^ 



[fl- 



I'OKMH OF NATUllK. 



429 



-^ 



y- 



Tlien wliiMoforo, wlicrnlVin^ were tlioy made, 

AH (lycil witli rainbow light, 
All I'uHliioiK'd with supreinuBt grace 

lJlis]iiin(;;ing ilay and night : — 
.S]iringing in valleys gi'eeii and low, 

And on the mountains high. 
And in the silent wilderness 

Where no man passes l)y ? 

Our outward life I'equires them not, — 

Then wherefore had they birth ? — 
To minister deliglit to man, 

To beautify the earth ; 
To eonifoi-t man, — to wliisiicr.liopo. 

Whene'er his faith is dim. 
For who so eareth for the flowers 

Will eare mueh mori- for him ! 



BETROTH KI) ANBIW. 

TllK sunlight nils the trembling air, 
And balmy days their giierdi>ns bring ; 

Tlie I'lartJi again is young and fair. 
And amorous with nuisky Sjiring. 

The golden nurslings of the May 

In splendor strew the sjiangled gl'een, 

And lines of tender beauty jday, 
iMitiingle.l wli.'rc tin' willows lean. 

Mark how the ri[ipled •■urrents flow ; 

What lusters on the meadows lie ! 
And hark ! the Kongst^M's eomc and go, 

Aii.l trill between the earth and sky. 

Who tol.l us that til.' years had lied, 
< Ir borne alar our lilissful y<aitli ' 

Suili joys are nil about us spread ; 
We know t,he wliis]ier was not truth. 

Till' birds that break from grass and grove 
Sing every earol that they sung 

When first our veins were rirh with love. 
And May her mantle round ns (lung. 

< ) fresh-lit dawn ! immortal life ! 

Earth's betrothal, sweet and true. 
With whose delights onr souls are i-ifc, 

And aye their vernal vows renew ! 

Tlien, darling, walk with me this morn ; 

Let your brown tresses driidt its slieen ; 
Tliese violets, within them worn, 

Of floral fays siiall make you (jneen. 

Wliat though there comes a time of pain 
When autumn winds forbode decay ? 



The <lays of love are boni again ; 
That fabled time is far away ! 

And never seemed the land so fair 
As now, nor birds sueli notes to sing. 

Since first within your shining hair 
I wove the blo.ssoms of the spring. 

EDMUND CLAKENCU SlIlOHi 



THE LION'S KIDK. 

Til r. lion is the desert's king; through liis do- 
main SO wide 

Kiglit swiftly and right royally this night he 
means to ride. 

I5y the sedgy brink, where the wild herds drink, 
(dose eoiiehes the grim chief ; 

The trembling sycamore alx)Ve whispers with evi'ry 
h'af. 

At evening, on the Table Mount, when ye can 

see no nioi'e 
Theiihangi'ful play of signals gay ; when the gloom 

is speckled o'er 
Witli kriml fires ; when the f 'affre wends home 

through tlie lone karroo ; 
Wlien the boshbok in the thicket sleeps, and by 

tlic^ stream the gnu ; 

Then bend your gaze across the waste, — what 

sect ye ? 'I'he giraffe, 
Majestic, stalks towards the lagoon, the turbid 

IjTnph to ipLaff; 
Witli outstretched ner-k an<l tongue adust, he 

kneels him d.iwn to cool 
His hot thirst with a welcome draught from the 

foul and brackish pool. 

A nistling sound, a roar, a bound, -- tin- lion sits 

astride 
tTpon his giant courser's bai'k. Did ever king so 

ride ? 
Had ever king a steed so rare, caparisons of state 
To m.-itrh the da]>iiled skin whereon that ridi'rsits 

elate ' 

In the muscles of the neck his teeth are ]ilunged 

with ravenous greed ; 
His tawny mane is tossing round the withers of 

the steed. 
Up lea|ting with a hollow yell of anguish and siir- 



Away, away, in wild dismay, the 
flies. 



elojiard 



His feet have wings ; see how he sjirings across 

the moonlit jdain ! 
As from theirsoekets they would tmrst, bis glaring 

eyeballs strain ; 



--3 



a- 



430 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 



^- 



In thick black sti'eanis of piirUug Ijloud, full fast 
lu3 life is fleeting ; 

The stillness of the desert hears his heart's tu- 
multuous beating. 

Like the cloud that, through the wilderness, the 

path of Israel traced, — 
Like an airy phantom, dull and wan, a spiiit of 

the waste, — 
From the sandy sea uprising, as the water-simut 

from ocean, 
A whirling cloud of dust keeps pace with the 

courser's fiery motion. 

Croaking companion of their flight, the vulture 

whirs on high ; 
Below, the terror of the fold, the panther fierce 

and sly, 
And hyenas foul, round gi-aves that prowl, join 

in the horiid race ; 
By the footprints wet with gore and sweat, their 

monareli's course they trace. 

They see him on his living throne, and quake with 

fear, the while 
With claws of steel hetearspieoemeal hiscushion's 

painted pile. 
On ! on ! no pause, no rest, giraffe, while life and 

strength remain ! 
The steed by such a rider backed may madly plunge 

in vain. 

Reeling upon the desert's verge, he falls, and 

breathes his last ; 
The courser, stained with dust and foam, is the 

rider's fell repast. 
O'er Madagascar, eastward far, a faint flush is 

descried : — 
Thus nightly, o'er his Ijroad domnin, the king of 

beasts doth ride. 

From the German of FERDINAND FREILICRAI H. 



THE BLOOD HORSE. 

Gamarra is a dainty steed. 

Strong, black, and of a noble breed. 

Full of fire, and full of bone. 

With all his line of fathers known ; 

Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, 

But blown abroad by the pride within ! 

His mane is like a river flowing. 

And his eyes like embers glowing 

In the <larkness of the night, 

And his pace as swift as light. 

Look, — how round his straining throat 
Grace and .shifting beauty float ; 



Sinewy strength is in his reins, 

And the red blood gallops through his veins : 

Richer, redder, never ran 

Through the boasting heart of man. 

He can trace his lineage higher 

Than the Bourbon dare aspire, — 

Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, 

Or O'Brien's blood itself ! 

He, who hath no peer, was born 

Here, upon a red March morn. 

But his famous fatliers dead 

Were Arabs all, and Arab-bred, 

And the last of that gi'eat line 

Trod like one of a race divine ! 

And yet, — he was but friend to one 

Who fed him at the set of sun 

By some lone fountain fiinged with gi'eeu ; 

With him, a roving Bedouin, 

He lived (none else would he obey 

Through all the hot Arabian day). 

And died untamed upon the sands 

Where Balkh amidst the desert stands. 

Bryan w, Procter (Barrv Cornwall). 



THE TIGER, 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright. 
In the forests of the night ; 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned the fire of thine eyes ? 
On what wings dare he aspire ? 
What the hand dare seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder, and what art. 
Could twist the sinews of thine heart ? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand ? and what dread feet f 

What the hammer, what the chain ? 
In what furnace was thy brain ? 
Wliat the anvil ? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp .' 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears. 
Did he smile his work to see ? 
Did He, who made the Lamb, make thee ? 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright, 
I u the forests of the night. 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry .' 



^ 



e- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



431 



rn 



TO A MOUSE, 



Wee, sleekit, cow'riu', tim'rous beastie, 
0, what a panic 's iu thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase tliee, 

Wi' niurd'ring pattle ! 

I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
Au' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
AVhat then ? poor beastie, thou maun live 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request ; 
I '11 get a blessin' wi' the laive, 

And never miss 't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
An' naething now to big a new ane 

0' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin', 

Baith snell and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' wear}' winter comin' fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast. 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cmel coulter past 

Out through thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou 's turned out, for a' thy trouble. 

But house or bald. 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us naught but grief and pain, 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ; 
An' forward, though I canna see, 

I guess an' fear. 



tj-^- 



Robert Burns 



LAMBS AT PLAY. 

Say, ye that know, ye who have fdt and seen 
Spring's morning smiles, and suul-cnlivcniiij; 

green, — 
Say, did you give the thrilling transport way. 
Did your eye brighten, when young lambs at play 
Lcajicd o'er your path with animated [iride, 
Or gazed iu merry clusters by your side ? 
Ye who can smile — to wisdom no disgrace — 
At the arch meaning of a kitten's face ; 
If spotless innocence and infant mirth 
Excites to praise, or gives rellectiou hirth ; 
In shades like these pursue your favorite joy. 
Midst nature's revels, sports that nevei' cloy. 
A few bi-gin a short but vigorous race, 
.'\ud indolence, abashed, soon Hies the place : 
Thus challenged forth, see thither, one by one, 
From every side, a.s.sembling playmates run ; 
A thousand wily antics mark their stay, 
A starling crowd, impatient of ilelay ; 
Like the fond dove from fearful prison freed. 
Each seems to say, "Come, let us try our speed" ; 
Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong. 
The green turf trembling as they bound along 
Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb, 
Where every mole-hill is a be<l of thyme. 
Then, panting, stop ; yet scarcely can refrain, — 
A bird, a leaf, will set them o(f again : 
Or, if a gale with sti'ength unusual blow, 
Scattering the wild-brier roses into snow, 
Their little limbs increasing elTorts try ; 
Like the torn (lower, the fair assemblage (ly. 
Ah, fallen rose ! sad emblem of their doom ; 
Frail as thyself, they perish while they bloom ! 



FOLDING THE FLOCKS. 

Shepheuds all, and maidens fair. 
Fold your flocks up ; for the air 
'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
Already his great course hath run. 
See the dew-drops, how they kiss 
Every little flower that is ; 
Hanging on their velvet heads, 
Like a string of crystal beads. 
See the heavy clouds low falling 
And bright Hasperus down calling 
The dead night from underground ; 
At whose rising, mists unsound. 
Damps and vapors, fly apace, 
And hover o'er the smiling face 
Of these pastures ; where they come. 
Striking dead both bud and bloom. 
Therefore from such danger lock 
Every one his loved (lock ; 



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4:3:2 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



-a 



Ami let youi' ilogs lit' loose witlioiit, 

Lest the wolf come as a scout 

From the luountaiu, and eie day, 

Ikar a lamb or kid away ; 

Oi- the crafty, thievish fox. 

Break upon your simple (locks. 

To secure yourself fron\ these, 

He not too secure in ease ; 

So shall you good shepherds prove, 

And deserve your master's love. 

Now, good night! may sweetest slurabere 

And soft silence fall in numbers 

On yom- eyelids. So farewell : 

Thus I end my evenini; knoll. 

Ul-.AUMONT .1111.1 I-LETCHER, 



THE SONGSTERS. 



The finely checkered duck before her train 
Rows gimulous. The stately-sailing swan 
Gives out her snowy plumage to the gale ; 
And, arehing proud his neck, with oary feet 
Beat's forwaiil lioive, and guards his osier-isle, 
I'rotcctive of his young. The turkey nigh. 
Loud-threatening, reddens; while the peacock 

spreads 
His cvcry-colored glory to the sun. 
And swims in radiant majesty along. 
O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing 
Flies thick in amorous chase, and wanton rolls 
The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. 

jAMtS THOMSON. 



; dove 



\Jv springs the lark. 
Shrill- voiced and loud, the messenger of morn. 
Ere yet the shadows Hy, he mounted sings 
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 
falls up the tunehd nations. Every copse 
neep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush 
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 
Of the coy nuivistcrs that lodge within. 
Are prodig.il of harmony. The thrush 
And woodlark, o'er the kind-contending throng 
Superior heard, run through the sweetest length 
or notes ; when listening rinlomela deigns 
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought 
Elate, to make l\er night excel their day. 
The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake ; 
The mellow bullfinch answoi-s from the grove ; 
Xor are the linnets, o'er the llowering furze 
Po\ucd »ut profusely, silent : joined to these, 
Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade 
0( new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix 
.McUilluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, 
.Vud each luu-sh pipe, discordant heard alone, 
Aid the full concert : while the stockdove bi'cathe: 
A melancholy murmur through the whole. 

'T is love creates their melody, and all 
This waste of music is the voice of love ; 
That even to birds and beasts the tender arts 
Of pleasing teaches. 

James Thomson. 



DOMESTIC BIRDS. 

FROM '■ THR SEASONS." 

TiiK careful hen 
Calls all her chirping family around. 
Fed and defended by the fearless cock. 
Whose brea.'it with ardor llames, as on he walks 
Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond 



CHORUS OF ENGLISH SONGSTERS. 

l-KOM THE *■ PARADISE OV IllkOS." 

In the springtime, chaflineh gay, — 

" Vanished is the winter suow ; 
Days grow longer" (you shall s;iy) ; 

"Apple-blossoms soon will blow. 
Haste, yc wingless lovei-s, then. 

Take your pleasure ere 't is late, 
Birds arc building, maids and men. 

Every one selects his mate. 
Now St. Valentine is past, 

April will in time be May ; 
Youth that liugei-s will not last ; 

There 's a sunset every day. 
Birds and poets both have sung, 
' Love comes only to the young." " 

Sing, nightingale, in June : 

•' Now it is tlie shortest night. 
And to-morrow's sun by noon 

Will have climbed his yearly height. 
Rarer soumls the blackbird's pipe ; 

Redder grows the apricot ; 
Everything is still and ripe ; 

From to-morrow all things rot. 
Life 's climacteric of power 

Is the half-way house of Heath ; 
Man's decline, like bird aiul (lower, 

Oates from jiarting of a breath. 
Night must now shift hands with day ; 
Fullest ripeness brings decay." 

Swallow, in September sing : 

"Quit we now our northern caves ; 
All the gnats are perishing ; 

Sere and sapless look the leaves. 
Where are flown the summer flies ? 

Like men's riches they have wings. 
^'anity of vanities ! 

Fleeting are all feathered things ! 
We have read our horoscope, 

But in sunnner we forget ; 



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I'UKM^ OF NATUItE. 



433 



r^ 



^^ 



Kveiy s|)i'iiig awakes new hoiw, 

Kvery imtuMMi new rcfjiet. 
'T is the trutli (lint tintli is stnmgo) 
Naiiglit's innnnUblc Imt cliangc." 

.Snow-l)untinf;, in winter cry ; 

" Misery, anil cold, anil dearth ! 
Darkness in the shroiideil sky! 

Hilenco o'er the snowy earth ! 
Every tree looks white ajiil wan, 

IJurbed with icicles, nnelad, 
Like some f'eatherless old man, 

Withered, toothless, ])oor, and sad. 
Yet be trustful, Man ami Bird ; 

Winter shall not kill the soul. 
Life on earth is hope delcMied, 

Since heyond it lies the I'ole. 
Death, whose hounds are snow and ice, 
Is the door of Paradise." 

William Jomn CuukTnopi; 



A BIRD'S NEST. 

lir r most of all it wins my admiration 

To view the stnicture of this little work, — 

A hird's nest, mark it well within, without : 

No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut. 

No nail to fix, no bodkin to in.scrt. 

No glue to join : his little beak wa.s all ; 

And yet how neatly (inished ! What nice hand. 

With every imfilenicnt and means of art. 

And twenty years' a]i]irentieeshiii to boot, 

< 'ould make me sucli another ? Fondly then 

We boast of excellence, where noblest skill 

Instinctive genius foils. 



— I'.liiDH, the free tenants of hind, air, and ocean, 
Their forms all .syniuietT-j% their motions grace ; 
In |ilumage, delicate and beautiful, 

Thick without burden, close as fi.slies' scales. 
Or loose as full-blown jioppies to the breeze ; 
With wings that might have had a soul within 

thcni, 
They bore theirowners by Kiii-h sweet i-nch:intiiieiit, 

— P.irds, small and great, of endless sb.ipes and 

lohirs, 
Hire (lew and perched, there swam and dived at 

jih-asure ; 
W.iti'hful and agile, uttering voices wild 
And harsh, yet in accordance with the waves 
Upon the beach, the winds in caverns moaning. 
Or winds and waves abroad ujion the water. 



Some sought their food among the tinny shoals. 
Swift darting from the clouds, emerging soon 
With slender caiitives glitteiing in their beaks ; 
These in rcces.ses of steep crags constructed 
Their eyries inaccessible, and trained 
Their hardy brood.s to forage in all weathers : 
Others, more gorgeously appareled, dwelt 
Among the wood.s, on nature's dainties fix'ding, 
Horlis, seeds, and roots ; oi-, ever on the wing. 
Pursuing insects through the boundless air : 
In hollow trees or thickets these concealed 
Their exquisitely woven nests ; where lay 
Their callow olfspring, ijuiet as the down 
On their own breasts, till from her search the dam 
With laden bill returned, and shared the meal 
Among her clamorous sup|iliant.s, all agape ; 
Then, cowering o'er them with expanded " ings, 
She felt how sweet it is to be a mother. 
Of these, a few, with melody untaught, 
Turned all the air to music within hearing, 
Themselves unseen ; while bolder i|uiristers 
On loftiest branches strained their clarionpipes, 
And made the foiest echo to their screams 
Discordant, — yet there wils no discord there, 
Pjut tempered harmony ; all tones combining, 
In the rich conlluence of ten thousand tongms. 
To tell of joy and to inspire it. Who 
Could hear such concert, and not join in chorus! 

JAMIIS MfiNTCOMI'.KV. 



PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 

PROM •'THE BIKDS OP KILLISOWOkTH." 

Pi.A'io, anticipating tlie reviewers, 

?'rom his rejmblic banished without pity 

The poets : in this little town of yours. 

You i«it to death, by means of a eomniittce, 

The balL'id-singers ami the troubadouis, 
The street-mu.sicians of the heavenly city. 

The birds, who make sweet music foi' us all 

III our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 

The thnish, that carols at the dawn of day 
From the gieen steeples of the piny wood ; 

The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 
.largoning like a foreigner at his food ; 

The bluebird balanced on some to]imost sjiray. 
Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; 

Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng 

That dwell in nests, and have the gift of .song, - 

You slay them all ! and wherefore ' For the gal 
Of a scant handful more or less of wheat. 

Or rye, or barley, or some other grain. 

Scratched up at random by industi-ious feet 

Searching for worm or weevil after rain ; 
Or a few chcn-ies, that are not so sweet 



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434 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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As are the songs these imiuvitwl guests 
Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. 

Do you ne'er tliiuk what wonilniiis Ijeings these ? 

Do you ne'er think wlio nuule tlieni, and wlio 
tauglit 
The dialect they speak, where melodies 

Alun.' are the iiilerpreters of thought ! 
Whnsr iioHsrluild words are songs in many keys, 

Swi'i'ter than instrument of man e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
Are lialf-way liouses ou the road to heaven ! 

Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim, leafdattieed windows of the grove, 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old melodious madrigals of love ! 

And when you think of this, remember too 
'T is always morning somewhere, and above 

The awakening continents, from shore to shore. 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 

Think of your woods and orchai'ds without birds ! 

Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams. 
As in an idiot's brain remembered words 

Hang empty mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 
Will bleat of Hocks or bellowing of herds 

Make up for tlie lost music, when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door ' 

What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the hay. 

And hear the locust and the grasshopper 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ? 

Is this more pleasant to you than the wliirr 
or meadow-lark, and its sweet roundelay, 

Or twitter of little fieldfares, as you take 

Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake ? 

You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know 
They are the wingkl wardens of your farms. 

Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe. 
And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ; 

Even the blackest of thorn all, the crow, 
liendcrs good service as your man-at-arms, 

Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. 

And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

How can I teach your children gentleness. 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 

For Life, which, in its weakness or excess. 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence. 

Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted hence, 

Whenbyyourlaws, youractions, and yourspeech. 

You contradict the very things I teach 1 

H. W. LO.MjFELLOW. 



BIRDS BY MV WINDOW. 

A JUNE SONG. 

SwKKT birds that by my window sing. 
Or sail around on careless wing, 
Ueseech ye, lend your caroling, 

W'hile I salute my darling. 

She 's far from me, away, away. 
Across the hills, beyond the bay. 
But still my heart goes night and day 
To meet and greet my darling. 

Brown wren, from out whose swelling throat 
Unstinted joys of music tloat. 
Come lend to me thine own June note, 
To warble to my darling. 

Sweet dove, thy tender, lovelorn coo 
Melts pensively the orchard through : 
Grant me thy gentle voice to woo. 
And 1 shall win my darling. 

Lark, ever leal to dawn of day. 
Pause ere thou wingst thy skyward way, — 
Pause, and bestow one ipiivering lay. 
One anthem for my darling. 

Ah, mocker! rich as leafy June, 
Thou 'It grant, 1 know, one little boon. 
One st\'ain of thy most matchless tune. 
To solace my own darling. 

Hright choir, your peerless song shall stir 
The rapturous chords of love in her ; 
But who shall be our messenger, 

When we salute my darling ? 

voiceless swallow, crown of spring. 
Lend us nwhile thy swift curved wing : 
Straight as an arrow thou shalt bring 
This gi'eeting to my dai-ling ! 

1[>U ARD SPENCER. 



THE MOCKING-BIRD. 



Fifth- 



t.- 



Once, Paumanok, 
When the snows had melted, and tin 

month grass was growing. 
Up this sea-shore, in some briers. 
Two guests from Alabama, — two together. 
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted 

with brown. 
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand. 
And every day the she-binl, crouched on her 
1 nest, silent, with bright eye.s. 

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, 
I never disturbing them, 

I Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. 



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I'OKMS OF NATURE. 



435 



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f&-- 



"Sliiiic ! shine ! sliiiie ! 
Pour down your wai'iuth, great Sun ! 
While we hask — wo two together. 

"Two together! 
Winds blow south, or winds blow north, 
Day uonie white, or night eome hlaek. 
Home, or rivers and mountains from home, 
Singing all time, minding no time, 
ir we two but keep together." 

Till, of a sudden. 
Maybe killed, unknown to her mate, 
Onefoienoon the she-bird irouched not on the nest, 
Nor returneil that alternoon, nor the next, 
Nor ever appeared again. 

And thi-nri'forward, all sumnn'r, in the sound 

of the sea, 
Aiid at night, under the full of the moon, in 

calmer weather, 
Over the hoarse surging of the sea, 
Or Hitting from brier to brier l)y day, 
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, 

the he-bird. 
The solitary guest from Alabama. 

" Blow ! blow ! blow ! 
Blow up, sea-winds, along I'aumanok's shore ! 
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me." 

Yes, wdicn the stars glisten(!d, 
All night long, on the prong of a moss-sealloped 

stake, 
Down, almost amid the slapping waves, 
Sat the lone singer, wonderful, i-ausing tears. 

He called on his mate ; 
He poured forth the meanings whirli I, of all 
men, know. 

"Soothe ! soothe ! .soothe ! 
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind. 
And again another behind, emijraeing and la])- 

ping, every one close. 
But my love soothes not me, not me. 

' ' Low hangs the moon — it rose late. 
0, it is lagging — 0, I think it is heavy with 
love, with love. 

"0, madly the sea pushes, pushesupon the land. 
With love — ^with love. 

" night ! do I not see my love tluttering out 
there among the breakers ? 
What is that little black thing I see there in the 
wldte ? 



" Loud ! loud ! loud ! 
Loud 1 call to you, my love .' 
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves ; 
Surely you must know who is here, is here ; 
You must know who I am, my love ! 

" Low-hanging moon ! 
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow ? 
O, it is the shape, the shape of my mate ! 
U moon, do not keep her from me any longer. 

" Land ! land ! O land ! 
Whichever way I turn, O, I think you covdil give 
me my mate back again, if you oidy would ; 
For I am almost sure I see hev dimly whichever 
way I look. 

"0 rising stars ! 
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will 
rise with some of you. 

" throat ! trembling throat ! 
Sound clearer through the atmosphere ! 
Pierce the woods, the earth ; 
Somewhere listening to catch you, must he the 
one I want. 

' ' Shake out, carols ! 
Solitary here — the night's carols ! 
Carols of lonesome love ! Death's carols ! 
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon ' 
0, under that moon, where she droops almost 

down into the sea ! 
reckless, despairing carols ! 

" But soft ! sink low ; 
Soft ! let me just nmrmur ; 
-Ami doyouwaitamoment,youhusky-noised.sca ; 
Por somewhere I believe I lieard my mate re- 
sponding to me. 
So faint — I must be still, he .still to li.slen ; 
' But not altogether still, for then she might not 
come immediately to me. 

" Hither, my love ! 
Here I am ! Here ! 
! With this just-sustained note I announce myself 

to you ; 
This gentle call is for you, my love, for you. 

"Do not be decoyed elsewhere ! 
That is the whistle of the wind — it is not my 

voice ; 
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray ; 
Those are the shailows of leaves. 



"O darkness ; in vain 
0, I am very sick and sorrowful.' 



Wam Whitman I 

ff 



[fh" 



4:i('. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



^■^ 



h 



TO TIIK CUCKOO. 

IIaii., IhmuiU'ous 8tiiiiij;oi' o( llio f;i\)vii ! 

'riion iiuissoiigoi' of spiinj; ! 
Now lliMivi'ii ri'iiiiirs thy ninil ai-ul, 

Ami womls lliy woU'oino sing. 

Soon ns llui tlaisy ilooks tlio gnvn, 

Thy omtnin voico »<• ln-.n. 
Must tliou a star to guiiK' lliy pntli, 

Or umrk 111.' roUiiij,' ynn- / 

lVli.L;l.lliil viMliiiit ! Willi iIk'O 

I iiiiil 111.- liiiu- ..r llow.TS, 
;\llll lu'ill- 111.' siillll.l .it' lliusio SWOOt 

Kroiii liiuls aiiioiii; lli.' Uowoi'S. 

Til.' s,li,.,.l.l.,.y. WMii.l.'iiiij,' llin.iijjli Iho 

To (Hill 111.' iiriiiir.)«' guy, 
Slai'ts, lliy most I'uvious voioo to licar, 

.•\ml iinitrttos thy lay. 

Wliat timo llu' p.-ii piils on lli.' Lloom, 

Tlion lliosl tliv v.i.iil vmIi', 
An auninil giicsl in otluT lainls, 

AnotluM' spring to hail. 

Sweet liinl ! tliy liower is ever gre.'ii, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Tlion liasi no sorrow in thy song. 

No Willi. T ill lliy y.'ar ! 

O, e.nil.l 1 lly, I M lly willi tliee ! 

We '.1 mak.', with joyful wing, 
Onr annniil visit o'er the glolie, 

Allen, lanis on 111.' s|.riiig. 



■rilK. liKl,l''KY nOKON, 

(1n the eiiiss-heani iiiuler the Ol.l Sontli hell 
The nest of a i>igeon is Imil.le.l well. 
Ill snmmer ami winter that Innl is tliere, 
IHit ami in with the morning air ; 
1 love to see him traek the street. 
With his wary eye ami aetive feet ; 
Ami 1 often wateh him as he sjirings, 
Ciivling tlie steejile with easy wings, 
Till aeross the ilial his shade has passe.l. 
Ami the hell'ry .'ilge is gained at last ; 
"r is 11 hii',1 1 love, witli its hiiio.ling note. 
Ami the tremhling throb in its mottled throat ; 
Tliero 's a human look in its swelling breast, 
Ami the gentle enrve of its lowly emsl ; 
And I often slo). with the fear l" feel, - 
He runs so el.ise to the rapid wheel. 

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell, — 
t'liini,' of llie hour, or fniieral knell. 
The dovo in tlio Ix'llVy must hoar it well. 



When the tongue swingsout to the midniglit moon, 

Wlu'ii the se.xlon eheerly rings for noon, 

Will 11 tlie eloek strikes elear at morning light, 

Whi'ii tlie ehild is waked with "nine at night," 

Wlieii the eliimes pliiy soft in the Sablwth air. 

Killing the spirit with tones of prayer, 

Whutever Inle in the bell is heaiil, 

lie hioo.isoii his tol,l,'.l l,'.'t unstirred, 

Dr, rising half in his i.iniul.'d nest, 

lie takes the time lo sin.iolh his Imiast, 

Then .Irops again, with filmed .'y.'s. 

Ami sleeps as the last vibnition dies. 

Sweet bird I I woul.l that I eonl.l he 
.\ liermit in the er.>wd like thee ! 
With wings to lly lo wood and gl.'ii. 
Thy 1.4, like mine, is east with men ; 
.\n.l .laily, with unwilling iVel, 
I Ir.'a.l, lik.' thee, the erow.le.l street, 
liiil, unlike me, when day is o'er, 
Th.iii .anst dismi.ss the worl.l, and soar ; 
Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, 
t'aiist sni.i.ilh the feathers on thy breast, 
Ami .hop, forgellnl, to thy nest, 

1 w.ail.l that in sn.'h wings of gold 
I .'.ail.l my weary h.'arl iipl'.il.l ; 
I woul.l I'e.inl.l l.iok .Uuvii unmove.l 
(.I'nl.iving as I am unloved^ 
.\n.l while the w.a'ld throngs on lu'iieiilh. 
Smooth .lown my .ares and calmly breathe ; 
Ami n.'ver sad with others' sadness, 
.■\ii.l never gla.l with otlu'i'-s' gladness. 
Listen, unstirred, lo knell or ehime, 
Ami, lapped in .[uiet, bide my lime. 

NAlllANiai. I'ARKUK WILLIS. 



THE SKYLARK. 

I!ii;ii of the wihlerne.ss, 

r>lilhesome ami eumberloss, 
Swe.'t be thy matin o'er moorlan.l and l.'ii ! 

Kmblein ..f happiness, 

West is thy .Iw.'llingplae.', 
0, to al.i.le in ill.' .lesert with thee ! 

Wil.l is thy lay ami loud 

Kur in the downy eloii.l. 
Love giv.'s it I'liergy, love gave it birlh. 

Where, on thy .lewy wing. 

Where art thou journeying / 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on owth. 

D'ei' fell and fountain sheen. 

O'er moor ami mountain gi'een. 
O'er the ivd slivamer that heralds the day. 

Over the elon.llet dim. 

Ovi'r the rainbow's rim, 
Jlnsi.'al I'herub, soar, singing, away I 

'I'lieii, wh.'ii the gloaming (wmoa, 

Low ill the heather blooms 



-4 



I'OKMH Oh' NATUUK. 



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437 



SwiMd will Uiy w.-li'.,ii],- and I,,m1 ijflovi; 111' 
Kinl.li'Mi <,llni|.|.in.-,^ 
I!|i-H(, \* Uiy ilwilliri--|,hi,.', 

(), to ill.i.lr JJI til.- ili'SIM-l Willi llir;c ! 



TO THK KKYI,ARK, 

IIah. I.I II , liliUii; »pii-ill 

r.ii.l II ii.-vcr wcit, 

Tlml Iroiii lii!uvitn, <ir iiciir it, 
rouniHl tliy I'liII licarl, 
111 [ii-iifuHC Hlraiiis III' iui|ii(:iiR'clitaliji| all. 



Iiiki^ a lii'jii-biini muidoii 

III a palacii luwur, 
Sootliiii^ her lovc-liidoii 
Smil in Hcoix't hour 
With iiiusic Bwcut u» love, which ovorllnWH her 
bower ; 

Like a glow-worm (golden, 

In a dell ol' dew, 
.Scattering iinbeholden 
ItH aerial liue 
Among the llowi;rK and gm«i) « hieh wreen it from 
the view ; 



lli-her still Mil.! higher 

l''ioni ll ;irlli thou sjiringost, 

l,ikea.loll.| oriile; 

The l/liie (lii|i I hull wiiigit!)t, 
And ninging utill doMt nuar, and Hoariiig ever 
singeHt. 

In the golden liglitx-.ning 

Oj the netting Nun, 
D'er which cIouiIh are hrightoiiing, 
Tlioii doNt lloat and run ; 
Like an cuiiliodied joy whose race is juHt begun. 

'I'l'" 1-1 "I'l-^ '•veil 

.Melts aioiuid thy Might ; 
Like a star of heaven, 
III the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet \ hear thy shrill delight, 

Klin as are the arrows 
or that silver siihere, 
Who'.e intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear, 
Until we liarilly .see, we Ted lluit it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
A.S, when night is bare, 
I'Voni Olio lonely cloud 
Tlie niiiiin rains out her beams, and heaven is 
overllowed. 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ( 
I'' ruin rainbow clouds there (low not 

I»ro]is so bright to see, 
Ah rriim thy presciici,' showers a rain of ineloily. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden, 
Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not ; 

.g 



Like a loso embowered 

111 its own green leaves, 
liy wanii winds di^llowered, 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too nundi sweet these heavy- 
winged thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awaki^ncd llowera, 

All that ever was 
.loyoiisaiiil fresh and clear thy music doth siiipiiss. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine ; 
I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a Hood of rapture so divine. 

I 'bonis hymeneal. 

Or triumphant chant, 
Matiheil with thine, would be all 
liut an empty vaunt, — 
A thingwherein wefeel there is sonic hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy lia|ipy strain f 
What liclds, or waves, or mountains ! 
What shapes of sky or jilaiii ? 
What love of thine own kind 'I What ignorance 
of pain ? 

With thy clear, keen joyance 

Languor cannot be ; 
Shadow of annoyance 
Never eonie near thee ; 
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

W.-iking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream, 
Or how could thy notes How in such a crystal 
stream < 



^ 



PUJiMS OF NArUKJU. 



--a 



Wo look before nmi iil'tei', 

And piuo for what is not ; 
Our siiu'i'rest liuijihtor 

With soiuf piiiu is fnuiglit ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 
thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate and pride and fear, 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
1 know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found. 
Thy skill to poet were, thou soorner of the ground ! 

Teaeh me half the gladness 

That thy brain nuist know. 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would How, 
The world should listen then, as 1 am listeninj; 
now. 

I'KKCV BYSSH1-. SllULLEY. 



HAEK, HARK I THE LARK- 

Hauk, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And Phtebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On ehaliced llowei-s that lies ; 
And winking Mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With everything that pretty bin, 

My lady sweet, arise ; 
Arise, arise ! 

SHAKESPEARE. 



& 



TO THE SKYLARK. 

KillEliEAi. minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 

Dost thou des|nse the earth where eares abound ? 
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 

Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ' 
Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will. 
Those quiveringwings composed, that music still I 

To the last point of vision, and beyond, 

Jlount, daring warViler ! — that love-prompted 
strain, 

'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond. 
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ; 

Yet mightst thou seem, i)roud privileg« ! to sing 

All independent of the leafy spring. 



Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 

A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
Whence thou dost ixiur upon the world a flood 

Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam, — 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ! 
William wokosworth. 



THE THRUSH. 

Sweet biixl ! that sing'st away the early hours 
Of winters past or coming, void of care ; 
Well pleased with delights which present are. 
Fair seasons, biulding sprays, sweet-smelling 

flowers, — 
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers 
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 
Aiwl what clear gifts on thee he did not spare, 
A stain to human sense in sin tliat lowers. 
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs 
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
Quite to fbrgt>t earth's turmoils, spites, andwrongs. 
And lift a reverent eye and thought to heaven ! 
Sweet, artless songster ! thou my mind dost raise 
To airs of spheres, — yes, and to angels' lays. 

WILLIAM DKUMMOND. 



THE ENGUSH ROBIN. 

See yon robin on the spray ; 

Look ye how his tiny form 
Swells, as when his merry lay 

C! ushes forth amid the storm. 

Though the snow is falling fast, 

SjK'cking o'er his coat with white, — 

Though Unul roars the chilly blast. 
And tlie evening's lost in nij;ht, — 

Yet from out the darkness dreiuy 
t 'onu'th still that cheerful note ; 

Traiseful aye, and never weary. 
Is that little warbling throat. 

Thank him for his lesson's sake, 
T'hank God's gentle minstrel there. 

Who, when storms make others quake. 
Sings of days that brighter were. 

Harrison wbir 



THE ROBIN. 

My old Welsh neighlwr over the way 
t'rept .slowly out in the sun of spring. 

Pushed from her ears the locks of gray. 
And listened to hear the robin sing. 



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I'dkmh of nature. 



439 I 



fa- 



Her griuiilson, playing at niai'))les, stopped, 
And Liucl in 8])oit, as boys will be, 

TosHod a stone at llio bird, who hojipiid 
Kroni liou{;li to bou^di in the ai)pk'-tive. 

" Nay ! " saiil tlie giandniother; " liave you not 
heard, 

My jjoor bad lioy ! of the liery pit, 
And how, dro|i by ilrop, this nieicil'iil bird 

< 'arries thi: water that ipienehes it ? 

" lie l)rings eool dew in his little bill, 
And lets it fall on the souls of sin ; 

You e'au see the mark on his red breast stil! 
(triires that seoreh as he drops it in. 

"My poor Bron rhuddyn ! my bi'east- burned bird. 
Singing so sweetly from limb to limb, 

Veiy dear to the heart of our Lord 
Is he who pities the lost, like him !" 

"Amen !" I said to the beautiful myth ; 

"Sing, bird of (!od, in my heart as well; 
Kaih g(jod thought is a droji wherewith 

'I'd eool and lessen the lires of liell. 

" I'rayers of love like rain-drops fall, 

Tears of pity are eooling dew. 
And dear to the heart ol' our Lord are all 

Who suffer like him in the good they do!" 



THE BOBOLINK. 

Uniioi.iNK ! that in the meadow, 
Or beneath the orehard's shadow, 
Kce[icst up a constant rattle 
Joyous as my ehildren's prattle, 
Welenme to the north again ! 
Welr'ome to mine ear thy strain, 
Wehomo to mine eye the sight 
Of thy buir, thy lilack and white ! 
Hrighter plumes nniy greet the sun 
V>y the banks of Amazon ; 
Sweeter tones may weave the spell 
Of eru-hanting Philomel ; 
liut, (he Iropi.' bird would fail. 
And the Euf^lisli nightingale. 
If W(! sliould ronipare their worth 
With tliini' cMidless, gu.shing tnirth. 

When the ides of May are past, 
June and summer nearing fast. 
While from depths of blue above 
Comes the mighty breath of love, 
Calling o\it each bud and flower 
With resistless, seei'et power, — 
Waking liope and fond desire, 
Kindling the erotic fire, — 



Filling youths' ami maidcn.s' dre:ims 
With mysterious, pleasing themes ; 
Then, amid the sunliglit clear 
Floating in the fragrant air, 
Thou dost fill each heart with pleasure 
By thy glad ecstatic measure. 

A single note, so sweet ami low, 
Like a full heart's oveiflow, 
Koiins the [irelude ; but the strain 
(Jives us no such tone again ; 
For the wild and .saucy song 
Leaj)s and skips the notes among. 
With such (piick and sjiortive play, 
Ne'er was niaddei', nienier lay. 

Gayest songster of the spring ! 
Thy melodies before me bring 
Visions of .some dream-built land. 
Where, by constant z<'phyrs fanned, 
1 nnght walk the livelong ilay, 
Endjosomed in perpetual May. 
Nor care nor fear thy bosom knows ; 
For thee a tempest never lilows ; 
lint when our northern summer's o'er, 
liy Delaware's or Schuylkill's .shore 
The wikl rice lifts its airy head. 
And royal feasts for thee are s])read. 
And when the winter threatens there, 
Thy tireless wings yet own no fear, 
l!ut bear thee to more southern coasts. 
Far beyon<l the reach of frosts. 

Bobolink ! still may thy gladness 
Take frcjm me all taints of .sadness ; 
Fill my soul with trust unshaken 
In that Being who has taken 
Care for every living thing. 
In summer, winter, fall, and spring. 



THE O'LINCOLN FAMILY. 

A FLOCK of njerry singing-birds were sporting in 
the grove : 

Some were warbling cheerily, and some were mak- 
ing love : 

There were Hobolincon, Wadolineon, Wiuterseo- 
ble, ('oiniuedle, — 

A liveli('r set was never led bv tabor, pipe, or 
fiddle, — 

Crying, "Phew, shew, Wadolineon, see, see, 
liobolineon, 

Down among the tiekleto|is, hiding in the but- 

teivups! 

I know the saucy chap, 1 see his shining cap 
Bobbing in the clover ther(-, — see, see, sec ! " 



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440 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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Up llifs Uobolincou, pcnhiug on iin iipple-tioo, 
StiiitU'd by bis rivnl's song, quickoiied by liis 

i-iuU«iy, 
Soon he spies tlie rogue ulloiit, oniveting in the 

air. 
And uieriily he turns about, luul warns liini to 

" 'T is you that would a-wooiug go, down among 

the rushes ! 
But wait a week, till tlowei's ai-o cheery, — wait 

a week, and, civ you marry. 
Be sure of a house wheivin to tarry ! 
Wadolink, Wliiskodink, Tom Uouuy, wait, wait, 



Every one 's a funny fellow ; every one 's a little 

mellow ; 
Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and 

in the hollow ! 
Jlerrily, n\errily, there they hie ; now they rise 

and now they tly ; 
They cross and tiun, and in and out, and down 

in the middle, and wheel about, — 
With a "Phew, shew, Wadolincon ! listen to 

me, Liobolineou ! — 
Happy 's the wooing that "s speedily doing, that 's 

speedily doing. 
That 's uierry and over with the bloom of the 

clover ! 

Bobolineon, Wadolincon, Wintei'seeble, follow, 

follow mo ! 

Wilson Flacg. 



THE BOBOLINK. 

Onue, on a golden afternoon, 

With radiant faces and hearts in tunc. 

Two fond lovci-s in dreaming mood 

Threaded a rural solitude. 
Wholly happy, they only knew 
That the earth wa.s bright and the sky was blue. 

That light and beauty and joy and song 

Chiu-mod the way as they passed along ; 
The air was fragrant with woodland scents ; 
The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence ; 

And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, 
chink ! " 

Queried the curious bobolink. 
Pausing and peering with sidelong head. 
As saucily questioning all thoy said ; 

While the ox-eye danced on its slender 
stem. 

And all glad nature rejoiced with them. 
Over the odorous fields were strown 
Wilting windrows of grass new-mowni, 

And rosy bUlows of clover bloom 

Surged in tl>e sunshine and l>reathed per- 
fume. 



Swinging low on a slender limb. 

The sparrow warbled his wedding hynni, 
Ami, Imhuu ing on a blackberry-brier. 
The bolwlink sung with his heart on lire, — 

"Chink ? If you wish to kiss her, do ! 

Do it, do it ! You cowiml, you I 

Kiss her ! Kiss, kiss her ! W'lio will sec ' 
Only we three ! we three ! we tlnve 1 " 

Under gjirlands of drooping vines. 
Through din\ vistas of swcct-brcathcd pines, 
Past wiilc Mu^ulow-liclds, lately mowed, 
M'andeivd the indolent country road. 
The lovers followed it, listening still, 
And, loitering slowly, as lovers will, • 

Entered a low-roofed bridge that lay, 
Dusky and cool, in their pleasant way. 
Under its areh a smooth, brown stream 
Silently glided, with glint and gleam. 
Shaded by graceful elms that spread 
Their veixlurous canopy overhead, — 
The sti'eam so narrow, the boughs so wide, 
They met and mingled across the tide. 
Aldei's loved it, and seemed to keep 
Patient watch as it lay asleep. 
Mirroring clearly the trees and sky 
.'\nd the flitting form of the dragon-lly, 

Save where the swift-wingod swallow played 
In and out in the sun and shade. 
And darting and circling in nrerry chase. 
Dipped, and dimpled its clear dark face. 

Fluttering lightly from brink to brink 

Followed the garrulous bobolink. 

Rallying loudly, with mirthful din, 
The pair who lingered vmseen within. 

And when from the friendly bridge at last 

Into the road beyond they passed, 

Again beside them the tempter went, 
Keeping the thread of his argument — 

"Kiss her! kiss her ! chink-a-chee-chee ! 

I '11 not mention it ! Don't mind mo ! 
1 '11 be sentinel — I can seo 
.\11 around from this tnll biivh-tree ! " 

But ah 1 they noted — nor deemed it strange — 

In his rollicking chorus a trilling change : 
'• Ho it ! do it I " with might and main 
Warbled the telltale — " Do it diniinl" 

Elizabbth .Akbrs .\i.lkn. 



ROBERT OF UNCOI.>f. 

Mf.kkily swinging on brier and weed, 

Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Kobert of Lincoln is telling his unme : 
Bobo'-link, lK)b-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spiuk ; 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



441 



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Smig and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer (lowers. 

Cliee, c)ice, cheo. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright Vilack wedding coat ; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note ; 
lioh-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
>S|iink, sjiank, spink ; 
Look, what a nice new coat is mine. 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 

Pretty and ijuiet, with plain brown wings. 
Passing at home a jiatient life, 

Rroods in the grass while lier husband sings 
liob-o'-link, txjb-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she, 

One weak chirp is her only note, 
Braggart and jn-ince of braggarts is lie. 
Pouring boasts from liis little throat : 
liob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catcli me, cowardly knaves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, cheo. 

Six white eggs on a beil of hay. 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing witli all his might : 
P,ob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out. 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 

Cliee, cliee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell 

Six wide mouths are open for food ; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seed for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, sjiink ; 
Tills new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at lengtli is made 
Sober with work, and silent with care ; 

Off is his lioliday garment laid. 
Half forgotten that nieiTy air, 



I5ob-o'-]ink, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Wliere our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee'. 

Summer wanes ; the children are giown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
liobert of Lincoln 's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as lie goes : 
I'ob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 



THE HEATH-COCK. 

Good morrow to thy sable beak 
And glossy plumage dark and sleek, 
Thy ciirnson moon and azure eye, 
< 'ock of the heath, so wildly shy : 
1 see thee slyly cowering through 
That wiry web of silvery dew. 
That twinkles in the morning air, 
Like casements of my lady fair. 

A maid there is in yonder tower, 
Who, peeping from her early bower. 
Half shows, like thee, her .simple wile, 
Her braided hair and nioniing smile. 
The rarest things, with wayward will, 
I'eiieath the covert hide them still ; 
The rarest things to break of day 
Look shortly forth, and shrink away. 

A fleeting moment of delight 
I sunned me in her cheering sight ; 
As short, I ween, the time will be 
Tliat 1 shall parley hold with thee. 
Through Snowdon's mist red beams I he day, 
The climbing herd-boy chants his lay. 
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring, — 
Thou art already on the wing. 

JOA.NNA BAILLIE. 



PEKSEVERANCE. 

A SWALLOW in the spring 
Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves 
Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring 

Wet earth and straw and leaves. 

Day after day she toiled 
With patient art, but ere her work was crowned. 
Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled. 

And dashed it to the ground. 



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POEMS OF NATURE. 



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She foviud the ruin wroii^lit. 
But, uot cast down, forth from tlie pUoe she flew, 
Ami with her mate fivsli esutli aiuignisses bi-ought 

And built hor nest anew. 

But soiirceJy had she plaoeil 
The last soft feather on its ample floor, 
ANTien wioked hand, or ohanee, agsiiu laid waste 

And wrought the ruin o'er. 

But still her heart slie kept. 
And toiled again, — and last night, hearing calls, 
1 looked, — and lo ! thive little swjUlows slept 

Within the earth-niude \ralls. 

What truth is here, msm ! 
Hath hope Ixvn smitten in its early dawn ? 
Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan t 

Have faith, and struggle on 1 

R. S. S- ANDKOS. 



[:u- 



THE ■WDfGED 'WORSHIPERS. 

Cluuncy Place 

Gay, guiltless pair. 
What seek ye from the fields of heaven ? 

Ye have no need of prayer ; 
Ye have no sins to be foi-giveu. 

Why perch ye here, 
WTiere mortals to their JIaker bend ? 

Can your pui-e spii-its fear 
The Ood ye never could oftend ? 

Ye never knew 
The crimes for which we come to weep. 

Penance is not for you, 
Blessed waudcivi-s of the lyyvr deep. 

To you 't is given 
To wake sweet Natui'e's untaught laj-s; 

Beneath the aivh of heaven 
To chirp away a life of praise. 

Then spread each wing 
Far, far atxn-e, o'er lakes and lands. 

And join the choii-s that sing 
In yon blue dome not reared with hands. 

Or, if ye stay. 
To note the consecrated hour. 

Teach me the aii-y way. 
And let me try your envied power. 

Above the crowd 
On upwai\l wings could I but fly. 



I 'd liathe in yon bright cloud. 
And seek tlie stare that gem the sky. 

'T were heaven indeeii 
Through fields of trackless light to soar, 

On Nature's charms to feed. 
And Nature's own great l<od adore. 

(.KARLKS SPRAGUE. 



THE SWALLOW. 

Thk gorse is yellow on the heath. 

The Ixuiks with speedwell ttowei-s are gsiy, 
The oixks are budding ; and Wneath, 
The hawthorn soon will iK-ar the wi-eath. 
The silver wreath of May. 

The welcome guest of settled spring, 
The swallow too is come at last ; 

Just at sunset, when thrushes sing, 

1 saw her dash with rapid wing. 
And haileil her as she pixssed. 

Come, summer visifjuit, attach 

To my reed-roof thy nest of clay. 
And let my ear thy music catch, 
Low twittering underneath the thatch, 
.\t the gray dawn of day. 

As fables tell, an Indian sage. 

The Hindustani wooils among. 
Could in his desert hermitage. 
As if 't were marked in written page. 
Translate the wild biixl's song. 

I wish 1 did his jwwer possess. 

That 1 might learn, fleet bii\l, from thee, 
What our vain sj-stems only guess, 
And know from what wild wilderness 

Thou earnest o'er the sea. 

CHARLOTTE SMITH. 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW. 

.\Nn i.s the swallow gone ? 
Who lieheld it f 
Which way s;iiled it I 

Farewell Iwde it none ? 

No mortal sjuv it go ; — 

But who doth hear 

Its summer cheer 
As it flitteth to and fro ? 

So the freed spirit flies ! 

From its surrounding clay 

It steals away 
Like tl>o swallow from the skies. 



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J'OEMS OF NATURE. 



44:i 



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W)iiUi(;r ? wlicioforr; doll) it go ? 

"f in all iinkiiowii ; 

We fcel .-.loi.e 
Tliiit a vojil is Icl't below. 

WlI.LTAM IlO' 



THE NIOHTINOALE. 

Till', rose looks out in I.Ik^ v/illcy, 

Ami tliitlicr will 1 go ! 
To ihe I'osy vale, where the iiiglitiiigalo 

Sings his song of woe. 

The virgin in on the river-Hiilc, 

Culling the lemons jiale ; 
Thither, — yes ! thither will I go, 

To the rosy vule, where the niglitingale 
.Sings his song of woe. 

The hiin-st Iniit hr^r liiin<l hath culh-il, 

'T is for III!]' lover all ; 
Thither, ^ yes ! thither will I go, 

To the rosy vale, wlierc the liightingalc 
Sings his song of woe. 

In her hat of straw, for her g<!ntle swain, 

•She has placed the lemons j.ale ; 
Thither, — yes ! thither will 1 go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

From the I'ortUKUCSC of GlL VlCKNTE. 
by John Huwrinc. 



THE NIOHTINOALE. 

Pui/.K. tlioii the nightingale. 
Who soothes thee with his talc, 
Anil wakes the woods around ; 
A (ringing feather he, — a winged and wandering 
sound ; 

Whose tender earoling 
Sets all ears listening 
Unto that living lyre, 
'. 'Iieiic-e flow the n'uy notes his eesta.sie3 inspire ; 

Who.se shrill, onjirieious song 
I'reathes like a (lute along. 
With many a careless tone, — 
Miisie of thousand tongues, formed by one tongue 

O eharniing ereature rare ! 
Can aught with thc^e eompare ? 
Thou art all song, — thy breast 
Thrills for one month o' the year, — is tranquil 



nil the rest. 



i'hee wondrous we may call, — 
.Most wondrous this of all. 
That such a tiny throat 
Should wake so loud a sound, and pour go loud 
a note. 

I-rom llic Uuttfi of MARIA TliSSULSCUArMi VISSCHIIK. 
by JOHN liOWKI.SC. 



THK NIOHTINOALE BEREAVED. 



Oi'T when, returning with her loaded bill, 
Tir astonished mother finds a vacant nest, 
By the hard hand of unrelenting clown 
liobbed, to the ground the vain provision falls , 
Her pinions niflle, and low-drooping scarce 
(Jan bear the mourner to the jioplar sliade ; 
Where, all alraiidoned to despair, she sings 
Hersorrows through the night ; and on the hongh 
Sole-sitting, still at every 'lying fall 
Takes up again her lamentable strain 
Of winding woe, till, wide around, the W'ooils 
Sigh to her .song, and with her wail resound. 



4^.- 



PHILOMELA. 

Haiik I ah, the nightingale I 
The tawny-throated I 

Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ' 
What triumph ! hark, — what pain ! 
wanderer fiom a Grecian shore, 
.Still, — after many years, in distant lands, — 
.Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain 
That wild, umiuenched, deep-sunken, Old-World 
pain, — 

Say, will it never heal ? 
And can this fragrant lawn. 
With its cool trees, and night. 
And the sweet, tnimpiil Thames, 
And moonshine, and the dew, 
To thy racked heart and brain 

Afford no balm ! 

Dost thou to-night behold. 
Here, thioiigli the moonlight on this Knglish 

grass, 
The unfriendly p.alare in the Tlira<ian wild i 

Dost thou again peruse. 
With hot cheeks and seared eyes, 
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame ? 

Dost thou once more essay 
Thy flight ; and feel come over thee. 
Poor fugitive ! the feathery change 
Once more ; and once more make resound, 
Willi love and hate, triumph and agony, 
I, (me Daulis, and the high Ccphisian val 



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PUEMS OF NATURE. 



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Listen, Eugenia, — 

How thick tlie bursts come crowding through 

the leaves ! 
Again — thou hearest ! 
Eternal jjassion ! 
Eternal pain ! 



t^- 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

As it fell upon a day. 

In the merry month of May, 

.Sitting in a pleasant shade 

Wliich a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 

Trees did grow, and plants did spruig ; 

Everything did banish moan. 

Save the nightingale alone. 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn. 

Leaned her breast up-till a thorn ; 

And there sung the doleful'st ditty 

That to hear it was great pity. 

Fie, fie, fie ! now would she cry ; 

Teru, teni, by and by ; 

That, to hear her so complain. 

Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 

For her griefs, so lively shown. 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah ! (thought I) thou mouvn'st in vain ; 

None takes pity on thy pain ; 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee ; 

King Pandion, he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapped in lead : 

All thy fellow-birds do sing. 

Careless of thy sorrowing ! 

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled. 

Thou and I were both beguiled. 

Every one that flatters thee 

Is no friend in miseiy. 

Words are ea.sy, like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hanl to find. 

Richard Barnfield. 



THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. 

I HAVE seen a nightingale 
On a sprig of thyme bewail. 
Seeing the dear nest, which was 
Hers alone, borne off, alas ! 
By a laborer : I heard. 
For this outrage, the poor bird 
Say a thousand mournful things 
To the wind, which, on its wings, 
To the Guardian of the sky 
Bore her melancholy cry, 



Bore her tender tears. She spake 
As if her fond heart would break : 
One while in a sad, sweet note. 
Gurgled from her straining throat. 
She enforced her piteous tale. 
Mournful prayer and plaintive wail ; 
One while, with the shrill dispute 
Quite outwearied, she was mute ; 
Then afresh, for her dear brood, 
Her harmonious shrieks renewed. 
Now she winged it round and round ; 
Now she skimmed along the ground ; 
Now from bough to bough, in haste. 
The delighted robber chased. 
And, alighting in his path. 
Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and wrath, 
"Give me back, fierce rustic rude. 
Give me back my pretty brood," 
.\nd 1 heard the rastic still 
Answer, " That I never will." 

From the Spanish of ESTEVAN MAMT.L DR VII.LHGAS, 
by Thomas Ko.scoe. 



THE PELICAN. 

FROM "THE PELICAN ISLAND." 

At early dawn I marked them in the sky, 
Catching the morning colors on their plumes ; 
Not in voluptuous pastime reveling there, 
Among the rosy clouds, while orient heaven 
Flamed like the opening gates of Paradise, 
Whence issued forth the angel of the sun. 
And gladdened nature with returning day : 
— Eager for food, their searching eyes they fixed 
On ocean's unrolled volume, from a height 
That brought immensity within their scope ; 
Yet with such power of Wsion looked they down. 
As thougli they watched the shcU-fish slowly 

gliding 
O'er sunken rocks, or climbing trees of coral. 
On indefatigable wing upheld, 
Breath, pulse, existence, seemed suspended in 

them : 
They were as pictures painted on the sky ; 
Till suddenly, aslant, away they shot, 
Like meteors changed from stars to gleams of 

liglitning, 
And struck upon the deep, where, in wild play, 

! Their quaiTy floundered, unsuspecting harm ; 
With terrible voracity, they plunged 
Their heads among the affrighted shoals, and beat 
.\ tempest on the surges with their wings. 
Till flashing clouds of foam and spi-ay concealed 

■ them. 

Nimbly they seized and secreted their prey. 
Alive and wriggling in the elastic net. 
Which N.aturc liung beneath their graspingbeaks, 

, Till, swollen with captures, the unwieldy bunleii 



i 



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PDEMS OF NATURE. 



445 



-a 



(■log;;i'd their slow flight, as lieavily to laiiil 
'J'hi.-se iniglity hunters of the deep returned. 
There on tile eragged cliffs they perehed at ease, 
(nirging their hapless victims one by one ; 
Then, lull and weary, side by side they slept, 
Till evening roused them to the chase again. 

Love found that lonely couple on their isle, 
And soon surrounded them with blithe compan- 
ions. 
Th(! noble birds, with skill spontaneous, framed 
A nest of reeds among the giant-grass, 
That waved in lights and shadows o'er the soil. 
Tliere, in sweet thraldom, yet unweening why, 
'I'lie jiatient dam, who ne'er till now had known 
I'arental instinct, brooded o'er her eggs. 
Long ere she found the curious secret out, 
Tliat life was hatching in their brittle shells. 
Then, from a wild rapacious bird of prey, 
'I'amed by the kindly process, she became 
That gentlest of all living things, — a mother ; 
(ientlcst wliile yearning o'er her naked young. 
Fiercest when stirred by anger to defend them. 
Her mate himself tlie softening power confessed, 
Korgot his sloth, restrained his appetite. 
And ranged the sky and fisheil the stream for her. 
Or, when o'erwearied Nature forced her olT 
To sliake her torpid feathers in the breeze, 
And bathe her bosom in the cooling flood. 
He took her place, and felt through every nerve, 
While the plump nestlings throbbed against his 

heart, 
The tenderness that makes the vulture mild ; 
Yea, half unwillingly his post resigned, 
AVhen, homesick with the absence of an hour, 
.'^ln■ hun-ied back, and drove him from her seat 
With pecking bill and cry of fond distress, 
.Answered by him with murmurs of delight, 
W'liose gutturals harsh to her were love's own 

music. 
Then, settling down, like foam upon the wave, 
W'liitc, flickering, eff'ervescent, soon subsiding, 
Ilrr nifTlnl pinions smoothly she composed ; 
.\nd, wliili' biiieatli the comfort of her wings, 
Il(i I rnwilid progeny rpiite filled the nest. 
Tile halcyon sleeps not sounder, when the wind 
Is lireathles.s, and the sea without a curl, 
— Nor dreams the halcyon of serener days, 
I ir nights more beautiful with silent stars, 
Tlian in that hour, the mother pelican, 
W'licn the waiTn tumults of aft'ection sunk 
' nto calm sleep, and dreams of what they were, — 
1 'reams more delicious than reality, 
lb- sentinel beside her stood, and watched 
\Vith jealous eye the raven in the clouds, 
-Alii the rank sea-mews wheeling round the cliffs. 
Woe to the reptile then that ventured nigh ! 
The snap of his tremendous bill was like 



Death's.scythe, down-cuttingevery thingit struck. 
The heedless lizard, in his gambols, peeped 
Upon the guarded nest, from out the flowers, 
But Jiaid the instant forfeit of his life ; 
Nor could tlie seii)ent's subtlety elude 
Capture, when gliding by, nor in defense 
Miglit his malignant fangs and venom save him. 

Ere long the thriving brood outgrew theircradle, 
Han through the gras.s, and dabbled in the pools: 
No sooner ilenizens of earth than made 
Free both of air and water ; day by day, 
New lessons, exercises, and amusements 
Employed the old to teach, the young to learn. 
Now floating on the blue lagoon behold them ; 
Tile sire and dam in swan-like beauty steering. 
Their cygnets following through the foamy wake. 
Picking the leaves of plants, pursuing insects, 
Or catching at the bubbles as they broke : 
Till on some minor fry, in reedy shallows. 
With flapping pinions and un.sjiaring beaks, 
Tlie well-taught scholars plied their double art. 
To fish in troubled waters, and secure 
The petty captives in their maiden pouches ; 
Then hurried with their bampiet to the shore. 
With feet, wings, breast, half swimming and 

half flying. 
But when their pens grewstrong to fight the storm, 
And buflet with the breakers on the reef, 
The parents put them to severer proof : 
On beetling rocks the little ones were marshaled ; 
There, by endeannents, stripes, examphi, urged 
To try the void convexity of heaven, 
And plow the ocean's horizontal field. 
Timorous at first they fluttered round the vcige. 
Balanced and furled their hesitating wings. 
Then put them forth again with steadier aim ; 
Now, gaining courage as they felt the wind 
Dilate tliiir feathers, fill tlR-ir airy frames 
Witli buoyancy that bore them from their feet. 
They yielded all their burden to the breeze. 
And sailed and soared where'ertheirgnardiaiis led; 
Ascending, hovering, wheeling, or alighting. 
They searched the deep in quest of nobler game 
Than yet their inexperience had encountered ; 
With these they battled in that element. 
Where wings or fins were ecjually at home. 
Till, conipierors in many a desperate strife. 
They dragged their spoils to land, and gorged at 
leisure. 

JAMIIS MoNTtOMERV. 



ty-.^ 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou jinrsin* 

Thy solitary way ? 



-i 



B^- 



Vainly th« ibwliT's oyc 
Might niiu'k tliy distmit tliglit to do thco wrong, 
As, iliu'kly painted on tliu iiinison sky. 

Thy tiguro lloats along. 

Seek'st thou the plasliy brink 
Of woedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rooking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side ? 

There is a Power whose caro 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illiniituble air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far heiglit, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy tbrm ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart : 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain 

flight. 
In the long way that 1 must tread alone, 
Will lead my steps aright. 

William cullen Bryant. 



TO A BIKD 



MEi..\Ncnoi,Y bird, a winter's day 

Thou standest by the margin of the pool. 
And, taught by God, dost thy whole being 
school 

To patience, which all evil can allay. 

God has appointed thee the tish thy prey. 
And given thyself a lesson to the fool 
Untliril'ty, to submit to moral rule, 

And his unthinking course by thee to weigh. 
There need not schools northe professor's chair, 

Though these be good, true wisdom to impart : 
Ho who has not enough for these to sjiare. 

Of time or gold, may yet amend his heart. 
And teacli Ids soul by brooks and rivers fair, — 

Nature is always wise in every part. 

Edward HoviiL (I.okd Thurlow). 



THE SANDPIPER. 

Across the narrow beach wo flit. 

One little sandpiper and I ; 
And fast I gather, bit by bit. 

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their liamls for it. 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit, — 

One little sandpiper and 1. 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Send black and swift across the sky : 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 

I see the close-reefed vessels Hy, 
As fast we flit along the beach, — 

One little samlpiper and I. 

I watch liim as he skims along, 

Uttering his sweet and niouiiiful cry; 
He starts not at my fitl'id .'."iig. 

Or Hash of fluttering drapery ; 
He has no thought of any wrong. 

Ho scans me with a fearless eye. 
Stani'li friends are we, well tried and strong. 

The little sandpiiier anil I. 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
My drift wood -tiro will burn .so bright ! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly '! 
1 do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rvishcs through the sky ; 
For are we not God's children both. 

Thou, little sandpiper, and 1 ? 

CELIA THA.XTEa. 



THE LITTLE HE.^CH BIRD, 

Tiinr little bird, thou dweller tiy the sea. 
Why takest thou its melancholy voice ? 
Why with that boding cry 
O'er the waves dost thou fly ! 
0, rather, bird, with me 
Through the fair land rejoice ! 

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, 
As driven by a beating storm at sea ; 
Thy cry is weak and scared. 
As if thy mates had shared 
The doom of us. Thy wail — 
What does it bring to mo ? 

Thoucall'stalongthesand, and haunt'st the surge, 
Eestless and sad ; as if, in strange ; 



—4 



fl- 



I'OEMH OF NATITRE. 



447 



-a 



With motion, and with roar 
(If waves tliat drive to shore 
( )m: sijirit did ye urge — 
Thi' Mystery — the Word. 

Of tlioiisands thou both sejjulcher and pall, 
Old ocean, art ! A renuiem o'er the dead. 
From out thy gloomy cells, 
A tale of mourning tells, — 
Tells of man's woe and full. 
His sinless glory fled. 

Then turn tliee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring 
Thy spirit nevermore. 
Come, quit with me the shore, 
Kor gladness and the light, 
Where birds of summer sing. 

Richard h. Dana. 



THE STORMY PETREL. 

A THOUSAND miles from land are we, 

Tossing about on the stonny sea, - 

From billow to bounding billow cast. 

Like fleecy snow on the stonny blast. 

The sails are .scattered abroad like weeds; 

The strong ma-sts shake like (juivering reeds ; 

The miglity cables and iron chains. 

The hull, which all earthly strength disdains, — 

They strain and they crack ; and hearts like stone 

Their natural, hard, proud strength disown. 

Tp .and down ! — up and down ! 

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, 

And amidst the Hashing and feathery foam 

The stormy petrel finds a liome, — 

A home, if such a i)lace may be 

For her who lives on the wide, wide .sea, 

I In the craggy ice, in the frozen air, 

And only seeketh her rocky lair 

To warm her young, and to teach them to .spring 

At once o'er the waves on their stonny wing ! 

O'er the deep ! — o'er the deeji ! 
Where the whale and the shark and the sword- 
fish sleep, — 
Outflying the blast and the driving rain, 
Tlie petrel telleth her tale — in vain ; 
For the mariner curseth the waniing bird 
Which bringeth him news of the storm unheard ! 
Ah ! thus does the prophet of good or ill 
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still ; 
Yet he ne'er falters, — so, petrel, spring 
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing ! 

BRVAN W. PROCTER (BARRY CORNWALL). 



LINES TO THE STORMY PETREL. 

The lark sings for joy in her own loved land. 
In the furrowed field, by the breezes fanned; 

And so revel we 

In the fuiTowed sea, 
An joyous and glad as the lark can be. 

( In the placid V)reast of the inland lake. 
The wild duck delights her ]iastime to take ; 

But the petrel braves 

Tlie wild ocean waves. 
His wing in the foaming billow he laves. 

The halcyon loves in the noontide beam 
To follow his sport on the trani|uil stream : 

He fishes at ease 

In the summer breeze. 
But we go angling in stormiest seas. 

No song-note have we but a Jiiping cry. 

That blendswith the storm when the wind is high. 

When the land-ljirds wail 

W(^ sport in the gale. 
And merrily over the ocean we sail. 

Anonymous, 



THE EAGLE. 

Hk clasps the crag with hooked hands ; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands. 
Kinged with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 
He watches from his mountain walls, 
And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

ALFRED Tennyson. 



THE OWL. 

In the lioUow tree, in the old gray tower. 

The spectral owl doth dwell ; 
Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour. 

But at <lusk he 's abroad and well ! 
Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him ; 

All mock him outiighl by day ; 
But at night, when the woods grow still and dim. 
The boldest will shrink away ! 

0, when the night, falls, and roosts the. find. 
Then, thai, is the reign of the Iwrnid ovi 1 

And tliC owl hath a bride, who is fond and bold, 
And loveth the wood's deep gloom ; 

And, with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold. 
She awaiteth her ghastly groom ; 

Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings. 
As she waits in her tn-e so still ; 



-^ 



But when Iier heart heareth his flapping wings, 
She hoots out lier welcome shrill ! 

O, ivlien the moon shines, and dogs do howl, 
Then, then, is the joy of the homid owl / 

Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy plight ! 

The owl hath his share of good : 
If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, 

He is lord in the dark greenwood ! 
Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate, 

Tliey are each unto each a pride ; 
Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange, dark fate 
Hath rent them from all beside ! 
So, when the night falls, and dogs do howl. 
Sing, ho I for the reign of the homid owl I 
We know not alway 
Who are kings by day, 
But the king ofthcnight is the hold hrown owl! 
Bryan w. Procter (Barry Cornwall), 



TO THE BUMBLEBEE. 

Burly, dozing humblebee ! 
Where thou art is clime for me ; 
Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
Far-oH' heats tlu'ough eeas to seek, 
1 will follow thee alone. 
Thou animated torrid zone I 
Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. 
Let nie chase thy waving lines ; 
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
Singing over shrubs and vines. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
Swimmer through the waves of air. 
Voyager of light and noon, 
F.picurcan of .hine ! 
W^iit, I ]iritlii'e, till I come 
Witliiii c^irslmt of thy hum, — 
All witlioiit is martyrdom. 

When the south-wind, in May days. 
With a net of sliining haze 
Silvers the horizon wall ; 
And, with softness touching all, 
Tints the human countenance 
Witli the color of romance ; 
And infusing subtle heats 
Turns the sod to violets, — 
Tliou in sunny solitudes. 
Rover of the underwoods. 
The green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow breezy bass. 

Hot midsummer's petted crone, 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 



Tells of countless sunny hours. 
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; 
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound. 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leism'e. 
Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. 

Aught unsavory or unclean 
Hath my insect never seen ; 
But violets, and bilben'y bells, 
Maple sap, and datt'odels, 
Grass with green flag half-mast high. 
Succory to match the sky. 
Columbine with horn of honey, 
Scented fern, and agrimony, 
Clover, eatchfly, adder's-tongue, 
And brier-roses, dwelt among : 
All beside was unknown waste. 
All was picture as he passed. 
Wiser far than human seer, 
Yellow-breeclied philosopher, 
Seeing only wliat is fair, 

Sipping only what is sweet. 
Thou dost mock at fate and care. 

Leave the elms' and take the wheat. 
When the fierce northwestern blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fast, — 
Thou already slumberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; 
Wjint and woe, which torture us. 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



A SOLILOQirsr; 

OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect ! ever blest 
With a more than mortal rest. 
Rosy dews the leaves among. 
Humble joys, and gentle song ! 
Wretched poet ! ever curst 
With a life of lives tlie worst. 
Sad despondence, restless fears, 
Endless jealousies and tears. 

In the burning summer thou 
Warblcst on the verdant bough, 
Meditating cheerful play. 
Mindless of the piercing ray ; 
Scorched in Cupid's fervors, I 
Ever weep and ever die. 

Proud to gratify thy will. 
Ready Nature waits thee still ; 
Balmy wines to thee she pours. 
Weeping through the dewy flowera, 
Rich as those by Hebe given 
To the thirsty sons of heaven. 

Yet, alas, we both agree. 
Miserable tliou like me ! 



ff 



0-- 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



449 



-n 



u 



Each, alike, in youth rehearses 
Gentle strains and tender verses ; 
Ever wandering far from home, 
Mindless of the days to t-ome 
(Such as ageJ Winter brings 
Trembling on his icy wings), 
Both alike at lust we die ; 
Thou art starved, and so am I ! 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect ! what can be 

In Iiappiness corapareil to thee ? 

Fed with nourishment divine. 

The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 

Nature waits upon thee still, 

And thy verdant cup dois fill ; 

'T is filled wherever thou dost tread, 

Nature's self's thy Ganymede. 

Thou dost drink and dance and sing. 

Happier than the happiest king ! 

All the fields which thou dost see. 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All the summer hours produce, 

Fertile made with early juice. 

Man lor thee does sow and plow, 

Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 

Tliou dost innocently joy. 

Nor does thy luxury destroy. 

The shepherd gladly heareth thee, 

More harmonious than he. 

Thee country liinds with gladness hear. 

Prophet of the ripened year ! 

Tliee Phrebus loves, and does inspire ; 

Phcebus is himself thy sire. 

To thee, of all things upon earth. 

Life is no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect ! happy thou 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But when thou 'st drunk and daneed and sunc 

Tliy fill, the flowery leaves among, 

(Voluptuous and wise withal. 

Epicurean animal !) 

Sated with thy summer feast, 

Tliou retir'st to endless rest. 

From the Greek of ANACREON. 
byAliRAHAM COW LKY 



THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 

TnK poetry of earth is never dead ; 

AVhen all the birds are faint with the hot sun 

And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead. 

That is the grasshopper's, — he takes the lead 

In summer luxury, — he has never done 

With his delights ; for, when tired out with fun. 



He rests at case beneath some pleasant weed. 

The jjoetry of earth is ceasing never. 

On a lone winter evening, when the frost 

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills 

The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 

And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost. 

The grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

JOHN KF.AT& 

THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass. 
Catching your heart up at the feel of .luue, — 
Sole voice that 's heard amidst the lazy noon 
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass ; 
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 
With those who think the candles come too soon. 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune 
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! 

sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, 

One to the fields, the other to the hearth. 

Both have your sunshine ; both, though small, 

are .strong 
At your clear hearts ; and both seem given to 

earth 
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, — 
In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. 
Leigh hunt. 



THE CRICKET. 

Little inmate, full of mirth. 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Whereso'er be thine abode 
Always harbinger of good. 
Pay me for thy wami retreat 
With a song more soft and sweet ; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 

Thus thy praise shall be expre.-ised. 
Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
While the rat is on the scout. 
Ami the mouse with curious snout. 
With wliat vermin else infest 
Every dish, and spoil the liest ; 
Frisking thus before the lire, 
Tliou hast all thy heart's desire. 

Though in voice and shape they be 
Formed as if akin to thee, 
Thou surpa.ssest, happier far, 
Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
Theirs is but a summer's song, — 
Thine endures the winter long. 
Unimpaired and shrill and clear, 
Melody throughout the year. 



-^ 



cfi^: 



450 



I'OKMS OF NATUBJU. 



-^ 



N»iUit>r aiglit iu>r tliiwii ol'Uay 

l\its A in>rioil to tli.v i>la.v ; 

Siiij; tlica — iiiul oxtoiul tJiy sjxiu 

Fiir boy»i»l Uio iliUo of nmu. 

Wivlclu'd nmu, whiiso ymu's aiv siH'Ut 

111 ivi>iiiiiij; ilisi'oiiti'iit, 

I. IMS not, ii,i;<'il tliouj;l> lu> Iks 

Uiill'ii .-.I'lin, oMiiiwivil with tluH\ 

WlLHAM COWPBR, 



I i.ii\B to hoar tliiuo oaruffst voioc, 

Whoitvin- tliou ai't liitl, 
Tliou tostv little ilojimatist, 

'I'luni jiix'tt)' Uat,viliil ! 
Tliou uiiudost uui orgwllofolks, — 

OM jsi'ullofoll s aiv tlu>.v, — 
Thou say i-t au undisiiutod thiuj; 

1» such 11 soU'UUi way. 

Tliou ait a touialo, Katviiid ! 

I know it by the trill 
That nuivoi^ ilu\iuj;li thy pioiviug notos, 

So )>t<tulai)t auil Nhi'ill. 
1 thiuk thoi'o is a knot of you 

Honeath tlm hollow titm, - 
A knot of si>insti'r Katyiliils, - - 

Oo Katyditls iliiuk twi I 

0. tt'll nio whoiv <li(l Kafy livo. 

Anil what ilid Katy ilo ' 
Anil was sht> voiy fair anil young. 

And yot so wii-koil too ? 
Oil! Katy lovo a naujjhty man, 

(^r kiss uioiv oluH'ks than ono > 
1 wan-a\it Katy iliil no inoiv 

Thau many a Katp has ilono, 

OLIVliK W'KNlim.L HOLMBS. 



t& 



TO A LOUSK. 

C"»N SKKtNG OSK ON A l.AOVS BaNNRT AT CHURCH. 

}Ia ! whaiv yo gnun, yo orawliu" forlio > 
Yo\ir inipuiloncp protoi-ts yon saiily ; 
I canna say but yo stiuut i-jiivly 

Owiv gauiio an' law ; 
Though, faith ! 1 foar yi> ilino but si«it<ly 

On sic a placo. 

Yo ugly, oiwiiin", Wastit wouuor, 
IXitostwI, shunno>l by sjiunt au' sinner, 
Vlow (laiv yon set your lit ui>on her, 

Sao tino a lady f 
Oao sourowhoiw olso, luul soak your liiuuor 

On soiuo jioor body. 



Swith, in sonu> boggsir's hatlVa siiuattle ; 
Thoiv yo nuiy oivop and spniwl and spnittle 
Wi' ithor kindiwl, junipiug cattU-, 

In sluNils and nations ; 
Whaiv horn nor Ixuio uo'or daur nusotllo 

Your thick iilnntalious. 

Now hand you thoix', yo 'iv o\it o' sight, 
Bohvw tho I'rttl'ivls, snug an' tight ; 
Ka, laitli yo yot ! yo'll no Iw right 

Till yo 'vo got on it, 
Tho vory tapuiost tow'ring height 

0' iVliss's bounot. 

My sooth ! right Imuld yo sol your uoso out. 
As i>luni[i imd gi-ay as ouy gu«ot ; 

for souio rsink, nioivuvial ix«ot, 

t.>r loll, ivd suuhUUuu ! 

1 'd gio you sic a hoarty doso o't. 

Wad divss your dixHldum ! 

1 wad na lKH>n sHrpristnl to spy 
Y'on on an auld wife's llauneu toy ; 
Or aiblius souui bit duddie lH>y, 

tin 's wyliecoid ; 
B\it Miss's lino l.unaitti, lio ! 

How daur yo do 't ? 

,louny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set Your beauties a' abwad ! 
Yo little ken what cui-seil speed 

The blastie 's niakin' 1 
Thae winks and tingx'rends, 1 ilivad, 

Ai-e notice takiu' I 

wad some jK>wer the gillie gio ns 

To see oui'sel's as othei'S see ns ! 

It wad fme niouio a blunder five na. 

And foolish notion ■. 

AVhat airs in divss an" gait wad lea'e us. 

And ev'n doYotion ! 

RomiKi r.i'KNS 



KF.MONSl'UANOb: WITH TllK. SNAILS 

Yk little snails. 
With slippery tails. 
Who noiselessly traYol 
Along this giiuel, 
Uy a silvery jwth of slime unsightly, 
1 learn that you visit my poa-ivws nightly. 
KelonioHs your visit, 1 guess ! 
And 1 give you this warning. 
That, every morning, 

I '11 strictly examine the pods ; 
And if one 1 hit on. 
With slaver or spit on. 
Your next meal will be with the gods. 



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POEM a OF NATURE. 



451 



■a 



I own yoii 're a very aiicii;iit race, 

And Greece and 15abyloii were amid ; 
You liave tenanted many a royal dome, 

And dwelt in the oldest pyramid ; 
The souree of the N ile ! — 0, you have been there ! 

In the ark was your lloodless bed; 
On the moonless night of Marathon 

You crawled o'er the; mighty dead ; 

liut still, though 1 reverence your ancestries, 
I don't see why you should nilible my jieas. 

The meadowsare yours, — the hedgerowand brook, 

You may bathe in their dews at morn ; 
By the aged sea you may sound your i/tclls, 

On the mountains erect youi' hum ; 
Tile fruits and the (lowers are youi' rightful dowers. 

Then why — in tlie name of wonrler — 
Should my six pea-rows be tlie only cause 

To excite your midnight plunder '! 

I have never disturbed your slender shells ; 

You have hung round my aged walk ; 
And each might have sat, till he died in his fat, 

Beneath his own cabbage-stalk : 
But now you must lly from the soil of your sires; 

Then put on your livrdiest crawl. 
And think of your poor little snails at home, 

Now orphans or emigrants all. 

Utensils domestic and civil and social 
I give you an evening to pack up ; 
But if the moon of this night does not rise on 
your llight. 
To-morrow I '11 hang eai'h mati Jack u]i. 
You '11 think of my ])eas and your thievish 

tricks, 
With tears of slime, when crossing the S/yj: 



THE HOUSKKEEPER. 

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, 
(aiTies his house with him wheie'er he goes; 
Peeps out, — and if there comes a shower of rain, 
Retreats to his small domicile again. 
Touch but a tip of him, a horn, — 't is well, — 
He curls up in his sanctuary shell. 
He 's his own landlord, his own tenant ; stay 
Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day. 
Himself he boards and lodges ; both invites 
And feasts himself ; sleeps with himself o' nights. 
He spares the upholsterer trouble to jirocure 
Chattels ; himself is his own furniture. 
And his sole riches. Wheresoe'er he roam, — 
Knock when you will, — he's sure to be at 
home. 

CHARLES LaMI:. 



TO A MOSQUITO. 

V\ui insect, that, with thread-like legs spiv:id out, 
And blood-extracting bill, and lilniy wing. 

Dost muniEUr, as thou slowly sail'st about, 
In [litiless ears, full many a plaintive thing, 

And tell'st how little our large veins should bhed, 

Would we but yield them freely in thy need ; 

1 call thee stranger, foi- tin- town, I ween. 
Has not the honor of so jiroud a birth ; 

Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, broad and 
green, 
Theoifspringof thegods, though born on earth. 

At length thy pinions Muttered in Broadway, — 
Ah, there were fairy gt<;ps, and white necks 
kissed 
By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray 
Shone through the snowy veilslike stars through 
mist ! 
And, fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin. 
Bloomed the bright blood through the transpar- 
ent skin. 

0, these were sights to touch an anchoiite I — 
What, do 1 hear thy slender voice conijilain ? 

Thou wailest, when 1 talk of beauty's light, 
As if it brought the memory of pain : 

Thou art a wayward teing, — well, come near, 

And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear. 

What say'st thou, slanderer? " lioiige makes 
thee sick. 

And Chinti bloom at Wst is sorry food ; 
And Uowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, 

I'oisons the thirsty wretch that bores foi- blood" ? 
Go, 't was a just reward that met thy crime, — 
But .shun the sacrilege another time. 

That Ijloom was made to look at, not to touch, 
To worship, not approach, tliat radiant white ; 

And well might sudden vengeance light on such 
As dared, like thee, most imjuously to bite. 

Thou should'.st have gazed at distance, and ad- 
mired. 

Murmured thy adoration, and retired. 

Thou 'I't welcome to the town ; but why come here 
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee? 

Alas ! the little blood 1 have is dear, 

And thin will be the banijuet drawn from me. 

Book round, — the pale-eyed .sisters, in my cell. 

Thy old aci|Uaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. 

Try some plump alderman ; and suck the Mooil 
Enriched with generous wine, and costly meat ; 

In well-lilled skin.s, .soft as thy native mud. 
Fix thy light pump, and raise thy freckled feet. 



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452 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



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Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls, 

The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls. 

There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows, 
To fill the swelling veins for thee ; and now 

The ruddy cheek, and now the ruddier nose. 
Shall tempt thee as thou flittest round the brow ; 

And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings. 

No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. 



GOD EVERYWHERE IN NATITRE. 

How desolate were nature, and how void 
Of every charm, how like a naked waste 
Of .\frica, were not a present God 
Beheld employing, in its various scenes. 
His active might to animate and adorn ! 
What life and beauty, when, in all that breathes. 
Or moves, or grows, his hand is viewed at work ! 
When it is viewed unfolding every bud, 



Each blossom tingeing, shaping every leaf, 

Wafting each cloud that passes o'er the sky. 

Rolling each billow, moving every wing 

That fans the air, and every warbling throat 

Heard in the tuneful woodlands ! In the least 

As well as in the greatest of his works 

Is ever manifest his presence kind ; 

As well in swarais of glittering insects, seen 

Quick to and fro within a foot of air. 

Dancing a meiTy hour, then seen no more, 

As in the systems of resplendent worlds. 

Through time revolving in unbounded space. 

His eye, while comprehending in one view 

The whole creation, fixes full on me ; 

As on me shines the sun with his full blaze. 

While o'er the hemis))here he spreads the saim'. 

His hand, while holding oceans in its palm. 

And compassing the skies, surrounds my life, 

Guards the poor rushlight from the blast of 

death. 

CABI.OS Wilcox. 



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POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 




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POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



WAR. 



y^- 



WAR FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE. 

FIRST of human blessing.s, and supreme ! 
Fair Peace ! how loyely, how delightful thou ! 
By whose wide tie the kindred sons of men 
Like brothers live, in amity combined 
And unsuspicious faith ; while honest toil 
Gives every joy, and to those joys a right 
Which idle, barbarous rapine but usurps. 
Pure is thy reign ; when, unaceursed by blood. 
Naught, save the sweetness of indulgent showers, 
Trickling, distills into the vernant glebe ; 
Instead of mangled carcasses, sad seen. 
When the blithe sheaves lie scattered o'er the 

field ; 
When only shining shares, the crooked knife, 
And hooks imprint the vegetable wound ; 
When the land blushes with the rose alone. 
The falling fruitage, and the bleeding vine. 
Peace ! thou source and soul of social life ; 
Beneath whose calm inspiring influence 
Science his views enlarges. Art refines, 
And swelling commerce opens all her ports ; 
Blessed be the man divine who gives us thee ! 
Who bids the trumpet hush his horrid clang. 
Nor blow the giddy nations into rage ; 
Who sheathes the mui'derous blade ; the deadly 

gun 
Into the well-piled armory returns ; 
And, every vigor from the work of death 
To grateful industry converting, makes 
The country flourish and the city smile. 
I'uviolated, him the virgin sings. 
And him the smiling mother to her train. 
()(■ him the shepherd in the peaceful dale 
L'hants ; and, the treasures of his labor sure, 
The husbandman of him, as at the plow 
Or team he toils. With him the sailor soothes, 
Beneath the trembling moon, the midniglit wave ; 
xVnd the full city, warm, from street to street 
And shop to shop responsive, rings of him. 

Nor joys one land alone ; his praise extends 
Far as the sun rolls the diffusive day ; 
Far as the breeze can bear the gifts of peace, 
Till all the happy nations catch the song. 



Wliat would not. Peace ! the patriot bear for 
thee ? 
What painful patience ? What incessant care ■' 
What mixed anxiety ? What sleepless toil ? 
E'en from the rash protected, what reproach ? 
For he thy value knows ; thy friendship he 
To human nature : but the better thou. 
The richer of delight, sometimes the more 
Inevitable vv'Aii, — when ruffian force 
Awakes the fury of an injured state. 
K'en the good patient man whom reason rules. 
Roused by bold insult and injurious rage. 
With sharp and sudden cheek the astonished sons 
Of violence confounds ; firm as his cause 
His bolder heart ; in awful justice clad : 
His eyes effulging a peculiar fire : 
And, as he charges through the prostrate war. 
His keen arm teaches faithless men no more 
To dare the sacred vengeance of the just. 

Then ardent rise ! 0, great in vengeance rise ! 
O'erturn the proud, teach rapine to restore ; 
And, as you ride sublimely round the world. 
Make every vessel stoop, make every statt! 
At once their welfare and their duty know. 

lAMhs Thomson 



PEACE, NO PEACE. 

FRO.M ''KING JiJH.N.- 

King Philip. By heaven, lady, you shall have 

no cause 
To curse the fail' proceedings of this day. 
Have I not pawned to you my majesty ? 

CoN.ST.\NCE. You have beguiled me with a 

counterfeit, 
Kesembliug majesty ; which, being touched and 

ti'ied. 
Proves valueless : you are forsworn, forsworn ; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours ; 
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war 
Is cold, in amity and painted peace, 
And our oppression hath made up this league : 



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POEMS OF PEACE AND IJ'AR. 



--EJ 



Ai-ni, arm, you lieavens, against tliesi' puijiiri'il 

kings ! 
A widow cries ; be liusband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
AVcar out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings 1 
Hear me, 0, hear me ! 

AusTiUA. Lady Constance, peace. 

Constance. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to 
me a war. 

SHAl 



MABTIAL ELEGY. 

How glorious full the valiant, sword in hand, 
In front of battle for their native land ! 
But 0, what ills await the wretch that yields, 
A recreant outcast from his country's fields ! 
The monarch whom he loves shall quit her home, 
An aged father at his side sh.ill roam ; 
His little ones .shall weeping with him go. 
And a young wife participate his woe ; 
While, scorned and scowled upon by every face. 
They pine for food, and beg from place to place. 

Stain of his breed ! dishonoring manhood's 
foim, 
All ills shall cleave to him : — Affliction's storm 
Shall blind him, wandering in the vale of years, 
Till, lost to all but ignominious fears, 
He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name. 
And children, like himself, inured to shame. 

But we will combat for our fathers' land. 
And we will drain the life-blood where we stand 
To save our children : — fight ye side by side, 
And serried close, ye men of youthful pride, 
Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost 
Of life itself in glorious battle lost. 

Leave not our sires to stem the uneiiual fight, 
AVhose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant 

might ; 
Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast 
Permit the man of age (a sight unblessed) 
To welter in the combat's foremost thrust, 
His hoary head disheveled in the dust, 
And venerable bosom bleeding bare. 

But youth's fair form, though fall'n, is ever 
fair, 
And beautiful in death the boy appears. 
The hero boy, that dies in blooming years : 
In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears ; 
More saered than in life, and lovelier far 
For having perished in the front of war. 

From the Greek of TVRT.4^US. 

by THOMAS CAMFBIILL. 



BATTLE OF THE ANGELS. 



Now went forth the morn. 
Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold 
Empyreal ; from before her vanished night. 
Shot through with orient beams ; when all the 

plain 
Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright. 
Chariots, and Haming arms, and fiery steeds, 
Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view. 

Clouds began 
To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll 
In dusky wreaths, reluctant flames, the sign 
Of wrath awaked ; nor with less dread the loud 
Ethereal trumpet from on high 'gan blow ; 
At which command the jiowers militant 
That stood for heaven, in mighty quadrate joined 
Of union irresistible, moved on 
In silence their bright legions, to the sound 
Of instrumental harmony, that breathed 
Heroic ardor to adventurous deeds 
Lender their godlike leaders, in the cause 
Of God and his Messiah. On they move 
Indissolubly firm ; nor obvious hill. 
Nor straitening vale, norwood, nor stream, divides 
Their perfect ranks ; for high above the ground 
Their march was, and the passive air upbore 
Their nimble tread. As when the total kind 
Of birds, in orderly array on wing. 
Came summoned over Eden to receive 
Their names of thee ; so over many a tract 
Of heaven they marched, and many a province 

wide. 
Tenfold the length of this terrene ; at last, 
Far in the horizon to the north appeared 
From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretched 
In battailous aspect, and nearer view 
Bristled with upright beams innumerable 
Of rigid spears, and helmets thronged, and shields 
Various, with boastful argument portrayed. 
The banded power's of Satan hasting on 
With furious expedition ; for they weened 
That selfsame day, by fight, or by surprise. 
To win the mount of God, and on his throne 
To set the envier of his state, the proud 
Aspirer ; but their thoughts proved fond and vain 
In the midway : though strange to us it seemed 
At first, that angel should with angel war. 
And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet 
So oft in festivals of joy and love 
Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire, 
Hymning the Eternal Father. But the shout 
Of battle now began, and rushing sound 
Of onset ended soon each milder thouglit. 
High in the midst, exalted as a god, 



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The apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat, 

Idol of majesty divine, inclosed 

With flaming cherubim, and golden shields ; 

Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now 

'Twixt host and host but narrow space was left, 

A dreadful interval, and front to front 

Presented stood in terrible array 

Of hideous length : before the cloudy van. 

On the rough edge of battle ere it joined, 

Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced, 

Came towering, anued in adamant and gold. 

THE CONFLICT. 

Michael bid sound 
The archangel trumj)i't ; through the vast of 

heaven 
It sounded, and the faithful armies rung 
Hosanna to the Highest : nor stood at gaze 
The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined 
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose. 
And clamor, such as heard in heaven till now 
Was never ; arms on armor clashing brayed 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
Of brazen chariots raged ; dii-e was the noise 
Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss 
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew. 
And flying vaulted either host with fire. 
So under fiery cope together rushed 
Both battles main, with ruinous assault 
And inextinguishable rage. All heaven 
Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth 

Had to her center shook 

.... Deeds of eternal fame 
Were done, but infinite : for wide was spread 
That war, and various : sometimes on firm ground 
A standing fight, then, soaring on main wing. 
Tormented all the air ; all air seemed then 
Conflicting fire 

Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power 

Which God hath in his mighty angels placed !) 

Their arms away they thi'ew, and to the hills 

(For earth hath this variety from heaven, 

Of pleasure situate in hill and dale). 

Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they 

flew. 
From their foundations loosening to and fro. 
They plucked the seated hills, with all their load. 
Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops 
Uplifting bore them in their hands ; auiaze. 
Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host, 
When coming towards them so dread they saw 
The bottom of the mountains upward turned, 
.... and on their heads 
Main promontories flung, which in the air 
Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions 

amied ; 



Their armor lieliicd their harm, crushed in and 

bruised 
Into their substance pent, which wrought them 

pain 
Implacable, and many a dolorous groan ; 
Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind 
Out of such prison, tliough spirits of purest light. 
Purest at fli'st, now gross by sinning grown. 
The rest, in imitation, to like arms 
Betook them, and the neighboring hills uptore : 
So hills amid the air encountered hills. 
Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire, 
That underground they fought in dismal shadS ; 
Infernal noise ! war seemed a civil game 
To this uproar ; honid confusion heaped 
Upon confusion rose. 

THE VICTOR 

So sp.ake the Son, and into terror changed 
His countenance too severe to be beheld. 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
At once the four spread out their starry wings 
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orlis 
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound 
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 
He on his impious foes right onward drove, 
Oloomy as night : under his burning wheels 
The steadfast empyrean shook throughout. 
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon 
Among them he arrived ; in his right hand 
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
Before him, such as in their souls infixed 
Plagues : they, astonished, all resistance lost. 
All courage ; down their idol weapons dropt ; 
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he 

rode 
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate. 
That wished the mountains now might be again 
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. 
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 
His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged four 
Distinct with eyes, and fi'om the living wheels 
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ; 
One spirit in them ruled ; and every eye 
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
Among the accursed, that withered all their 

strength. 
And of their wonted vigor left them drained. 
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen. 
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but 

checked 
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of he.xven : 
The overthrown he raised, and as a herd 
Of goats or timorous flock together thronged, 
Drove them before him thunderstrack, pursued 
With teiTors and with furies, to the bounds 



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POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



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And ci-ystnl wall of heaven ; which, opening wide, 
Rolled inward, and a spacious gap discloso<.i 
Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight 
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse 
Urged them behind : headlong themselves they 

threw 
Down IVom the verge of heaven ; eternal wratli 
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. 

Milton. 



THE BAXLAD OF AGINCOURT. 

Fair stood the wind lor Franco, 
When we our sails ailvance. 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer will tarry ; 
But putting to the main. 
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train, 

Lauded King Harry, 

And tjikiiig many a fort, 
Furnished in warlike sort, 
Marched towards Agiucourt 

In happy hour, — 
Skirmishing day by day 
Witli those that stopped his way, 
Where the French geneial lay 

With all his power. 

Which in his height of pride. 
King Henry to deride. 
His ransom to provide 

To the king sending ; 
Which he neglects the whUe, 
As from a nation vile. 
Yet, with an angry smile. 

Their fall portending. 

And turning to his men, 
Quoth our brave Henry then ; 
Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amnztd ; 
Yet have we well begun, 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 
I'y fame been raised. 

And for myself, quoth he, 
This my full rest shall be ; 
England ne'er mourn for mo, 

Nor more esteem mo, 
Victor I will remain, 
Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me. 



Poitiers and Cressy tell. 

When most their pride did swell, 

Under our swords they fell ; 

No less our skill is 
Than when our grandsire great, 
Claiming the regal seat. 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopped the French lilies. 

The Duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
With the main Henry sped. 

Amongst his henchmen, 
Excester had the rear, — 
A braver man not there ; 
Liu'd ! how hot they were 

On the false Frenchmen ! 

They now to fight are gono ; 

Armor on armor shone ; 

Drum now to drum did groan, — 

To hear was wonder ; 
That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shako ; 
Trumpet to trumpet spake. 

Thunder to thunder. 

Well it thine age became, 
O noble Erpingham ! 
AVliich did the signal aim 

To our hid forces ; 
When, from a meadow by, 
like a storm, suddenly. 
The English archery 

Struck the French horses 

With Spanish yew so strong. 
Arrows a cloth-yard long. 
That like to serpents stung, 

Piercing the weather ; 
Noiu' from his fellow starts. 
But playing manly parts. 
And, like true Engli.sh hearts, 

Stuck close together. 

When down their bows they threw. 
Anil forth their bilboes drew. 
And on the French they flow. 

Not one was tardy ; 
Arms were from shoulders sent ; 
Scalps to tho teeth were rent ; 
Down the French peasants went ; 

Our men were hardy. 

This while our noble king. 
His broadsword brandishing, 
Down the French host did ding. 
As to o'erwhelm it ; 



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l^rAli. 



457 



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And mmiy a deep wound lent, 
II in aniiN witli blood besiirent, 
Aiid iiiiiiiy a. cruel dent 
IJruised lii« helmet. 

Olo'stcr, that duke ho good, 
Next of the royul blood, 
l''ui- famous liiiglaiid »tood 

With bin bmve Ill-other, 
Clarence, in stcd so bright. 
Though but a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious light 

Scarce such another. 

Warwick in blood did wade ; 
Oxford the foe invade, 
And r.vu(:\ slaughtci' made. 

Still as they ran up. 
Sulfolk his a.\e did ply ; 
lieaumont and VVillongliby 
I5are tliem riglit douglitily, 

Ferrers and Fanliope. 

U|ion St. Crispin's day 
Fought was this noble fray, 
Which fame di<l not delay 

To Kngland to carry ; 
O, when shall Knglishnieu 
With such acts liU a pen, 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harry ? 



y- 



THE IIKART OF THK BRUCE. 

Il' was U]iiin all A|iril iiKini, 
While yi't the frost lay hoar. 

We heard Lord .laines's bugle-liorn 
Sound by the rocky shore. 

'J'liin (Idvvii we went, a hundn-d knights, 

Ail in our dark array, 
Ami Hung our armor in the ships 

That rode within the bay. 

We spoke not as the shore gi'ow less. 

Hut gazed in silence back, 
Wlicrc the long billows swept .aw.iy 

The foam behind our li-iek. 

And aye the purpli! hues decayed 

Upon the fading hill. 
And but one heart in all that ship 

Was tranipiil, cold, and still. 

Tli<^ good Lord Douglas jiaced the deck. 

And 0, his face was wan ! 
Unlike the (lush it used to wear 

When in the battle-van. — 



"Come hither, como hither, my trusty knight, 

Sir Simon of the Lee ; 
There is a freit lies near my soul 

1 fain would tell to thee. 

"Thou know'st the words King Uobert spoke 

Upon his dying day : 
Mow he bade take his noldc heart 

And carry it far away ; 

"Anil lay it in the holy soil 

Where once the Saviour trod, 
.Since he might not bear the blesstd Cross, 

,\ur striki; one blow for Ood. 

" L:inI iii;^lil as in my bed I lay, 

I diiiimcd a dreary dn-am : — 
Metliought I saw a rilgrim stand 

In the moonlight's ipiivering beam. 

" His robe was of the azure dye. 

Snow-white his scattered hairs, 
And even such a cross ho Ijore 

As good St. Andrew bears. 

" ' Why go yi! forth. Lord .lames,' he said, 

' With .sjiear and belted brand '( 
Why do you take its dearest pledge 

From this our Scottish land ? 

"'The sultry breeze of (lalilee 
Creeps through its gi'oves of palm. 

The olives on the Holy Mount 
Stanil glittering in the calm. 

" 'Hut 'tis not there that Scotland's heart 

Shall rest by God's decree. 
Till the great angel calls the dead 

To rise from earth and sea ! 

" ' Lord .lames of Dougla.s, mark my rede I 

That heart shall pass once more 
In fiery fight against the foe. 

As it was wont of yore. 

" 'And it sh.all pass beneath the Cross, 

And save King Kobeit's vow ; 
Hut other hands shall bear it back. 

Not, .lames of Douglas, thou ! ' 

"Now, by thy knightly faitli, I pray, 

Sir'.Simon of the Lee, — 
For truer friend had never man 

Than thou hast been to me, — 

" If ne'er upon the Holy Land 

'Tis mine in life to tread, 
Hear thou to Scotland's kindly earth 

The relics of her dead." 



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POKAia OK rJiACJi AND WAR. 



-^ 



TU* tvHU' \v«s tit Sir Sinum's <>)•« 
As l\o wi'vui); On' Wiinioi's hai\>l, - 

" l«>li>ll> HIO \\<>H1, iH'lilU' \>U' WlK', 

I 'II lioUl l>,v tltv ot>iiii\ii\ii>l. 

"Mm if ill WtW-flviil, l.iml .liumxs, 

"r is oui~s xiii'o luoiv l» I'iilo, 
Nov l'»i\o i>r mini, mil" oitirt of llviivl, 

Shiill ol«ivo ii\o ft\>iii lli,v sido I " 

Aiul «_>■<' wo siiilwl tiiul iiv<> wo siiiloii 

Aoi\ws tlvo \M>ai\v swv. 
I' mil Olio iiu>ni tlio oiwst »l'8|v»iii 

lia-io jsiiiiilx' oil »ui- loo, 

Aiivl US wo ivxiiuIihI Io tlio |h>i't, 

lloiioatli ttio wiili'h-towoi's w«ll, 
Wo liiii^l (l\o oliisli ol' Iho Htwlmls, 

And llio lnim|vt's wwvoviiijt Ottll, 

•■ Wliy sovmils \\>ii Kusloiii iiuisio lioiv 

So Wiiutoiilv imd l»uj<, 
Aiivl wliivso llio oiMWii i>t MiimVl iium 

'IMiul i\>uini yon stiiiuimil Umuij; 1 " 

"Tlio Moot's liiix-o vHiiiio IWiii AlVloft 

To siH>il iiiid w«sh> »i»l sIhj", 
Ami Kiivit Aloii«» of I'nstilo 

Mvist lijilil with thorn tx>-d«y." 

•• Nv>w slinmo il woix\" oiiml ji^hhI I.oi\1 .liimos, 

■"Sliiill uovov Ixi stiivl of mo 
Tliut I .in.i mino Imvo tliniod iisido 

V'i\«« tlio (.'i\v>s ill jooiviixlio ! 

•• lluvo >lowii, liiiw down, my nioriy mon idl, - 

ll:ivv down unio tlio uliiili ; 
Wo 'II lot tho Sooltisli li,>n looso 

Williiii tlio liolds of Siviin !" 

" Now wtdiHinio to mo. noMo loi\i. 

Thou mid thy sttilwiirt \H>wof ; 
IVsir is tho sishi of ti fhristimi knij^ht. 

Who ivmos ill siioh iin hour ! 

" Is it for Iwnd or fstitli y»« ^miio, 

tir y\>t for jjvddon fo«> ? 
Or hriiv)? yo Kmiioo's liliw lioiv, 

tir tho llowvr of Uui^uiidiv t " 

""l«id givot thoo woll, thon vnliiint kiiijt, 

TluH> mid thy Ivltovl (loors. 
Sir .Imiios of Uoujtiiis mii 1 oallod. 

And llu'sp mv Sonttish siwirs, 

" Wo do not lisht for Inind or |>li^ht. 

Nor yot for jjxdden fi>o ; 
Uiit for tho swko of our liUvsstVi Lord, 

Who di«l uiHin tho tix'o. 



■• Wo liriiijj our jjriiftt Ktiiji UoUortV hoiirl 

Aoiwss tho woltorinjt w«\-o, 
To liiy il ill tlio holy soil 

llm\l hy tho Siivioiir's jjiiiw. 

"Triio iiiljjriiiis wv, by Uiiid or «>«, 

Whoiv vlmij^'r luiw tho w«y ; 
And thoix'foixi mv wo hoiv, lioiil Kiiijj, 

To rido with thoo this divy ! " 

Tho Kiii^ hiis tviit his stiiloly head, 
■Xiid tho toll's wviv ill his oyiio, — 

"tJod's hlossinjj on tliw, nohlo knight. 
Kor this htiivo tlioii};ht of lliiiio ! 

" I know thy iiniiio l\ill woll, l.oixl .Imiios ; 

.\iid liouoiwl miiy 1 Ih>, 
That thiKso who foiij<lil Uisido tho Itriioo 

Should li^hl this day for mo I 

"Tako thou llio loading of tho van, 

.\lid oliai'jio tho Moors amain ; 
Thoii- is not siioli a laiu-o as thino 

In all tho host of S|wiiii ' " 

Tlio Houjslas turnod towai\U us thon, 

O, liiit his )jlaniH> was liijjli I — 
"Thoiv is not one of all my men 

Hut is as IhiM as 1. 

"Thoiv is not one of all my kiiij;hls 

Unt Iwn-s as tiiio a siK>ai, 
Then onwai\l, Soottisli gontlomon. 

And think Kiuj; Koln-rt 's lioiv ! " 

The trunnH'ts Wow, tlvo oi\>ss-Ih>1(s llow. 

The ari><ws Hashed like llamo. 
As simr in side, and siniir in rxvst, 

,\jpiiiist the foe wo oaino. 

And many a lwu\led Sjiraoou 

Wont down. Kith lioi-so and man ; 

Kor tliiMii^ish their ranks wo iMde like ooni. 
So l\iriously we ran ! 

Itnt ill Miind our (vitli they oloseil, 

Tli>ni,i?li fain to lot us tliiviij;h. 
For tlioy w\>ix< forty thousand men. 

And wx> weiv w\«idi\>ns few, 

AVo might not sve a lanoo's longlli. 

So dense was their aniiy. 
lint the loiij; tell swi-oji of the Soottish lilaiio 

Still held them hai\l at hiy 

" Make in ! make in !" l.oril Ponglas oried. — 

•" Make in, my hivthrvn dwir ! 
Sir William of St. t'lair is down ; 

Wo may not li>«\ii liim hero I " 



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a^- 



WAR. 



4rj() 



.-a 



^- 



Hill tliioki.T, t)iii,'k<;i' gifw tlie swunii, 

Ami hliai-jier »liol Ukj lain, 
Ami l)ii; liorsi^D riinrnd aiiilil tli<! preiis, 

liiit tlii.'y would not dimgi! aguiii. 

" Now Ji'Hii lit'lj) tliBi;," Willi Lord Junies, 
"Thou kind and liiii; Kt. Clair! 

All' il' 1 may not Ijiiii^ t)i«: off, 
I 'II di<! beside tln'O there ! " 

'I'hi^n in hiii stirriipH ii|i Ik' ntood. 

Ho lion-like and liold, 
Ami liidd the piei'ioiin heart aloft 

All ill itH cane of gold. 

He llnnf{ it from him, far ahead, 

And never ii|;ake he more, 
lint- "I'aBu Ihoii liint, tlioii dauntleBH heart. 

Ah thou wert wont of yore I " 

The roar of light ro»e liereer yet, 

And heavier Htill the Htoiir, 
Till the Bpeais of .Spain eame shivering in, 

And swejjt away the Moor. 

" Now praised be Ood, the ilay w won ! 

They lly o'er flood and fell, — 
Wiiy dost tliou draw the rein so hard, 

(Jood knight, that fought so well '(" 

" O, ride ye on, Lord King !" he said, 

"And |r;ave the deaii to me, 
l''or I mii^ keeji the diearie.tl wateli 

That ever I shall diee ! 

"Then- lies, above hi,') master's heart, 

The iJoiiglas, stalk and grim ; 
And woe is me I should be here, 

Not siile by side with him I 

"The world grows cold, my ann is old, 

Ale I thin my lyart hair, 
And all that 1 loved best on earth 

Is »tretelii:d before me there. 

"O Dothwell Ijaiiks, that bloom so bright 

IJeneath the sun of May I 
Tin; heaviest eloml lliat ever blew 

Is bound for you this ilay, 

"And Scotland ! thou inayst veil thy head 

In sorrow and in pain : 
The sorest stroke upon thy lirow 

Hath fallen this day in Kpain ! 

" We 'II bear them Irdek iint/i our shiji, 

We 'II bear them o'er the sea, 
And lay them in the hallowed earth 

Within our own eountrie. 



" And be thou strong of heart, bird King, 

Kor this I tell thee sure. 
The sod that drank the Uouglas' blood 

Khali never l».-ar the Moor ! " 

The King he lighted fioin his horw, 

lie Hung bis brand away. 
And took the Douglas by the liand, 

Ko stately as he lay. 

" (iod give thee rest, thou valiant sfiul I 

That fought so well for Kpain ; 
1 M latliiu- half my land were gone, 

Ko thou wert heie again I" 

We bore the good Lord .lames away, 
And the priceless heart wi; bore. 

And hiavily we st<;eieil our ship 
Towardw the Hcotliidi shore. 

No welitome greeted our return, 

Nor elang of martial tieiul, 
ISut all were dumb and hushed an diath 

IJidore tlie mighty dead. 

We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk, 

The heart in fair Melrose ; 
And woful men were We that day, — 

Ood grant their souls repose ! 

WILLIAM hhU'jUltatUUHIi AVTOUH. 



liKAI,' AN DrJUINE. 



Tiii'.KK i» no breeze iij)on the Tern, 

No ripple on the lake, 
(J[>on her eyrie nods the erne. 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud, 

The springing trout lies slill, 
.So darkly glooms yon thundereloud, 
'I'hat swathes, as with a (lurple shroud, 

lienledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 

That mutters deep and drea/l. 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warrior's nieasuriMl tre.id » 
Is it the lightning's (|uiveriiig glance 

That on the tliieket streams, 
Or do they flash on B|iear and laiicc 

The sun's retiring beams ? 
I s<;c the ihigger ircst of .Mar, 

1 see the Moray's silver star 
Wave o'er the cloud of .Saxon war. 

That up tlu! lake comes winding far I 
To hero bonne for battle strife. 

Or bird uf murtiMl lay, 



^ 



a-: 



460 



POEMS OF PEACE AM) JI'Alt. 



--a 



'T were worth ten years of pi'iieelnl life, 
One glance at theii' array ! 

Their light-amied archers far and near 

Surveyed the tangled ground. 
Their center ranks, witli pike and spear, 

A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barbed horsemen, in the roar. 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armor's clung. 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 

Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake. 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vawrd scouts no tidings bring, 

('an rouse no lurking foe, 
Nor spy a trace of living thing, 

Save when they stirred the roe ; 
The host moves like a deep sea wave, 
Where rise no rocks its jiride to brave, 

Higli swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain, 
liel'oro tlie TrosacOi's rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse and speannen pause, 
While, to e.xplore the dangerous glen, 
Dive through the pass, the archer men. 

.\t once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
.\s all the fiends, from heaven that fell. 
Had pealed the banner cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pa.ss in tumult dri^■cn, 
Like chair before the w^ind of heaven, 

The archery ajipear : 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broadswords flashing to the sky. 

Are maddening in tlie rear. 
Cuward they drive, in dreadful race, 

I'ursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase. 
How shall it keep its rooted place. 

The spearmen's twilight wood ' 

— "Down, down, "cried Mar, "yourlancesdown ! 
Bear back both friend and foe!" 

Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay leveled low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side. 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 

— " We '11 quell the savage mountaineer, 
As their Tinchel * cows the game ; 



tl- 



They eonic as fleet as forest deer. 
We "11 drive them back as tame." 

Bearing before them, in their course, 
Tlie relics of the archer force. 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
Above the tide, each broadsword bright 
Was brandishing like beam of light, 

F.ach targe was dark below ; 
And with the ocean's mighty swing. 
When heaving to the tempest's wing, 

They hui'led them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash. 
As when the whirlwind rends tlie ash ; 
1 hearil the broadsword's deadly clang, 
As if a hundred anvils rang ! 
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan-Aljiine's Hank — 

"My iMunerman, advance ! 
I .see," he cried, "their columns shake. 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 

Upon them with the lance ! " 
The horsemen dashed among the rout. 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out. 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Roderick then ? 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men ! 
And refluent through the j)ass of fear 

The battle's tide was jioured ; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear. 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep. 

Receives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass ; 
None linger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 

Sir wai.if.r Scott. 



WATERLOO. 

FROM ■•ClIILDE UAKOLU •" 

TnEliF. was a sound of revelry by night. 
And Belgium's cajiital had gatlu'icd then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a li- 
siug knell 1 



^^ 



a- 



rVAR. 



4G1 



r^ 



u 



Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 't was but tlie wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
Ou witli the dance ! let joy be unconlincd ! 
No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure 

meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet, — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once 

more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's o]iening 

roar ! 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 
That sound the lirst amidst the festival. 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretched hia father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could 

quell : 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, 

fell. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. 
And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And thi-re were sudden partings, such as pn-ss 
Thelife from out younghearts, and choking sighs 
Whichne'ermightbe repeated : whowouldguess 
If evermore sliould meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could 
rise ! 

And there wasmounting in hot haste : the steed, 
The mustering scjuadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring fbrward with impetuous sjieed, ', 
And swiftly foi-ming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat i.l the iifnniing drum 
Housed up tlie soM ill 111' llir iimnung star ; 
While thronged tin- riti/ms with terror dumb, 
Or whispering with white lips, — "The foe ! they 
come ! they come ! " 

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" j 

rose. 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, — and heard, too, have her Saxon 

foes: 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which 

fills 
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instills 



The stirring memory of a thousand years. 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each elans- 
man's ears ! 

And Ardennes waves above them her green 

leaves. 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturniug brave, — alas I 
Ere evening to be tiodden like the grass 
Which now beneath thcni, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this lieiy mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shall moliler cold 
and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
Themidnight brought the signal sound of strife, 
The morn the marshaling in arms, — the ilay 
Battle's magnificently stern array I 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when 

rent 
The earth is covered thick with other day. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and 

pent. 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, in one red 

burial blent ! 

Their praise is hymned by loftier har])s than 

mine ; 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng. 
Partly because they blend me with his line. 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong. 
And partly that bright names will hallow song ! 
And his was of the bravest, and when showered 
The death-bolts deadliest the thinned tiles 

along. 
Even where the thickest of war's tempest 

lowered, 
They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, 

gallant Howard ! 

There have been tears and breaking liearts for 

thee. 
And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; 
But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree. 
Which living waves where thou didst ceiuse to 

live, 
And saw around me the wide field revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive. 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
1 turned from all she brought to those she coidd 

not bring. 



I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
And one as all a ghastly gap did make 



-.-ff 



[fi- 



46l> 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-a 



In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach 
Forgetfulness were mercy for tlieir sake ; 
Tlie Aroliangel's trump, notglory's, must awake 
Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound 

of Fame 
May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake 
The fever of vain longing, and the name 
So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. 

They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smil- 
ing, mourn : 

The tree will wither long before it fall ; 

The hull drives on, though mast and sail he torn ; 

The roof-tree sinks, but molders on the hall 

In massy hoariness; the ruined wall 

Stands when its wind-worn battlements are 
gone; 

The bars survive the captive they inthrall ; 

The day drags through though storms keep 
out the sun ; 
And thus theheart will break, yet brokenly live on ; 

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
In every fragment multiplies, and makes 
A thousand images of one that was 
Thesame, and still the more, theraore it breaks ; 
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, 
Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold, 
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches. 
Yet withers on till all without is old, 
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. 



THE CHARGE AT WATERLOO. 

On came the whiidwind, — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast ; 
On came the whirlwind, — steel-gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 

The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud. 
And from their throats, with flash and cloud, 

Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in full career, 
Unshed on the ponderous cuirassier. 
The lancer couched his ruthless spear. 
And, hurrying as to havoc near. 

The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong. 
The advancing onset rolled along. 
Forth harhingeved by fierce acclaim. 
That, from the shroud of smoke and flame. 
Pealed wildly the imperial name. 
But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host ; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude. 



Nor was one forward footstep stayed, 

As dropped the dying and the dead. 

Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, 

Fast they renewed each serried square ; 

And on the wounded and the slain 

Closed their diminished files again, 

Till from their lines scarce speare' lengths three. 

Emerging from the smoke they see 

Helmet and plume and panoply. 

Then waked their fire at once ! 
Each musketeer's revolving knell 
As fast, as regularly fell. 
As when they practice to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle-banners sent, 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 
Corselets were pierced and pennons rent ; 

And, to augment the fray. 
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds ; 
As plies tlic smith his clanging trade. 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ; 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way, 
And while anud their scattered band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Kecoiled in common rout and fear 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier. 
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host, — 
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. 

SIR Walter Scott. 



MONTEREY. 

We were not many, — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on, still on our column kept, 

Tlirough walls of flame, its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stept. 
Still charging on the guns which swept 

The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay. 



-^ 



f 



WAR. 



-^ 



We swooped liis flanking batteries past, 
And, braving fnll their murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many, — we who pressed 
Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He 'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

Charles fenno Hoffman. 



u 



BALAKLAVA. 

THE charge at Balaklava ! 

O that rash and fatal charge ! 

Never was a fiercer, braver. 

Than tliat charge at Balaklava, 
On the battle's bloody marge ! 

All the day the Russian columns. 

Fortress huge, and blazing hanks. 

Poured their dread destructive volumes 
On the French and English ranks, — 
On the gallant allied ranks ! 

Earth and sky seemed rent asunder 

By the loud incessant thunder ! 

When a strange but stern command — 

Keedless, heedless, rash command — 

Came to Lucan's little band, — 

Scarce six hundred men and horses 

Of those vast contending forces : — 

" England 's lost unless you save her ! 

Charge the pass at Balaklava ! " 

that rash and fatal charge. 
On the battle's bloody marge ! 

Far away the Russian Eagles 

Soar o'er smoking hill and dell, 

And their hordes, like howling beagles, 

Dense and countless, round them yell ! 

Thundering cannon, deadly mortar. 

Sweep the field in every quarter ! 

Never, since the days of Jesus, 

Trembled so the Chersonesus ! 

Here behold the Gallic Lilies — 
Stout St. Louis' golden Lilies — 
Float as erst at old Ramillies ! 
And beside them, lo ! the Lion ! 
With her trophied Cross, is flying ! 

Glorious standards ! — shall they waver 

On the field of Balakl.iva ? 



No, by Heavens ! at that command — 
Sudden, rash, but stem command — 
Charges Lucan's little band ! 

Brave Six Hundred ! lo ! they charge, 
On the battle's bloody marge ! 

Down you deep and skirted valley, 

Where the crowded cannon play, — 
Where the Czar's fierce cohorts rally, 
Cossack, Calmuck, sav.age Kalli, — 

Down that gorge they swept away ! 
Down th.at new Thermopyhe, 
Flashing swords and helmets see ! 
Underneath the iron shower, 

To the brazen cannon's jaws. 
Heedless of their deadly power, 

Press they without fear or pause, — 

To the very cahnon's jaws ! 
Gallant Nolan, brave as Roland 

At the field of Roncesvalles, 

Dashes down the fatal valley. 
Dashes on the bolt of death, 
Shouting with his latest breath, 
"Charge, then, gallants ! do not w-aver. 
Charge the pass at Balaklava ! " 

that rash and fatal charge. 
On the battle's bloody marge ! 

Now the bolts of volleyed thunder 
Rend that little band asunder. 
Steed and rider wildly screaming. 

Screaming wildly, sink away ; 
Late so proudly, proudly gleaming, 

Now but lifeless clods of clay, — 

Now but bleeding clods of clay ! 
Never, since the days of Jesus, 
Saw such sight the Chersonesus ! 
Yet your remnant, brave .Si.x Hundred, 
Presses onward, onward, onward, 

Till they storm the bloody pass, — 

Till, like brave Leonidas, 

They storm the deadly pass, 
Sabering Coss.ack, Calmuck, Kalli, 
In that wild shot-rended valley, — 
Drenched with fire and blood, like lava. 
Awful pass at Balaklava ! 

that I'ash and fatal charge, 
Ou the battle's bloody marge ! 

For now Russia's rallied forces, 
Swarming hordes of Cossack horses. 
Trampling o'er the reeking corses. 

Drive the thinned assailants back. 

Drive the feeble remnant back. 

O'er their late heroic track ! 
Vain, alas ! now rent and sundered. 
Vain your struggles, brave Two Hundred ! 



^ 



& 



464 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-a 



Thrice your number lie asleep, 
In that valley dark and deep. 
Weak and wounded you retire 
From that hurricane of fire, — 
That tempestuous storm of fire, — 
But no soldiers, firmer, braver, 

Ever trod the field of fame, 
Than the Knights of Balaklava, ^ 

Honor to each hero's name ! 
Yet their country long shall moum 
For her rank so rashly shorn, — 
So gallantly, but madly shorn 

In that fierce and fatal cliarge. 
On the battle's bloody marge. 

. B. MEEK. 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward. 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the .sLx hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade ! 
Charge for the guns ! " he said ; 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the si.v hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die : 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell, 

Rode the si.^ hundred. 

Flashed all their sabers bare. 
Flashed as they turned in air. 
Sabering the gunners there. 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke, 
Right through the line they broke : 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the saber-stroke, 

Shattered and sundered. 



fr- 



Then they rode back, but not — 
Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them, 
Caimon behind them 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell. 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death 
Back from the mouth of Hell, — 
All that was left of them. 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
O the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hunilred ! 



THE BLACK REGIMENT. 

[May 27. 1863) 

Dark as the clouds of even. 
Ranked in the western heaven. 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dead mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land, — 
So still and orderly, 
Ann to arm, knee to knee, 
Waiting the great event. 
Stands the black regiment. 

Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ; 
And the bright bayonet. 
Bristling and firmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand. 
Long ere the sharp conmiand 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told them what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
"Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, - 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our cold chains again ! " 
0, what a shout there went 
From the black regiment ! 



--& 



p 



WAN. 



40.: 



-a 



" Cluirge ! " Tiuiup aiul Jiuiii awoke ; 
OuwarJ the bondnieu broke ; 
Bayonet aud saber-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 
With but one tliought atlusli, 
Driving their lords like chatf, 
In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel, — 
All their eyes forward bent. 
Rushed the black regiment. 

" Freedom ! " their battle-cry, — 
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word. 
Not as with us 't is heard, 
Not a mere party shout ; 
They gave their spirits out. 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow. 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, ' 
Though on the lips of death ; 
Praying, — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again, 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty ! 
This was what "freedom" lent 
To the black regiment. 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
0, to the living few, 
.Soldiers, be just and true ! 
Hail them as conn'ades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in field or tent, 
Scorn the black regiment ! 

George Henrv Boker. 



OF THE WARRES IN IRELAND. 



f& 



I PRAISED the speech, but cannot now abide it, 
That warre is sweet to those that have not try'd it ; 
For I have proved it now and plainly see 't. 
It is so sweet, it maketh all things sweet. 
At home Canaric wines and Greek grow lothsome ; 
Here milk is Nectar, water tasteth toothsome. 



I There without baked, rost, boyl'd, it is no cheere, 
Bisket we like, aud Bonny Clabo here. 
There we complaine of one wan rosted chick ; 
Here meat worse cookt ne're makes us sick. 
At home in silken span'ers, beds of Down, 
We scant can rest, but still tosse up and down ; 
Here we can sleep, a saddle to our pillow, 
A hedge the Curiaine, Canopy a Willow. 
There if a child but cry, wliat a spite ! 
Here we can brook three larums in one night. 
There homely rooms must be perfumed with Koses : 
Here match and powder nere ollend our noses. 
There from a storm of rain we run like I'uUets ; 
Here we stand fast against a showre of bullets. 
Lo, then how greatly their opinions erre, 
That think there is no gi'eat delight in warre ; 
But yet for this, sweet warre. He be thy debtor, 
1 shall forever love my home the better. 

SlK jon.N hakki.mgto.v. 



O, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING! 

0, THE sight entrancing, 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er tiles arrayeil 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes in the gay wind dancing, 
Wlien hearts are all high lieating, 
And the trumpet's voire repeating 

That song whose breath 

May lead to death. 
But never to retreating. 
Then, if a cloud comes over 
The brow of sire or lover. 

Think 'tis the .shade 

By vict'ry made, 
WTiose wings right o'er us hover. 
0, the sight entrancing, 
When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files arrayed 

With helm and blade. 
And plumes in the gay wind dancing. 

Yet 't is not helm or feather, — 

For ask yon despot whether 
His plumed bands 
Could bring such hands 

And hearts as ours together. 

Leave pomps to those who need 'em, — 

Adorn but man with freedom. 
And proud he braves 
The gaudiest slaves 

That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. 

The sword may pierce the beaver. 

Stone walls in time may sever, 
'T is mind alone, 
Worth steel and stone, 



-3 



a--: 



466 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-a 



t 



That keeps men free forever ! 

0, the sight entrancing, 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er tiles arrayed 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes in the gay wind dancing. 

THOMAS Moore. 



WAR'S LOUD ALARMS. 

Wak's loud alarms 

Call me to arms ; 

Honor bids me quit thy charms ; 

To battle I must go. 
Entreat me then no more to stay, 
No longer can 1 brook delay, 
My soul is eager for the fray, 

And burns to meet the foe. 
Ne'er shall it be said 
A Briton bold from danger fled. 
Or sought to hide his craven head 

Within a lady's bower ! 
The power of Cupid I defy, 
When Cambria's banner waves on high. 
When hurtles through the darkened sky 

The arrow's deadly shower. 

Far o'er the plain, 
Loudly again, 
Sounds the trumpet's .\'arlike strain, 

A signal to depart. 
Yet, dearest, when I 'm far from thee. 
In death, defeat, or victory. 
Thy form alone shall ever be 

Still nearest to my heart ! 
In the battle-field. 
With spear to spear, and shield to shield. 
When we have made the Saxon yield, 

And bend his haughty knee. 
Then will my true and faitliful heart 
At glory's call now doomed to part. 
Forsaking spear and shield and dart. 

Come fondly hack to thee ! 

From the Welsh of TALHAIARN, 

by THOMAS OLIPHANT. 



CAVALRY SONG. 

Oi'R bugles sound gayly. To horse and away ! 
And over the mountains breaks the day : 
Then ho ! brothers, ho ! for the ride or the fight. 
There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to- 
night ! 

And whether we fight or whether we fall 

By saber-stroke or rifle-ball, 

The hearts of the free will remember us yet. 

And our country, our country will never 
forget ! 



Then mount and away ! let the coward delight 

To be lazy all day and safe all night ; 
Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam, 
And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home : 
And whether we fight, etc. 

See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe, 
And bright in the sunshine bayonets glow ! 
Breathe a prayer, but no sigh ; think for what 

you would fight ; 
Then charge ! with a will, boys, and God for the 

right ! 
And whether we fight, etc. 

We have gathered again the red laurels of war ; 
We have followed the traitors fast and far ; 
But some who rose gayly this morn with the sun 
Lie bleeding and pale on the field they have won ! 
But whether we fight, etc. 

RossiTER w. Raymond. 



SONG OF THE CAVALRY. 

FROM "ALICE OF MONMOUTH." 

Our good steeds snuff the evening air, 

Our pulses with their purpose tingle ; 
The foeman's fires are twinkling there ; 
He leaps to hear our sabers jingle ! 

Halt ! 
Each carbine send its whizzing ball : 
Now, cling ! clang ! forward all. 
Into the fight ! 

Dash on beneath the smoking dome ; 

Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! 
One look to Heaven ! No thoughts of home : 
The guidons that we bear are dearer. 

Charge ! 
Cling ! clang ! forward all I 
Heaven helji those whose herses fall : 
Cut left and right ! 

They flee before our fierce attack ! 

They fall ! they spread in broken surges. 
Now, comrades, bear our wounded back. 
And leave the foeman to his dirges. 

Wheel! 
The bugles sound the swift recall : 
Cling ! clang ! backward all ! 
Home, and good night ! 

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 



GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 
Summon Clan Conuil. 



4 




Come away, come away, 
Hark to the summons ! 

Come ill your war anay, 
Geutles and coiunions. 

Come from deep gleii, and 

From mountains so rocky ; 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlocliy. 
Come every hill-phiid, and 

Tine )ieart that wears one. 
Come every steel bhide, and 

Strong hand tliat bears one. 

Leave untended the herd, 

The (lock witliout shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterred. 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Bioadswords and targes. 

Come as tlie winds come when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come when 

Navies are straiuled ; 
Faster come, fjister come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom. 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhn, 

Knell for the onset ! ' 

Sm Walter Scott. 

THE TROOPER'S DEATH. 

The weary night is o'er at last ! 
We ride so still, we ride so fast ! 
We ride where Death is lyin'^. 
The morning wind doth coldly pass 
Landlord ! we '11 take another glass. 
Ere dying. 

Thou, springing grass, that art so green 
■Shalt soon be rosy red, I ween. 
My blood the hue supplying ! ' 
I drink the first glass, sword in hand 
To him who for the Fatherland 
Lies dying ! 



Chai-c 



Now ipiickly comes the .second dranc'ht 
Ami that shall be to freedom quaffed 
While freedom's foes are flyino- 1 
The lest, land ! our hope and faitli ' 
n e d drink to thee with latest breath, 
Though dying ! 

My darling ! _ ah, the glass is out ! 
Tlie bullets ring, the riders shout — 
No time for wine or sighin^ ! 
There ! bring my love 'the "battered gl.ass- 
e ! on the foe ! no joys surpass 
Such dying ! 

rroin 11,0 (;(rnii.in 

l>y K. IV. Ravmo.v'i 



SONG OF CLAN-ALPINE. 

Hail to the cliief who in triumph advances ' 

Honored and blessed be the evergreen I'ine ■ 

Long may the tree, in his banner that -dances 

Flourish, tlie shelter and grace of ou? line '. ' 

Heaven send it hajipy dew, 

Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 

While every highland glen 

Sends our shout back again 
"Koderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ioroe !" 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ■ 
When the whirlwind hius stripj.ed every leaf on 
the mountain. 
The more .shall Clan-Alpine exult in hershade 
, .Moored in the rifted rock, 

I Proof to the teni])est's shock. 

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow • 
Menteith and lireadalbane, then, ' 
I r.cho his jiraise again, 

I " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 

j Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Frnin 
[ And Bannachar's groans to our slogan replicl'- 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are sn«jking in' 
' ruin. 

And the best of Locli-Lomond lie dead on her 
side. 
Widow and Sa.xon maid 
Long shall lament our raid, 
Think ol Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe • 
Lenno.'c and Leven-glen ' 

■Shake when they hear again, 
"Koderigh Vicli Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 

I Row, vas^sals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 

Stretch to your oars for the evergreen Pine ' 
U that the rosebud that graces yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland around him to 
twine ! 



^ 



l^. 



4GS 



POEMS OF PEACE AND n'AR. 



■a 



( > tliiit somo sewIUng j;toin, 

\Voi'tliy suuli uoblo sti'iii, 
Hiinorwl iiiul blossixl in tlu'ii' sluuUnv might 
grow ! 

l,oiut shoulil Clmi-Aliiini' tlifu 

Hiiig fniiii lior ilccpmost gk'ii, 
" Iv'oiUiigli Vii'li Alpino illiu, lio ! ioiw!" 



I'UK BATTLE-SONG OF OltSTAVUS ADOLPHUS. 

KiAU not, (> littl.' tliH'k ! tlio I'o.' 
W'lm iii;uUy so^'Us yoni' ovovtlirow, 

I>H':h1 not his viigi.' ami powoi' ; 
AVlint tliongh Ymir fourago sonictiniea taints ? 
11 is seoniing triumph o'or God's saints 

Lusts but n littlo hour. 

Ho of gooil ohoor : your causo boKuigs 
To him wlio can avongo your wrongs, 

I.cavo it to him, our Lord. 
Though hidden now I'rom all our eyes, 
llo sees the Gideon who shall vise 

To save us, and his word. 

As true as God's own word is true. 
Not earth or hell with all their crew 

Agsiinst >is shall prevail. 
A .jest and by-woi\l are thoy grown ; 
God is with us, we are his own. 
Our victory eaiiuot fail. 

Auu'u, Lord Josus ; grant oiu' |irayer ! 
Great Captain, now thiiu' arm make hare ; 

Fight for us oneo again ! 
So shall the saints and nuirtyrs raiso 
A mighty chorus to thy praise. 

World without eiul ! Anu'n. 

I-r»iii Ihc Gcniuu of MICIIAHI. M.TrNlH'RO, 



KORNKR'S SWORD SONO. 

[Ch.\rlcs Tlio.ulor,- K^UUcr ^v;»s a yniinR CcniKm M>Klicr. scholar. 
I'lt.-t. n\u\ i'.ilri.it lie WHS Unix at ilresdcn in the nuluiim of 1791, 
.in.lfVll ill ImoKI'.t his.oiintiy.it the cariy aire of twenty-two. The 
■• Sw.ii.l S.'ni;." M« i.rtlleil. w.is written in his pocket-book only two 
liotirs before he fell, dininv: a halt in n wootl previons to the cntptj^re- 
mcnt. nud w-as re.id by him to a comrade jnst as the sitinsi was 
Ijivcn for Iwttlc- This bold sonn represents the soldier chidtni; his 
sword, which, nildcr the IniaRC of his iron bride, is impatient to 
come forth from her chamber, the scabbard, and be wedded to him 
on the field of bjdtte. where each soldier shall press the bhadc to his 
lips. 

Kt^rncr fell In an cniraijement with superior numbers near a thicket 
In the nelRhborhoo<l of Kosenbnrv- lie had advaltccd in pursuit 
of the (lyins foe too far beyond his comrades. They buried him 
under an old onk on the site of the battle, nnil carved his name on 
Ihe trunk.) 



.Swouii, 01 
What uiea 



u 



ly left side gleaming, 
thy bright eye's hoiviniiig I 



It makes my spirit ilanoe 
To see thv t'riemllv glnuco. 
Hurrah!' 

" .-V valiant rider liears me ; 
A rrce-liorn (ienuau wears mo : 
That makes my eye so bright ; 
That is the sword's delight." 
Hurrah ! 

Yes, good .swortl, 1 (i»i fret), 
Ami love thee heartily, 
And clasp thee to my side, 
K'en as a pliglilcd briile. 
llurrali ! 

"And 1 to thee, by lleavou, 
Jlv light steel life have given ; 
When shall llic knot be'tietl ( 
Wliiii will lluni take iliy bride J" 
lluirah: 



lUg 



The tnimpot's soleimi w 
Shall hail tho bridal imuiiiiig. 
When eanuon-thuiulers wake 
Then my true-love 1 take. 
Hurrah ! 

"0 blessM, blessed meeting! 
My heart is wildly beating : 
Come, britlegrooni, tonic lor me ; 
lly garland waiteth llico." 
lluira!i! 

Why in tlio siahbiinl itittle, 
So Willi, so liercc for battle? 
What means this restless glow? 
Mv sword, whv clatter so ! 
lluirah! 

•• W.'ll may thy prisoner rattU ; 
My spirit yearns for battle. 
Hitler, 't is war's wild glow 
That makes me tremble so." 
Hurrah! 

Stay in thy clianiber near. 
My love ; what wilt tlutii here! 
Still ill thy eliamber bitle : 
Soon, soon 1 lake my bride. 
Hnrialil 

" Let me not longer wait : 
Love's garden blooms in stats. 
With rosi's bl,>o,lv-red. 
And maiiv it briglu tlcath-bed." 
Hurrah! 

Now, then, come forth, my britlo! 
t'oine forth, thou riiler's pride! 



i 



[fi- 



PVAR. 



4f39 



■a 



f.'orni: out, my gooil sword, comol 
Forth to tliy fiitlicr'« home ! 
Iliirnih! 

"O, ill till! lii'M to praiMT: 
'J'lic j^lorious wwUliiig iliiiico! 
Ildw, in tho hud'h hriglit heiiinfl, 
l!ri.|<'-liki: tlin i-loar stool gleums!" 
Iliirnih! 

'i'lioii I'orwaril, valiant fighters I 
Ami I'orwaril, Oornian riilors! 
And whim tho lioart grows cold, 
I>ot oaoh his lovo inloM. 
llunuh! 

Onoc on the left it hung, 
And stolen glanees (lung; 
Now clearly on your right 
Doth God each fond bride [ilight. 
Hurrah! 

Tlii-n lol. your hot lips feel 
'J'hal viigin oheok of steel ; 
One kiss, — and woe betide 
Him who forsakes tlio bride. 
Hurrah ! 

Now lot llie lovoil one sing ; 
Now let the clear blade ring, 
Till the bright sparks shall lly. 
Heralds of victory ! 
Hurrah! 

For, hark ! tho trumpet's warning 
Proclaims the marriage morning; 
It dawns in festal jirido ; 
1 1 on ah, thi.u Iron lirido ! 
Hurrah! 

r^rom the Ocr 
l)y ClIARLRS T, I 



y- 



HOHKNLINDEN. 

On Ijinilcn, when tlie sun was low. 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Isor, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight 
When tho drum boat, at dead of night, 
Comrnanding liros of death to light 
The darkn(^ss of her scenery. 

Hy torch and trunipct fast arrayed, 
Kach hor.senian drew his battle-blade. 
And furious every oliargcr neighed. 
To join tho dreadlul revelry. 



Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
'i'hen iTislied the steeds to Ixittle driven. 
And louder than the bolt« of heaven 
Far flashed tho red artillery. 

i'lit redder yet that light shall glow 
(Jn Linden's hills of stainiid snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Isor, rolling rapidly. 

'Tis mom, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
Whore furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous c.inopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave. 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave. 
And charge with all thy eliivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many inoi-t ! 
The snow shall bo their winding-sheet. 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchci-. 

THOMAS CAWI'DfiLI 



THE MARKET WIFE'.S SONG. 

TiiK butter an' the cheese wccl stowit they lie, 
I sit on tho hen-coop, the eggs on my knee. 
The lang kail jigs as we jog owre the rigs. 
The gray mare's tail it wags wi' the kail. 
The warm simmer sky is blue alxion a'. 
An' whiddio, whuddie, wli.iddio, gang the anld 
wheels twa. 

I sit on the coop, I look straight before, 
But my lu^art it is awa' tlie braid ocean owre, 
I see the bluidy fiel' whore my ain bonny chiel, 
My weo bairn o' a', gacd to fight or to fa', 
An' whiddio, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

I .see the gran' toun o' the big fon-in' loun, 
I hear the cannon soun', I see the reek aboon ; 
It may be lang .John lottin' a(f his gun. 
It may be tho mist — your mither di.sna wist — 
It may be tho kirk, it may be the ha'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wbools twa. 

An' I ken the lilack Sea, ayont tho rock o' dool. 
Like a muckle blot o' ink in a bulk fra' tho schulc, 
An' .lock ! itg.arsmemin'o'yourbuikicslangsync. 
An' mindin' o' it a' tho tears begin to fa', 
An' wliiildio, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 



-ff 



f 



470 



POEMS OF PEACE AND jrAli. 



■-Qi 



Then a bull roars fra' the sonur, ilka rock' s a 

bull agon, 
An' I hear tlio trump o' war, an' the oai-se is fu' 

o' men. 
Up an' iloun the morn 1 ken tlie bugle-horn, 
llku birdie sma' is a lleein' cannon ba', 
An' whidilie, wliuddio, whaddie, gang tlie aulil 

wlieels twa. 

Guid Heavens! tbo Unssian host! Wo maun 

o'en gie up for lost ! 
Gin ye gain the battle hae ye oountit a' the cost? 
Ye may win a gran' name, but wad woe Jack 

come hamo > 
Dinna tVcht, diuna fecht ! there 's room lor us a' ! 
An' whiddie, wluiddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

In vain, in vain, in vain ! They are marching 

near and far ! 
Wi' swordsan' wi' slingsan' wi' instrumentso' war ! 
0, day sae dark an' sair ! ilka man seven foet an' 

mair ! 
I bow my head an' say, "Gin the Lord wad smite 

them a' ! " 
An' whiddio, whuddie, whaddie, gang the aulil 

wheels twa. 

Then forth fra' theirban' theresteps an armed man. 
His tairgo at hisbreastan' hisclaymore in his han', 
His gowd pow glitters Rne an' his shadow fa's 

behin', 
1 think o' great Goliath as he stan's before them a'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

To meet the Philistine leaps a laddie fra' our line, 
0, my heart ! O, my heart ! 't is that wee lad o' 

mine I 
I start to my legs — an' donn fa' the eggs — 
The cocks an' hens a' they cackle an' they ea', 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

Jock, my Hielan' lad — Jock, my Hielan' lad, 
Never till I saw thee that moment was 1 glad ! 
Aye sooner sud thou deo before thy mother's eo' 
Tium a man o' the clan sud hae stept out but thee ! 
An' sae 1 cry to God — while the hens cackle a'. 
An' whiddio, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

SlDNliV DOBBLU 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

Yiiu know we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day ; 



L 



With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow. 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yoniler wall, " — 
Out 'twi.xt the battery-smokes there Hew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then iilV there lluug in .smiling joy. 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's nnme, a boy : 

Yon hardly could suspect 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through). 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 

We 've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal 's in the market-place. 

And you 'U be there anon 
To si'c your llag-ljird flap his vans 

Where 1, to heart's desire, 
Perched liim ! " Tlie chiefs eye flashed ; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chiefs eye flashed ; but presently 
Softened itself, as sheathes 

A film the motlier-eagle's eye 

Wlien her bruised eaglet breathes: 

You're wounded!" "Nay,"his soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he saiil : 

I 'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside. 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 



HOW T}IEY BROUOHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM 
GHENT TO AIX. 

I SPRANG to the stirmp, and Joris and he ; 
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 
"Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate- 
bolts undrew, 
" Speed ! " echoed the wall to usgalloping through. 
Behind shut the po.stern, the lights sank to rest. 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other ; wo kept the great pace, — 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing 

our place ; 
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
Then shortened each stirrup and set the 



s gn-ths tight, 1 
hepiquerigl.t, I 



fl- 



IV A R. 



i^r5i 



Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker tin; bit. 
Nor galloi)e<l less steadily Itoland a wliit. 

'T was a inoonset at starting ; but while wc drew 

iiojir 
liOkcren, thecockscrewandtwilightdawneii clear ; 
At Hooin a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At Dlid'eld 't was morning as jilain as could be ; 
And IVom Mecheln church-steeple we heard the 

half-chime, — 
So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " 

At Aorschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
And against him the cattle stood lilack every one. 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
And I saw my stout galloper l{oland at last. 
With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some blulf river headland its spray ; 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear 

bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his 

track ; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 

glance 
O'critswhite edge at me, his own master, askance ; 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye 

and anon 
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 
"Stay spur ! 

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ; 

We'll remember at Aix," — for one heard the 
quick wheeze 

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, anil stag- 
gering knees. 

And sunk tail, and honible heave of the flank, 

Asdown on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
Past IjOoz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
The liroad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 
'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble 

like chaff ; 
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 
And "Gallop," gasped Joils, "for Aix is in 

sight ! " 

" H(W they'll greet us!" — and all in a njo- 

ment his roan 
Kolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole 

weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from 

her fate. 
With hisnostrils like pits full of blood to the brim. 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 



Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall. 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 
.Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. 
Called my Roland his pet name, my horse with- 
out peer, — 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any' noise, 

bad or good. 
Til! at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 

And all I remember is, friends flocking round. 
As 1 sate with his head 'tNvixt my knees on tho 

ground ; 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. 
As I jioured down his throat our last measure of 

wine. 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
Was no more than his due who brought good 

news from Ghent. 

ROBERT BROW.NING, 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 

0, THAT last day in Lucknow fort I 

We knew that it was the last ; 
That the enemy's lines crept surely on, 

And the end was coming fast. 

To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; 

And the men and we all worked on ; 
It was one day more of smoke and roar. 

And then it would all be done. 

There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 

A fair, young, gentle thing. 
Wasted with fever in the siege, 

And her mind was wandering. 

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid. 
And 1 took her head on my knee ; 

"When my father comes liame frac the pleugh, 
she said, 
"Oh ! then please wauken me." 

She slept like a child on her father's floor. 
In the flecking of woodbine-shade. 

When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, 
An<l the mother's wheel is stayed. 

It was smoke and roar and ]»owder-st<?nch, 

And hopeless waiting for death ; 
And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, 

Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 

I sank to sleep ; and I had my dream 

Of an English village-lane, 
And wall and garden ; — but one wild scream 

IJrought me back to the roar again. 



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472 



POEMS OF PEACE AND JFAR. 



-a 



Tliere Jessie Brown stood listening 

Till a sudden gliidness broke 
All over her face ; and she caught my hand 

And drew ine near as she sjwke : — 

"The Hielandere ! 0, dinna ye hear 

The slogan far awa ? 
The McGregor's, — 0, I ken it weil ; 

It 's the gi'andest o' them a' ! 

"God Mess the bonny Hielanders ! 

We 'i-e saved ! we 're saved '. " she cried ; 
And fell on her knees ; and thanks to God 

Flowed forth like a full tlood-tide. 

Along the battery -line her cry 

Had fallen among the men, 
And they started back ; — they were there to die 

But was life so near them, then ! 

They listened for life ; the rattling fire 

Far off, and the far-olf roar. 
Were all ; and the colonel shook his head. 

And they turned to their guns ouco more. 

But Jessie said, ' ' The slogan 's done ; 

But winna ye liear it noo. 
The Campbells arc comin' ? It 's no a dream ; 

Our succoi-s hae broken through ! " 

Wo heard the roar and the rattle afar. 

But the pipes we could not hear ; 
So the men plied their w ork of hopeless war. 

And knew that the end was near. 

It was not long ere it made its way, — 

A thrilling, ceaseless sound : 
It was no noise from the strife afar. 

Or the sappers under ground. 

It was the pipes of the Highlandei-s ! 

And now they played Auld Lang Simet 
It came to our men like the voice of God, 

And they shouted along the line 

And they wept, and shook one another's hands. 
And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 

And every one knelt down where he stood, 
And we all thanked God aloud. 

Tliat happy time, when we welcomed them, 

Our men jiut Jessie first ; 
And the general gave her his hand, and cheere 

Like a storm from the soldiers burst. 

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed. 
Marching round and round our line ; 

And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, 
As the pipes played Auld Lang Syne. 

KOBEKT LOWELL. 



HUDIBRAS' SWORD AND DAGGER. 

His puissant swonl unto his side 
Neai' liis undaunted heart was tied. 
With luskct hilt that would hold broth. 
And serve for fight and dinner both. 
In it lie melted lead for bullets 
To shoot at foes, and souietiiiies pullets. 
To whom he bore so fell a grutch 
He ne'er gave ipiarter to any sucli. 
The ti-eiichaiit blade, Toledo trusty. 
For want of fighting was grown rusty, 
And ate into itself, for lack 
Of somebody to hew and hack. 
The peaceful scabbaixi, where it ilwelt. 
The iiincor of its edge had felt ; 
For of the lower end two handful 
It had devoured, it was so manful ; 
And so inucli scorned to lurk in case. 
As if it durst not show its face. 

This swoixl a dagger had, his page, 

That was but little for his age. 

And therefore waited on him so 

As dwarfs unto kiiight-emmts do. 

It was a serviceable dudgeon. 

Either for fighting or for drndging. 

When it had stabbed or broke a head. 

It would scrape treiuhers or chip bread, 

Toast cheese or liacon, though it were 

To bait a mouse-trap 't would not care ; 

'T would make clean shoes, and in the earth 

Set leeks and onions, and so foilh : 

It had been 'prentice to a brewer, 

Where this and more it did endure ; 

But left the trade, iis many more 

Have lately done on the same score. 

SAMUtL DUTLER. 



y-- 



HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. 

FROM "KING HENRV IV.." I'AKT I, 

WvT 1 ii'inember, when the fight was done, 
Wlii'ii 1 was dry with rage and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning ii]Hin my sword. 
Came there a cert^iin lord, neat, trimly dressed, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped. 
Showed like a stnbble-land at harvest-home ; 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box which ever and anon 
He gave liis nose, and took 't away again : — 
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
Tookit insnuff t^and still he smiled and talked ; 
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
To bring a .slovenly unhandsome corse 
Betwi.xt the wind and his nobility. 



4 



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fVAB. 



473 



With many holiday and lady terms 

He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded 

My j>ri.soners in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smajting, with my wounds being cold, 

To lie so [jcstered with a popinjay. 

Out of my grief and my impatienee. 

Answered negleetingly, 1 know not what, — 

He should, or heshould not ; for he madenie mad 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

Aiul talk so like a waiting gentlewoman. 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, ^ God save 

the mark ! — 
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was paiinaeeti for an inward hruLse; 
Ami that it was great pity, so it was. 
That villanous saltpeter should be digged 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Whieli many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
So cowardly, and, but for these vile guns, 
Ho would himself have been a soldier. 

SlIAKBSf'EARE. 



"Castile's proud dames shall never point tho 

finger of disdain, 
And say there's one that ran away when our 

good lordii were slain ! 
I leave Diego in your care, — you'll fill Ids 

father's place ; 
Strike, strike the spur, and never spare, — God's 

blessing on your Grace ! " 

So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord was 

he; 
And turned him to the coming host in steailfast- 

ness and glee ; 
He flung himself among them, as they came 

down the hill, — 
He died, God wot ! but not before his sword liad 

drunk its fill. 

JOHN GlttsON LOCKHART. 



y-- 



THE LORD OF BUTRAOO. 

" YofK horse is faint, my King, my lord ! your 

gallant horse is sick, — 
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his 

eye the film is thick ; 
Miiunt, mount on mine, 0, mount apace, I pray 

thee, mount and fly ! 
Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace, — their 

tramiiling hoofs are nigh ! 

"My King, my king ! you 're wounded sore, — 

the blood runs from your feet ; 
I'ut only lay a hand before, and I '11 lift you to 

your seat ; 
Mount, .Juan, for they gather fast ! — I hear 

their coming cry, — 
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy, — I '11 

save you though I die ! 

"Stand, noble steed! this hour of need, — be 

gentle as a lamb ; 
I '11 kiss the foam from off thy mouth, — thy 

master deal I am, — 
Mount, Juan, mount ; whate'er betide, away the 

bridle fling, 
And plunge the rowels in his side. — My horse 

shall save my King ! 

"Nay, never speak ; my sires. Lord King, re- 
ceived their land from yours, 

And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it 
thine secures ; 

If I should fly, aiul thou, my King, be found 
among the dead. 

How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn 
on my gray head ? 



THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS ; • OR, THE 
BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA. 

I 1" Some Seiks, and a private of the Buffs, having rcmflincd betiind 
' with llie iiTO^-ans. fell into tile lianrls of the Cliinc&e. On tlie 
(lay they were broujjlit before the autiiorities anri ordered to 
form Xotou. The Seilts obeyed, but Moysc, the EnKlii^li sol 
declared he would not prostrate hitnself before any Chinaman a 
and was immediately knocked upon the head, and his ljo<iy thrown 
upon a dunghill." —C/tnia Correipondetll of tht " London Timti 

Last night, among his fellow roughs, 

He jested, ijuaffed, and swore ; 
A drunken private of the Buffs, 

Who never looked before. 
To-day, beneath the foeman's frown. 

He stands in Elgin's place. 
Ambassador from Britain's crown, 

And tyjie of all her race. 

Poor, reckless, rude, low-bom, untaught. 

Bewildered, and alone, 
A heart, with English instinct fraught, 

He yet can call his own. 
Ay, tear his body limb from limb. 

Bring cord or ax or flame. 
He finly knows that not through him 

Shall England come to shame. 

Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed. 

Like dreams, to come and go ; 
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed. 

One sheet of living snow ; 
The smoke above hi.s father's door 

In gray soft eddyings hung ; 
Must he then watch it rise no more. 

Doomed by himself so young ? 

Yes, honor calls ! — with .strength like steel 
He ]iut the vision by; 

• ■■ The Buffs" are the Eait Kent retfimcnt. 



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p 



474 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-a 



Let dusky Indians whine anil kneel, 

An English lad must die. 
And thus, with eyes that would not shrink. 

With knee to man unbent, 
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, 

To his red grave he wont. 

Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed. 

Vain those all-shattering guns, 
Unless proud England keep untamed 

The strong heart of her sons ; 
So let his name through Europe ring, — 

A man of mean estate, 
Who died, as firm as Sparta's king. 

Because his soul was great. 

SIR Francis Hastings Doyle. 



t 



THE PICKET-GUARD. 

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say, 

" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro. 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
'T is nothing : a private or two, now and then. 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost, — only one of the men. 

Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle." 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; 
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 

Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. 
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind 

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; 
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 

Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. 

There 's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread 

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, 
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, 

Far away in the cot on the mountain. 
His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim. 

Grows gentle with memories tender, 
As he muttei-s a prayer for the children asleep. 

For their mother, — may Heaven defend her ! 

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then. 

That night when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his lips, — when low, murmured 
vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes off tears that are welling. 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place, 

As if to keep down the heart-swelling. 



He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — 

The footstep is lagging and weary ; 
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of 
light. 

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. 
Hark I was it the night-wind that rustled the 
leaves ? 

Was it moonlight so woudrously Hashing ? 
It looked like a rifle : "Ha ! Mary, good by ! " 

And the lil'e-blood is ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, — 

No sound save the rush of the river ; 
While soft falls the dew on the face of the 
dead, — 
The picket 's olf duty forever. 

Ethel Lvn.n beers. 



CIVIL WAR. 

"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot 

Straight at the heart of yon prowling viilette ; 
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot 

That shines on his breast like an amulet ! " 

"Ah, captain ! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, 
Thei'e 's music around when my barrel 's in 
tune ! " 

Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped. 
And dead fromhis horse fell the ringing dragoon. 

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and 
snatch 
From your victim some trinket to handsel first 
blood ; 
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch 

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud !" 

"O captain ! I staggered, and sunk on my track. 
When 1 gazed on the face of that fallen vidette. 

For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, 
That my heart rose upon me, and masters nie 
yet. 

"But I snatched off the trinket, — this lo.k.t 
of gold ; 

An inch from the centre my lead broke its way. 
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, 

Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." 

"Ha I riHeman, fling me the locket ! — 'tis .she. 
My brother's young bride, and the fallen 
dragoon 
Was her husband — Hush! soldier, 't was Heav- 
en's decree. 
We must bury him there, by the light of the 
moon ! 



^ 



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zrQi 



475 



" But, haik ! the far buglss their warnings unite; 

War is a virtue, — weakness a sin ; 
There 's a lurking and loping around us to-night ; 

Load again, ritlemau, keep your hand in ! " 
CHARLES Dawson Shanly. 



THE BRIER-WOOD PIPE. 

Ha ! bully for me again, when my turn for 

picket is over. 
And now for a smoke as I lie, with the moonlight, 

out in the clover. 

Jly pipe, it 's only a knot from the root of a brier- 
wood tree. 

But it turns my heart to the Northward — Harry 
gave it to me. 

And I 'ni but a rough at best, bred up to the 

row and the riot ; 
But a softness comes over my heart, when all are 

asleep and quiet. 

For, many a time, in the night, strange things 

appear to my eye. 
As the breath from my brier-wood pipe curls up 

between me and the sky. 

Last night a beautiful spirit arose with the wisp- 

ing smoke ; 
O, I shook, but my heart felt good, as it spread 

out its hands and spoke ; 

.Saying, " I am the soul of the brier ; we grew 

at the root of a tree 
Where lovers would come in the twilight, two 

ever, for company. 

"Where lovers would come in the morning — 

ever but two, togetlier ; 
When the flowers were full in >their blow ; the 

birds, in their song and feather. 

"Where lovers would come in the noon-tide, 

loitering — never but two. 
Looking in each other's eyes, like pigeons that 

kiss and coo. 

"And 0, the honeyed words that came when 

the lips were parted, 
And the passion that glowed in the eyes, and the 

lightning looks that darted ! 

' ' Enough : Love dwells in the pipe — so ever it 

glows with fire ! 
1 am the soul of the bush, and the spirits call 

me Sweet Brier." 



[&-- 



That 's what the brier-wood said, as nigh as my 

tongue can tell. 
And the words went straight to my lie.irt, like 

the stroke of the tire-bell. 

To-night 1 lie in the clover, watching the blos- 

somy smoke ; 
1 'm glad the boys are asleep, for I ain't in the 

humor to joke. 

I lie in the hefty clover : up between me and 

the moon 
The smoke from my pipe arises : my heart will 
be quiet, soon. 

My thoughts are back in the city, I 'm every- 
thing 1 've been ; 

1 hear the bell from the tower, 1 run with the 
swift machine, 

I see the red shirts crowding around the engine- 
house door. 

The foreman's hail through the trumpet comes 
with a hollow roar. 

The reel in the Bowery dance-house, the row in 
the beer-saloon, 

Where I put in my licks at Big Paul, come be- 
tween me and the moon. 

I hear the drum and the bugle, the tramp of the 

cow-skin boots, 
We are marching on our muscle, the Fire-Zouave 

recruits ! 

White handkerchiefs wave before me — 0, but 

the sight is pretty 
On the wliite marble stejis, as we march through 

the heart of the city. 

Bright eyes and clasping arms, ami lips that 

bade us good hap ; 
And the splendid lady who gave nic the havclock 

for my cap. 

0, up from my pipe-cloud rises, there between 

me and the moon, 
A beautiful white-robed lady ; my heart will be 

quiet, soon. 

Tile lovely golden-haired lady ever in drearns I 

see. 
Who gave me the snow-white havelock — but 

what does she care for me 1 

Look at my grimy features ; mountains between 

us stand : 
I with my sledge-hammer knuckles, she with her 

jeweled hand ! 



3 



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476 



POEMS OF PEACE AND JFAK. 



■a 



43-- 



Wliiit ciuv 1 '-' tlui day tlmt's iliiwniiig may soo 

UK', wlit'ii all is ovei', 
Willi the red stmiui of my lilV-MiHul staining tlm 

111,' lul'ly ckiviT. 

llarU ! tlio rri'ii/!,- somuliri!; out on tlio niornini; 
air ; 

I'l'vils are wc lor the battle— Will there be an- 
gels thoro ? 

Kiss me agivin, Sweet Hrier, the toueh of your 

lip to mine 
Brings back the white-robeii lady with hair like 

the goldou wine ! 

CHAKLBS Dawson shanly. 



THE NOBLEMAN AND THE PENSIONER. 

" Oi.u man, God bless you ! does your pipe taste 
sweetly '! 

A beauty, by my soul ! 
A red clay tlower-pot, rimmed Nvith goU so neatly ! 

What ask you for the bowl ? " 

"0 sir, that bowl torworlds 1 would not part with ; 

A bravo man gave it me. 
Who won it — now what think you ! — of a bashaw 

At Belgrade's victory. 

"There, sir, ah! there was booty worth the 
showing, — 

Long life to Priuee Eugene ! 
Like after-grass you might have seen us mowing 

The Turkish ranks down clean." 

" .\nother time 1 '11 hear your story ; — 

(,'omc, olil man, be no fool ; 
Take these two ducats, — gold for glory, — 

And let me have the bowl ! " 

" 1 'm a poor churl, as you may »ay, sir ; 

M y pension 's all 1 'm worth : 
Yet I 'd not give that bowl away, sir, 

Kor iUl the gold on earth. 

" Just hear now I (_>nce, as wc hus-sai-s, all merry. 

Hard on the foe's rear pressed, 
A blundering rascal of a janiziu'y 

Shot through our captain's breast. 

"At once across my horse 1 hove him, — 
The same would he have done, — 

And fixmi the smoke and tunuilt drove him 
Safe to a nobleman. 



" I nureed him, and, before his end, beciucathing 

His money anil this bow 1 
To me, he pressed my luuid, just ceased his 
breathing. 

And so he died, brave soul ! 

"The money thou must give nunc host, — so 
thought 1, — 

Three plunderings snlfcred he : 
And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought 1 

The pipe away with me. 

" Henceforth in all campaigns with nie 1 bore it, 

In (light or in pursuit ; 
It was a holy thing, sir, and I wore it 

Safe-sheltered in my boot. 

"This very limb, 1 lost it by a shot, sir. 

Under the walls of rrague : 
First at my precious pipe, be sure, 1 caught, sir, 

Ami then picked up my leg." 

" You move me even to tears, old sire . 

What was the bnive man's name ? 
Tell me, that I, too, may admire, 

And venerate his fame." 

"They called him only the brave Walter ; 

His farm lay near the Klune." — 
" God bless your old eyes ! 't was my fatlier, 

.\nd that same farm is mine. 

"(\mie, friend, you've scon some stormy weather. 

With me is now your bed ; 
We '11 drink of Walter's grapes together, 

And eat of Walter's bread." 

" Now, — done ! I march in, then, to-morrow ; 

Yon 'i-e his true heir, I see ; 
And when 1 die, yonr thanks, kind master, 

The Turkish pipe shall be. " 

rrom till- Llcnnaii of PFUl-FEL. 

by CHARLES T. UROOKS, 



BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiera, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was 
dearth of wonnxn's teai-s ; 

But a comrade stood beside him, while his life- 
blood ebbed away. 

And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he 
might say. 

The dying soldier faltered, and he took that com- 
rade's hand. 

And he said, "1 nevermore shall see my own. 
my native land ; 

^ ff 



a-- 



WAR. 



477 



n 



B-^- 



Take a message, and a token, to some distant 

friends of mine, 
For I was bom at Bingen, — at Bingen on the 

Rhine. 

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they 

meet and crowd around, 
To hear my mournful story, in the ideasant vine- 
yard ground. 
That we fought the battle liravely, and when the 

day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly fiale beneath the 

setting sun ; 
And, mid the dead and dying, were some gi'own 

old in wars, — 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the 

last of many scars ; 
And some were young, and suddenly beheld lil'e's 

morn decline, — 
And one had come fiom Bingen, — fair Bingen 

on the Rhine. 

"Tell my mother that her other son shall com- 
fort her old age ; 

For I was still a truant bird, tliat thought his 
home a cage. 

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 

My heart leaped forth to hear hira tell of strug- 
gles fierce and wild ; 

And when he died, and left us to divide his 
scanty hoard, 

I let them take whate'er they would, — but kept 
my father's sword ; 

And with boyish love 1 hung it where the bright 
light used to shine, 

On the cottage wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen 
on the Rhine. 

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with 

drooping head. 
When the ti'oops come marching home again with 

glad and gallant tread. 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and 

steadfast eye, 
For her brother was a soldier too, and not afrai<l 

to die ; 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my 

name 
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame. 
And to hang the old sword in its place (my fa- 
ther's sword and mine) 
For the honor of old Bingen, — dear Bingen on 

the Rhine. 

" There 's another, — not a sister ; in the happy 

days gone by 
You 'd have known her by the merriment that 

sparkled in her eye ; 



Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle 
scorning, — 

friend ! 1 fear the lightest heart makes .some- 

times heaviest mourning ! 
Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the 

moon be risen. 
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of 

prison), — 

1 dreamed 1 stood with licr, and saw the yellow 

sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, — fair Bingen 
on the Rhine. 

" I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — 1 heard, 
or seemed to hear, 

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus 
sweet and clear; 

.•\nd down the plea.sant river, and up the slant- 
ing hill. 

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening 
calm and still ; 

And her glad blue eyes were on nie, as we pa.s.sed, 
with friendly talk, 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well- 
remembered walk ! 

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in 
mine, — 

But we '11 meet no more at Bingen, — loved 
Bingen on the Rhine." 

His trembling voii.-e grew faint and hoai'se, — his 

gra.sp was childish weak, — 
His eyes put on a dying look , — he sighed and 

ceased to speak ; 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of 

life had fled, — 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is de.nd ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly 

she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody 

corses strewn ; 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful .scene her pale light 

seemed to shine. 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on 

the Rhine. 

Caroline E. .Norton. 



WOUNDED TO DEATH. 

Steady, boys, steady! 

Keep your arms ready, 
God only knows whom we may meet here. 

Don't let me be taken ; 

I 'd rather awaken. 
To-morrow, in — no matter where. 
Than lie in that foul prison-hole — over there. 



-S 



a-- 



478 



POKMH ()*" PKAGS AND U'AIi, 



-a 



Sli'|i slowl.v ! 

Spoiik lowly I 

Tluvie iMi'ks lurt.v liiivo lil'o, 

l,ny iin' down in this luiUow : 
\Vo «iv out of tho sti'il'o, 
\\y lustvpiis I I ho I'lH'iwi'ii m«v U-.iok mo in WoikI, 
I'or Ihia liolo ii« my lifuusl is ovilliouritij; tt tlooii. 
No : mi sm'm'ou lov mo ; ho onu jjivo mo no iiiil ; 
Tlio smgv'ou 1 wiml is piokax luui siwilo. 
W'liuU Moi'iii". a toav » W'lvy. shamo on yo, mini ! 
1 thought you a l\oixi ; l>ut siui'o you liogiiu 
W' whimpor ami oiy liko a jji'l iu hoc twiis, 
Hytiooi'j^x" I I don't know what tho ilovil il nu-ans! 

WoU ! woU ! l.imivujjh; 't isavoiyiwijfhsohool, 
'I'his lil'o of a tivopor, - hul jvt 1 "m no fool ! 
1 know a hnivo man. and a hiond fi'oni a loo : 
And, IwYs, thai you low n\o I ooitainly know ; 

liut was n't it jfi'and 
Whon thoy oamo down tho hill ovor sloiijihing 

and sand ! 
Ihil wo stood did wo not!- liUo iinniovahlo 

IVl'k, 

I'nhoodiujj Ihoii- Kills and ivjudlinj; Ihoii' shook. 
Old yon mind tho lond oiy 
Whon. as tuininj; to lly, 

tMu inon spiui\j{ upon thom, dotonuinod to dio ? 
0, was n't it grand I 

l!od holp tho i>oor wii'tohos that foil in that tight ; 
No tinio was llion' givou for pmyov or for lli^«lit ; 
Thoy loll hy tho sooiv. in tho oi-ash. liami tohaiul. 
.Villi Ihov minglod thoir blood with tho sloughing 
' ami sand. 

lln.-?a ! 
Civat Uoavons ! tliis Imllot-holo giijH-s liko a 

giv'^i! ; 
.\ ourso on tlu< aim of tho traitoivus knavo ! 
Is tlioiv novor a ono of yo knows how to pray, 
Or siH'ak for a man as his lifo ohlis away • 
I'rav ! 

Pray '. 

1 'ill Kathov ! our Kathor ! . . . why don't yo 

pnioood ? 
Can'l yon .«v 1 am dying > t>ivat t5od. how 1 

hlortl I 
Khliing away ! 

Kldiing «»^ly 1 

Tlio light of tho day 
Is turning to sniv. 

Ti-av! 

Tray 1 
l>iir Kalhor in lloavoii. Kns. toll mo tho ivst, 
Whilo 1 staiioh tho hot Mood fliun this holo in 

my hix'ast, 
Thoiv 's somolhiug about tho foiyiwiuiss of sin 



Tut that iu ! pul lluil in ! mid lliou 
I '11 follow your words aiul say iiii anion, 

lloiv, Morri.s, old follow, gi'l lioKI ol my hand ; 
And, Wilson, my oomrado O. hmmi l il grand 
Whon thoy oaino down tho hill liko a llinndoi-- 

ohargod oloiul I 
WhoRi's Wihson. my oomrado ( — Hon', stoop 

down your lioad ; 
Oiui't !A'" sjiv a short pravor for tho dying and 

doad ' 

•■(.'hrisl liod. who diod for .simiors all. 

llwir thou tJiis suppliant wandoivr'u cry : 
Lot not o'ou this poor sikiiimw fall 

I'nhoodod hy thy graoions oyn. 

■'Thivw wido thy giitiw to lot liiui in, 
And tako him. ploadiiig, tothiimanns; 

Forgivo, t> 1,01x1 I his lifodong sin, 
.■\iid ipiiol all his lioivo alarms." 

tJod I'loss you, my ooinrailo, t'or saying that, 

hyiiiii ; 
It is light to my path whon my oyo has gMWu 

dim. 
1 am dying bond down till 1 louoli y.ni ouoo 

moix- - 
Ooii't foi>5<>t mo, old follow. (iod pi-ospor lliis 

war ! 
Oonfusion to traitors' Uoop hold of my hand - 
.\nd Ibwt tho oi.o i.|,.V(i o'ov a prospoiviis land ! 



l.KKr ON TtlK tlA'lTl.K-FlKl.U. 

Wn.\'r, WIS it a diisvin f am 1 all aloiio 
In tho dixivry night »nd tho dricfling rain t 

Mist ! — ah, it was only tho livor's imwn ; 
Thov havo loft mo Indiind with tho manglod 
'slain. 

Yos, now 1 ix'momlH'r it all tvio woU ! 

Wo mot, fivm tho Kittling ranks ajvirt ; 
Togx'tlior onr woapous lla-shod and foil, 

.\nd niino was slioathod in his nuiwring hoart- 

lu tho oypivsg gloom, whoiv tho doi>d was douo. 

It wa.s all too dark to .soo his faoo ; 
Uut 1 hoai\l his doalh-gixMins, ono by ono, 
j And ho holds mo sliU iu a oold oinbraoo. 

llo spoko but ouoo. and I could not hoar 
Tho woixls ho saiil, iVn- tho oannon's iwir ; 

Uut iny lu\ivt givw oold with a dwidly foar, — 
(.1 tJod ! 1 had li«ii\i that voico bufoiv I 



-^ 



47!> 



•rti 



Ilfwl licnril it l«;f'oi(! lit our iiiotlicr'x kii'!», 

Wli/;ii w<!li»|)';<l ttuswordMof om«virfili);<|iray<!r I 

My )iriitli>'i' I w'liiM I )in/l liuul lor tli<»>, 

'I'IiIh tiiinlcii is i/ioiu lliuii my wiiil imu in-nr '■ 

I |iri:iin<:'l my II|>h t" fiin il»(ttli-'»j|i| i:Ui:i;\i, 
Ami \«:ity,i-A liim to nlrow m«, liy wonl or «i((f(, 

Tliiil III! I<iii-,wiiiiil I'Drifnvit me ; licmiilil iiol ii|ntii)<, 
i'lll liv iii:litli:(l liift (Kior '»>|i| {iu:i: to miiH;. 

'I'lii! Iiloiiil llowwl fimt from my woiinilwl ni'lu, 
Ami tlii:ii for It whiln I for({ot my (miii, 

Am) ovi^r tin; Idltclut wij u-.i'wA to ;<li<|.: 
Id our littlo Idjat, two Ijoyn iifpiiii. 

Aii'l tlii^n, in my ilrimm, wi: utoml alom: 
Oil II foriial (lalli wIictb tin: iiliii/low» l<:ll ; 

Ami I li'runl ii){uiii tin; trcmiiloiiii t/mi;, 
AimI tin; t<;ii<lur wonU of liix liutt fiir»w<;II. 

lint Hint [Kirtiii^ wim ywirn, lori({ yiwrn ii«o, 
Hi: w«mli!ii!'l iiwiiy to ii fori;i(i;ii liiml ; 

Ami our ilimr olil motlii;r will iii;vi;r know 
'I'liiit 111; rliwl t^i-nixlit liy liix l.roUnrr'it Imml. 

'J'Ik; Koliliurn wlio liiiriwi tin; ilifwl iiwiiy 

|Ji«tlirlK«l not till; i;iiuiji of tliiit limt i!mlir!u;«, 

Jiill laiil llii;m to nlw;li till thii ,iiiil«riii;nt-il(iy, 
HtBrt fo|i|i«l to licitrl, nnil )«/;'! ty> liiij;. 

BAKAii I lyii.iim. 



e^ 



■11(1-; ijhi;mmki!^I!OV'h hijimai,, 

Al,i, ilay loii« tin; Htomi of Ixitlle UinmnU tin; 

Ktiirtlwl vnlli'y Kwnpt ; 
All nijj;lit lon(( tin; xtiirii in lii:!ivi;n o'er tin: uliiin 

wi/l vij;ilii kept. 

<), tin- «lifi«tly iiiitiiini:(l faeen glefiminjj wliil.<:ly 

tlii'oiij^li tin: ni;{lit 1 
0, till: lii;ii(« of maii^^lwl ':</rw;n in tliat ilim Ki-piil- 

eliriil li«lil I 

One liy one tlie jmle ntura finled, ami at leiigtii 

tin; morning droke ; 
IJiit not one of all tlie H\iii;\f:n on that (ieM of 

licutli awoki;. 

Hlowly )iaf<i»;<l tlie iijMiji tioiir« of tlial lon« 

l;rij{lit summer <lay, 
Anil iijion lliat Held of cania((i; Btill tin; dea/l 

unljiiriwl lay, 

Iviy there utark and W;ld, hut plea/linj/ v/ith a 

iliiinli, iine«iiiin(^ [/rayer, 
For a little diiKt to hide them from the KlAriri« 

nun and air. 



Hill thn foCTiian held (cidW-iMiioii of thai, Inud won 

hattle |ilaiii, 
ill unholy wrath denying i;ven hiirini l/> our olain. 

Ome ai/aiii the ni«lit dropiKyl roiiml them, 

ni|j;ht no holy ami iu< >alm 
That tin: moonlKiuiw hueliwl the niiiril., like the 

aoiind of prayer »r (midrn. 

On a eotieh of trampled ^rraisw:!!, Just a|>arl. from 
I all the rent, 

l,ay a fiiir yoiiiij/ Imy, with aniall hamlc. meekly 
folil<»l on hia hruut. 

((eatli ha/I l-oin:h</l him very (/ently, and he lay 

m if In xleep ; 
Kveii Ilia mother R/iar'-e had nhiiddend at that 

«lumU;r imUii and d<;';p. 

Kor a umile of wondroiia »ww,-l,neii« lent a riulian'M 

\A, the UuM, 
And the hand of cunning wiulpU/r eoiild have 

lulded naught of grin:') 

To the marhle limlm lei [lerleet in their lUWRioii- 

leiw rejifiw:, 
lt</hl«,d of all Bave mat/ihleKD purity liy hard, 

unpilying foes. 

And the hroken drum l.<;Kide him all hid life'n 

iihort atory told : 
Mow he did lii« duty hr.ively till the deathtirle 

o'er him rolle/l. 

Midnight eame wil.h elion garmentfi and a diadem 

of aUra, 
While right upward in the zenith hung the fiery 

planid Mara, 

Mark ! a wiund of at^adtliy UxA'iU^\n and of voiwn 

whi»ix;ring low, 
Wan it nothing hut the young haven, or the 

l/riKiklet'it murmuring (low) 

'.'llnging eloi«:ly U) ea/;h other, atriving never \/i 

liKik round 
A« they jiaaw:'! with nilent ahiidder the )«le 

corw^ on the ground, 

','ame two little maidi^na, ~»\f.\A:n, with a light 

and hiwly trijail, 
And a look u(K/n their ('/«««, half of Mirr'iW, half 

of drea/l. 

And they did not. fMiw. nor f/ilter till, with 

throhhing Ji««»rt», they «t/>od 
Where the driiinmCT-fioy waa lying In thai imr- 

tial ifilitiide. 



A 



a-* 



480 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-^ 



Tlu'V luul brought some siniplo giiniu'nts from 

llicii- Hurilrolw's scanty storo, 
And two luMivy iron shovola in tlit'ir slcmloi- 

tiamls tliey I'Oi'o. 

Tlion tlii'.y (Hiickly knelt besido him, oiiisliin^ 

back tho jiitying tciu's, 
Kor lUcy liail no tinn' I'oi- Wfcjiing, nor I'oi- any 

girlish fi'ais. 

Ami they I'obwl tho icy body, wliili' no glow ot 

middi'ii shnmo 
Changml tlif pallor ot' thoir foivhoads to a llnsh 

oIlaniK'ul llanio. 

For thoir saintly hearts yearned o'er it in that 

hour of sorest need. 
Anil lliey felt that Death was holy, and it saiie- 

tiliod the deed. 

But they smiled and kissed eiieh other when 
their new slningo task was o'er. 

And the form that lay before them its unwonjod 
garments woiv. 

Then with slow and weary labor ii small grave 

they hollowed out. 
And they lined it with the withered gmss and 

loaves that lay about. 

But tho day was slowly breaking ert> their holy 

work was done. 
And in orimsou poni|i the morning heralded 

again the sun. 

Gently then those little mai.iens — they were 
ehildivn of our foes- 

l.aid the body of our drnnuner-boy to undis- 
turbed repose. 



BEFORE SEDAN. 

" The ilc«tt hftiiil claspeil a \cuer" — S/m\ti Currrs/i'ngffHiTi 

Hkkk in this leafy place, 

Quiet he lies, 
Cold, with his sightless faee 

Turned to the skies ; 
"Tis but another dead; — 
All you can say is said. 



Carry his body henee, — 
Kings must have .slaves ; 

Kings oliinb to oniiuenco 
Over men's gnivos. 

So this man's eyes are dim ; 

Throw the eaitli over him. 



^ 



What was the white yon touched. 

There at his side I 
Taper his hand had clutched 

Tight ere he died ; 
Message or w isli, nniy bo : — 
Smoutlien it out luui see. 

Ilanlly the worst of us 

Here could have smiled ! — 
Only the tremulous 

Words of a child : — 
Prattle, that had for stops 
Just a few ruddy dixips. 

Look ; she " is sad to miss, 

Morning aiul night, 
His " — her dead father's — " kiss, — 

Tries to bo bright, 
Oooil to mamma, mid sweot," — 
That is all. " Marguerile." 

All, if beside tho dead 

.SUimbered the pain ! 
Ah, if the hearts that bled 

Slept with the slain ! 
1 f t he grief died ! — but no ; — 
Death will not have it so. 

ANONYMOUS 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Oni bugles sang truee, — for the night-cloud had 

lowered, 

Ami thesentinel starssel theirwntch in thesky ; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground omm- 

powered. 

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to ilie. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-searing fagot that guarded the slain ; 

.•\t the dead of the night a sweet vision 1 saw. 
And thrice ere the morning 1 dreamt it again. 

Methought from tho battle-licld'sdi-oadful array, 
Kar, fai' 1 luid roamed on a desolate track : 

'T was autnnrn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
To the lionie of my fathei-s, that welcomed me 
back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 
In life's morning march, wln»n my bosom was 
young ; 
I hoard my own mountiiin-goats bleating aloft. 
And knew the sweet strain that the coru- 
reapei's sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cnp, and fondly I 



From my home and my weeping friends never 
to part ; 



^ 



[fi- 



WAR. 



481 



■a 



U 



My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fullness of 
heart. 

"Stay, stay with us, —rest, thou art weary and 
worn " ; 
And fain was theii' war-broken soldier to 
stay ;— 
Hut sorrow returned with the dawning of mom, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 
THOMAS Campbell. 



WHERE ARE THE MEN? 

WuEKK are the men who went forth in the 
morning, 

Hope brightly beaming in every face ? 
Fearing no danger, — the Saxon foe scorning, — 

Little thought they of defeat or disgrace I 
Fallen is their chieftain — his glory departed — 

Fallen are the heroes who fought by his side ! 
Fatherless children now weep, broken-hearted. 

Mournfully wand'ring by Khuddlan's dark tide ! 

Siriiill was the baud that escaped from the slaugh- 
ter. 

Flying for life as the tide 'gan to flow ; 
Hast thou no pity, thou dark rolling water? 

More cruel still than the mercile.ss foe ! 
Death is beliind them, and death is before them ; 

Faster and faster rolls, on the dark wave ; 
One wailing cry — and the sea closes o'er them ; 

Silent and deep is their watery grave. 

From the Welsh of TALHAIAKN. 

by THOMAS OLIPHANT. 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 

How sweet it wa.s to breathe that cooler air, 
And take jjossession of my father's chair ! 
Keneath my elbow, on the solid frame, 
Ap|)eared the rough initials of my name, 
< 'ut forty years before ! The same old clock 
Struck the same bell, and gave my heart a shock 
1 never can forget. A short breeze spnmg. 
And while a sigh wa.s trembling on my tongue, 
Caught the old dangling almanacs Ijehind, 
And up they flew like banners in the wind ; 
Then gently, singly, down, down, down they 

went. 
And told of twenty years that I had sjient 
Far from my native land. That instant came 
A robin on the threshold ; though so tame, 
At first he looked distni-stful, almost shy. 
And cast on me his coal-black steadfast eye. 
And seemed to say, — past friendship to renew, — 
' Ah ha ! old woni-out soldier, is it you ? " 



While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing still, 
On beds of moss that spread the window-sill, 
I deemed no moss my eyes had ever seen 
Had t«en so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green, 
And guessed some infant hand had placed it 

there. 
And prizeiJ its hue, so exquisite, so rare. 
Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose; 
My heart felt everything but calm rci>ose ; 
I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor years. 
But rose at once, and bursted into tears : 
Then, like a fool, confuseil, sat down agtiin, 
And thought upon the past with shame and pain ; 
I raved at war and all its horiid cost. 
And glory's quagmire, where the brave are lost. 
On carnage, fire, and plunder long I mused. 
And cursed the murdering weapons I had u.sed. 

Two shadows then 1 saw, two voices heard. 
One bespoke age, and one a child's ap|»eared. 
In stcpi)ed my father with convulsive start, 
And in an instant clasped me to his heart. 
Close by him stood a little blue-eyed maid ; 
And stooping to the child, the old man said, 
" Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once again ; 
This is your uncle Charles, come home from 

Spain." 
The child approached, and with her fingera light 
Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of sight. 
But why thus spin my tale, — thus tedious Imj? 
Happy old soldier ! what 's the world to me I 

ROBHRT IlLOOMFIELD. 



SOLDIER, RE.ST ! THY WARFARE O'ER. 

FROM " THE LADY OF THF LAKE." 

Soldi KR, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; 
Dream of battled fields no more, 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our Lsle's enchanted hall. 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing. 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Mom of toil, nor night of waking. 

No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 

Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or sf^uadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow. 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds sh.all none be neai-, 
Guards nor warders challenge here ; 



-^ 



f 



482 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



■a 



U-- 



Here 's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting elans or squadrons stamping. 

Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 

While our slumberous spells assail ye. 
Dream not, with the rising sun. 

Bugles here shall sound reveUle. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his deir ; 

Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For, at dawning to assail ye, 
Here no bugles sound reveille. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT- 

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. 

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? 
Where may the grave of that good man be ? — 
Bythe sideof a spring, onthebreastof Helvellyn, 
Under the twigs of a young birch-tree ! 
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear. 
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year. 
And whistled and roared in the winter alone. 
Is gone, — and the birch in its stead is gi-own. — 
The knight's bones are dust. 
And his good sword rust; — 
His soul is with the saints, I trust. 

Sa-muel Taylor Coleridge. 



DRIVING HOME THE COWS. 

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 
He turned them into the river-lane ; 

One after another he let them pass, 
Then fastened the meadow bars again. 

Under the willows, and over the hill. 
He patiently followed their sober pace ; 

The merry whistle for once was still. 
And something shadowed the sunny face. 

Only a boy ! and his father had said 
He never could let his youngest go ; 

Two already were lying dead 

Under the feet of the trampling foe. 

But after the evening work was done, 

And the frogs wereloud in the meadow-swamp. 

Over his shoulder he slung his gun 
And stealthily followed the foot-path damp. 

Across the clover and through the wheat 
With resolute heart and purpose grim. 

Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, 
And the blind bat's Hitting startled him. 



Thrice since then had the lanes been white. 
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; 

And now, when the cows came back at night. 
The feeble father drove them home. 

For news had come to the lonely farm 

That three were lying where two had lain ; 

And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm 
Could never lean on a son's again. 

The summer day grew cool and late. 

He went for the cows when the work was done ; 
But down the lane, as he opened the gate. 

He saw them coining one by one, — ■ 

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, 

Shaking their horns in the evening wind : 

Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, — 
But who was it following close behind ? 

Loosely swung in the idle air 

The empty sleeve of army blue ; 
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, 

Looked out a face that the father knew. 

For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn. 
And yield their dead unto life again ; 

And tlie day that comes with a cloudy dawn 
In golden glory at last may wane. 

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; 

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb ; 
And under the silent evening skies 

Together they followed the cattle home. 

Kate Putnam Osgood. 



DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. 

Clo.se his eyes ; his work is done ! 

What to him is friend or foeman, 
Rise of moon or set of sun, 

Hand of man or kiss of woman? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know ; 
Lay him low ! 

Fold him in his country's stars, 

Roll the drum and fire the volley ! 
What to him are all our wars ? — 
What but death-bemocking folly ? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 

Leave him to God's watching eye ; 

Trust him to the hand that made him. 
Mortal love weeps idly by ; 

God alone has power to aid him. 



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Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he ? he cannot know ; 
Lr"' him low! 

George henry boker. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 



By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled. 
Where the blades of the giuve-grass quiver. 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; — 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; — 
Under the one, the Blue ; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory. 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet ; — 
Under the sod and tlie dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; — 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe, — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; — 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, tlie Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall. 
With a touch, impartially tender, 
On the blossoms blooming for all ; — 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; — 

'Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 
On forest and field of grain 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; — 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; — 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
The generous deed was done ; 



In the storm of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won ; — 
Under the sod and tlic dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever. 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel tlie graves of our dead ! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting tlie judgment-day ; — 
Love and tears for tlie Blue, 
Teal's and love for the Gray. 

F. M. FINCH. 



Land, of every land the best, — 
Land, whose glory shall increase ; 

Now in your wliitest raiment drest 
For the great festival of peace ; 

Take from your flag its fold of gloom, 

And let it float undimmed aliove, 
Till over all our vales~slrall bloom 

The sacred colors that we love. 

On njountain high, in valley low. 
Set Freedom's living fires to bum ; 

Until the midnight sky shall show 
A redder glory than th(^ morn. 

Welcome, with shouts of joy and pride, 
Your veterans from the war-path's track ; 

You gave your boys, untrained, untried ; 
You bring them men and heroes back ! 

And shed no tear, though think you must 
With sorrow of the martyred band ; 

Not even for him whose hallowed dust 
Has made our prairies holy land. 

Though by the places where they fell. 
The places that are sacred ground. 

Death, like a sullen sentinel, 
Paces his everlasting round. 

Yet when they set their country free. 
And gave her traitors titling doom. 

They left their last great enemy. 
Baffled, beside an empty tomb. 

Not there, but risen, redeemed, they go 

Where all the paths are sweet with flowers ; .^ 

They fought to give us peace, and lo ! 
They gained a better peace than on 

PHCK 



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ODE TO PEACE. 

DAt'OliTEK of God ! that sit'st on liigh 
Ainiil the dances of the sky. 
And guidest with thy gentle sway 
The planets on their tuneful way ; 

Sweet Peace ! shall ne'er again 
The smile of thy most holy face, 
From thine ethereal dwelling-place, 
Kejoice the wretched, weary race 

Of discord-breathing men ? 
Too long, gladness-giving Queen ! 
Thy tarrying in heaven has been ; 
Too long o'er this fair blooming world 
The tlag of blood hius been unfurled. 

Polluting God's pure day ; 
Whilst, as each maddening people reels. 
War onwanl drives his scythed wheels. 
And at his horses' bloody heels 

Shriek Munier and Dismay. 

Oft have 1 wept to hear the cry 

Of widow wailing bitterly ; 

To see the parent's silent tear 

For children fallen beneath the spear ; 

And 1 have felt so sore 
The sense of human guilt and woe, 
That 1, in Virtue's passioned glow. 
Have cui-sed (my soul was wounded so) 

The shape of man I bore ! 
Then conie from thy serene abode, 
Thou gladness-giving child of God ! 
And cease the world's ensanguined strife. 
And reconcile my soul to life ; 

For much I long to see, 
Ere I shall to the grave descend. 
Thy hand its blesskl branch extend, 
And to the world's remotest end 

Wave Lovo and Harmony ! 

WILLIAM TENNENT. 



Ah ! whence yon glare. 
That lircs the arch of heaven ?— that dark red smoke 
Blotting the silver moon? The stars are iiuenched 
In darkness, and pure and spangling snow 
Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers 

round ! 
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals 
In countless echoes throngh the mountains ring, 
Stai'tliug pale midnight on her starry throne ! 
Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar 
Frequent and frightful of the bursting bomb ; 
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout. 
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men 



Inehriato with rage ; — loud, and more loud 
The discord grows ; till pale death shuts the scene. 
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws 
His cold and bToody shroud. — Of all the men 
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, 
In proud and vigorous health ; of all the hearts 
That beat with an.xious life at sunset there, 
How few survive, how few are beating now ! 
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm 
That slumbers in the storm's poi teutons pause ; 
Save when the frantic wail of widowed lovo 
Conies shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan 
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay 
Wrapt round its struggling powei-s. 

The gray mom 
Dawns on the mouruful scene ; the sulphurous 

smoke 
Before the icy wind slow rolls away, 
And the bright beams of frosty morning dance 
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood 
Even to the forest's depth, and .scattered arms. 
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments 
Death's self could change not, mark the dread- 
ful path 
Of the outsallying victors ; (nv behind. 
Black ashes note where their proud city stood. 
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen, — 
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day 
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb. 

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight. 
The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade. 
And to those royal murderei's whose mean thrones 
Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore. 
The bread they eat, the statf on whicli tlicy lean. 
Guanls, garbed in blood-red livery, surround 
Their palaces, participate the crimes 
That force defends, and from a nation's rage 
Secure the crown, which all the curses reach 
That famine, frenzy, woe, and penury breathe. 
These are the hired bravos who defend 
The tvrant's throne. 

PERCY BVSSHE SHELLEY. 



HEROISM. 

There was a time when ^Etna's silent fire 
Slept unperccived, the mountain yet entire ; 
When, conscious of no danger from below, 
She towered a cloud-cajit pyramid of snow. 
No thundei's shook with deep intestine sound 
The blooming gi-oves, that giixlled her around. 
Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines 
(Uufelt the fury of those bureting mines). 



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The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, 

In pL-ace upon her sloping sides matured. 

When on a day, like that of the last doom, 

A conflagi'atiou lab'ring in her womb, 

Slie teemed and lieaved with an infernal birtli. 

That shook the eircliug seas and solid earth. 

I lark and voluminous the vapors rise, 

And liang their horrors in the neighboring skies, 

While through the Stygian veil, that blots the 

day, 
111 dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. 
Ijiit 0, what muse, and in what powers of song. 
Can trace the toiTeiit as it bums along? 
Havoc and devastation in the van. 
It marches o'er the prostrate works of man. 
Vines, olives, herbage, forests, disappear, 
-And all the chai-ms of a Sicilian year. 

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass. 
See it an uninfonncd and idle mass ; 
Witliout a soil to invite the tiller's care, 
Or blade, that might I'edeem it from despair. 
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve?) 
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade. 
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats ! 
charming Paradise of short-lived sweets ! 
The selfsame gale, that wafts the fragrance round, 
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
Again the mountain feels the imprisoned foe. 
Again pours ruin on the vale below. 
Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
Tliat only future ages can restore. 

Ye moiiarchs, wliom the lure of honor draws. 
Who write in blood the merits of your cause. 
Who strike the blow, then plead your own 

defense, 
Glory your aim, but justice your pretense ; 
Behold in Etna's emblematic fires 
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ! 

Fast by the stream that bounds your just do- 
main. 
And tells you where ye have a right to reign, 
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
Studious of peace, their neighbors', and their own, 
Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they rue 
Their only crime, vicinity to you ! 
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, 
Tlirough tlie ripe harvest lies their destined road ; 
At every step beneath their feet they tread 
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread I 
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
Before them, and behind a wilderness. 
Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son, 
Attend to finish what the sword begun ; 
And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn. 
And Folly pays, resound at your return. 
A calm succeeds, — but Plenty, with her train 



Of heartfelt joys, succeeds not soon again, 
And years of pining indigence must show 
What scourges are the gods that mle below. 

Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees 
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease), 
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil, 
Gleans u]) the refuse of the general spoil, 
liebuilds the towers tliat smoked upon the plain, 
And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 

Increasing commerce and reviving art 
Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part ; 
And the sad lesson must be leanied once more, 
That wealth within is ruin at the door. 
What are ye, monarchs, laureled heroes, say, 
But Etna.s of the suffering world ye sway '! 
Sweet Nature, shipped of her embroidered robe. 
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; 
And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, 
To prove you there destroyed as ye are. 

0, place me in some Heaven-protected isle, 
Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; 
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood. 
No crested wanior dips his plume in blood ; 
Where Power secures what Industry has won ; 
Where to succeed is not to be undone ; 
A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain, 
In Britidn's isle, beneath a George's reign ! 

WILLIAM COWPER. 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd. 

And fiery hearts and armed hamls 
Encountered iu the battle-cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave, — 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 

"Cpon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm and fresh and still ; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And t.'dk of children on the hill. 

And bell of wandering kiiie, are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ; 
Men start not at the battle-cry, — 

0, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fouglit ; but tliou 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For trutlis which men receive not now. 
Thy warfare only ends with Ufe. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year ; 



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A wild and many-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front and flank and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to tlie proof, 
And blench not at thy cliosen lot ; 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown, — yet faint thou not. 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance bom. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again, — 
The eternal years of God are hers ; 

But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, 
And dies among Ms worshipers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. 
When they who helped thee flee in fear. 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fell in battle here ! 

'Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
^ Another hand the standard wave. 
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



NOT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

"To fall on the battle-field fightincj for my dear country. — that 
would not be hard." — T/u Neiglibors. 

NO, no, — lot me lie 

Not on a field of battle when I die ! 

Let not the iron_tread 
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmfed head ; 

Nor let the reeking knife, 
That I have drawn against a brother's life. 

Be in my hand when Death 
Thunders along, and tramples me beneath 

His heavy squadron's heels. 
Or gory felloes of his cannon's wheels. 

From such a dying bed. 
Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red. 

And the bald eagle brings 
The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings 

To sparkle in my sight, 
0, never let my spirit take her flight ! 

1 know that beauty's eye 

Is all the brighter where gay pennants fly, 

And brazen helmets dance, 
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance ; 

I know that bards have sung. 
And people shouted till the welkin rung. 



In honor of the brave 
Who on the battle-field have found a grave ; 

I know that o'er their bones 
Have grateful hands piled monumental stones. 

Some of those piles 1 've seen : 
The one at Lexington upon the green 

AVTiere the first blood was shed, 
And to my country's independence led ; 

And others, on our shore. 
The " Battle Monument" at Baltimore, 

And that on Bunker's Hill. 
Ay, and abroad, a few more famous still : 

Thy "tomb," Themistocles, 
That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas. 

And which the waters kiss 
That issue from the gulf of Salamis. 

And thine, too, have I seen. 
Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green. 

That, like a natural knoll. 
Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll. 

Watched by some turbaued boy. 
Upon the margin of the plain of Troy. 

Such honors gi'ace the bed, 
I know, whereon the warrior lays his head. 

And hears, as life ebbs out. 
The conf[uered flying, and the conqueror's shout ; 

But as his eye grows dim, 
^\^lat is a column or a mound to him ? 

What, to the parting soul, 
The mellow note of bugles ? What the roll 

Of drums ? No, let me die 
WTiere the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly. 

And the soft summer air. 
As it goes by me, stirs my thin white hair. 

And from my forehead dries 
The death-damp as it gathers, and the skies 

Seem waiting to receive 
My soul to their clear depths ! Or let me leave 

The world when round my bed 
Wife, children, weeping friends are gatliered. 

And the calm voice of prayer 
And holy hymning .shall my soul prepare 

To go and be at rest 
With kindred spirits, — spirits who have blessed 

The human brotherhood 
By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. 

JOHN PIERPONT. 



MY AUTUMN WALK. 

On woodlands ruddy with autumn 

The amber sunshine lies ; 
I look on the beauty round me, 

And tears come into my eyes. 

For the wind that sweeps the meadows 
Blows out of the far Southwest, 



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Where our gallant men are fighting, 
And the gallant dead are at rest. 

Tlie goklcn-rod is leaning, 
And the purple aster wares 

In a breeze from the land of battles, 
A breath from the land of graves. 

Full fast the leaves are dropping 
Before that wandering breath ; 

As fast, on the field of battle. 
Our brethren fall in death. 

Beautiful over my pathway 
The forest spoils are shed ; 

They are spotting the grassy hillocks 
With purple and gold and red. 

Beautiful is the death-sleep 
Of those who bravely fight 

In their country's holy quarrel. 
And perish for the Right. 

But who shall comfort the living. 
The light of whose homes is gone : 

The bride that, early widowed, 
Lives broken-hearted on ; 

The matron whose sons are lying 
In graves on a distant shore ; 

The maiden, whose promised husband 
Comes back from the war no more ? 

I look on the peaceful dwellings 
Whose windows glimmer in sight. 

With croft and garden and orchard 
That bask in the mellow light ; 

Anil I know that, when our couriers 
With news of victory come. 

They will bring a bitter message 
Of hopeless gi'ief to some. 

Again I turn to the woodlands, 

And I shudder as I see 
The mock -grape's * blood-red banner 

Hung out on the cedar-tree ; 

And I think of days of slaughter, 
And the night-sky red with flames. 

On the Chattahoochee's meadows. 
And the wasted banks of the James. 

for the fresh spring-season, 

When the groves are in their prime, 

And far away in the future 
Is the frosty autumn-time ! 



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O for that better season. 

When the pride of the foe shall yield. 
And the hosts of God and Freedom 

March back from the well-won field ; 

And the matron shall clasp her first-bom 

With tears of joy and pride ; 
And the scaned and war-worn lover 

Shall claim his promised bride ! 

The leaves are swept from the branches ; 

But the living buds are there, 
With folded flower and foli.ige, 

To sprout in a kinder air. 

William Cullen Brya.v" 



BARCLAY OF URT. 

Up the streets of Aberdeen, 
By the kirk and coOege green, 

Rode the laird of Ury ; 
Close behind him, clo.se beside, 
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed. 

Pressed the mob in fury. 

Flouted him the drunken churl. 
Jeered at him the serving-girl. 

Prompt to please her master ; 
And the begging carlin, late 
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate. 

Cursed him as he passed her. 

Yet with calm and stately mien 
Up the streets of Aberdeen 

Came he slowly riding ; 
And to all he saw and heard 
Answering not with bitter word, 

Turning not for chiding. 

Came a troop with broadswonla swinging, 
Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 
Loose and free and froward : 
Quoth the foremost, "Ride him down ! 
Push him ! prick him ! Through the town 
Drive the Quaker coward ! " 

But from out the thickening ci'owd 
Cried a sudden voice and loud : 

" Barclay ! Ho ! a Barclay ! " 
And the old man at his side 
Saw a comrade, battle-tried. 

Scarred and sunburned darkly ; 

Who, with ready weapon bare, 

Fronting to the troopers there. 

Cried aloud : " God save us ! 



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CftU ye eowniil liim wlio stood 

Aiiklo-doeii ill Lutzcii's lilooil, 

With tlif I'l-avn tUistuviis T' 

" Nay, 1 do not need thy swoixl, 
Comrade niiue," said Ury's loni ; 

' ' I'ut it up, I pray tliee. 
Pnssive to liis lioly will, 
Trust I iu my Master still, 

Even though he slay me. 

" Pledges of thy love and faith, 
Proved on many a tiold of deatli. 

Not by me are needed." 
Marveled much that henehmau bold, 
That his laijxl, so stout of old. 

Now so meekly pleaded. 

"Woe's the day," he sadly said. 
With a slowly shaking head. 

And a look of pity ; 
" Ury's honest loixi reviled. 
Mock of knave and sport of child, 

In his own good city ! 

"Speak tlie woitl, anil, master mine, 
As we charged on Tilly's line, 

And his Walloon lancei's. 
Smiting through their midst, we 'U teai 
Civil look and decent speech 

To these bopsli prancere ! " 

' ' Mavvel not, mine ancient friend, — 
Like beginning, like the end ! " 

Quoth the laiiil of Ury : 
" Is the sinful .servant more 
Than his gracious Lord who bore 

Bonds and stripes in .lewry ? 

" Give me joy that in his name 
1 can bear, with patient frame. 

All these vain ones otl'er ; 
While for them he sutVerod long. 
Shall I answev wrong with wrong, 

Scotling with the scoffer ? 

"Happier I, with loss of all, — 
Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, 

With few friends to greet mo, — 
Than when reeve and si)uire were seen 
Kiding out from Abenleeu 

Witli bai-etl heads to meet me ; 

"When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, 
Blessed me as I pa.ssed her door ; 

And the snooded daugliter. 
Through her casement glancing down. 
Smiled on him who bore renown 

from rod fields of slaughter. 



" Hard to feel the stranger's scolf. 
Hard the old friends' falling oil". 

Hard to learn forgiving ; 
But the Lord his own rewanls, 
iVnd his love with theirs accords 

Warm and fresh and living. 

"Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking ; 
Knowing l!od's own time is best, 
In a patient hope I rest 

For the full day-breaking ! " 

So the laird of Ury said. 
Turning slow his horse's head 

Towanls the Tolbooth prison. 
Where, through iron gates, he heard 
Poor disciples of the Word 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain, confessor old, 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial I 
Every age on him who strays 
From its broad and lieatcn ways 

Pours its seveii-Uilil vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 
Angel comfortings euu hear. 

O'er the rabble's laughter ; 
And, while hatred's fagots burn, 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this, — that nevei- yet 
Share of truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow ; 
After hands .shall sow the seed, 
After hands fre>m hill and mead 

Reap the harvests yellow. 

Tlins, with somewhat of the seer, 
Must the moral pioiuier 

From the future borrow, — 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, 
.\nd. on miilnight's sky of rain. 

Paint the golden morrow ! 

John grbbnleaf Whittier. 



TUBAL CAIN. 

OLr> Tubal Cain was a man of might, 
In the days when earth was young ; 

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, 
The strokes of his hammer rung : 



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And he lil'teil high hw brawny liaiid 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till tluj sparks mslied out in scarlet showers, 

As he fashioned the sword and the spear. 
Aii'd he sang : " Hurrah for my handiwork ! 

Hurrah for the spear and the sword ! 
Hurrah for the hand tliat shall wield them well, 

For he sliall lie king and lord." 

To Tubal Cain came many a one, 

As he wrought by his roaring lire, 
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade 

As the crown of his desire : 
And he rna<Ie them wea[)ons sharp and strong, 

Till they shouted loud for glee. 
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, 

And spoils of the forest free. 
And they sang : " Hurrah for Tubal Cain, 

Who lialh given us strength anew! 
Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire. 

And hurrah for the metal true ! " 

Hut a sudden change came o'er his heart, 

Kre the setting of the sun, 
And Tnl>al Cain was filled with pain 

For the evil he ha<J done ; 
He saw that men, with rage and hate. 

Made war ujion their kind. 
That the land was red with the blood they shed, 

In their lust for carnage bliml. 
And he said : "Alas ! that ever I made. 

Or that skill of mine should plan. 
The spear and the sword for men whose joy 

Is to slay their fellow-man ! " 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 

Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
And his hand forelwre to smite the ore. 

And his funiace smoldered low. 
but he rose at last with a cheerful face, 

And a bright courageous eye, 
And bared his strong right arm for work, 

While the quick flames mounted high. 
And he sang : " Hurrah for my handiwork ! " 

An<l the red sparks lit the air ; 
" Not alone for the blade was the bright steel 
maile," — 

And he fashioned the first plowshare. 

And men, taught wisdom from the past, 

In friendship joineii their hands, 
Huiig the sword in the hall, the sjKar on the wall, 

And plowed the willing lands ; 
And .sang : "Hurrah for TuVjal Cain ! 

Our stanch gooil friend is he ; 
And for the plowshare and the plow 

To him our praise shall be. 



But while oppression lifts its head. 

Or a tyrant would t»c lord. 
Though we may thank him for the plow, 

We 'II not forget the sword ! " 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 

(The battle of Blenheim in Bavaria wat fou^fht Au^uM i^ i;o(. 
between the Ir*X4» of the En/libh and AuMrianson one side, under 
the Uuke of .Marll>orou^h and I'rince Euifene, and the Frcncli ^iid 
Bavarians on tfic other %idc, led by Marshal Tallart and tlic blc- 
tor of Bavaria. The latter |>arty waft defeated, and the Kliernes 
of ljoa\^ XIV. of France were materially checked thereby J 

It was a summer evening, — 

Old Kasjiar's work was done. 
And he before his cottage door 

Was sitting in the sun ; 
And by him sitorted oti the grw.n 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round. 

Which he beside the rivulet. 
In playing there, had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found 

That wa.s so large and smooth and round. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy. 

Who stool] exf)er;tant by ; 
And then the old man shook his bead, 

And, with a natural sigh, — 
" 'T is some poor fellow's skull, " said he, 
" Who fell in the great victory. 

" I find them in the gar<len. 

For there 's many hereabout ; 
And often, when I go to plow, 

The plowshare tunis them out ; 
For many thou.sand men," said he, 
"Were slain in the great victory." 

" Now tell us what 't wiis all about," 

Young Peterkin be cries ; 
An<l little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes, — 
" Now tell us all about the war. 
And what they fought each other for." 

" It was the English," Kaspar cried, 

"Who put the French to rout ; 
But what they fought each other for 

I could not well make out ; 
But everj'lxKly said," quoth he, 
" Tliat 't was a famous victory. 



"My father lived at Blenheim then. 
Yon little stream hard by ; 



-^ 



^- 



490 



POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR. 



-^ 



T)iey burnt his dwelling to the gi-ouud, 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 

" With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide ; 
And many a childing mother there, 

And new-born baby died ; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

"They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won, — 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 



But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

" Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won. 

And our good Prince Eugene." 
" Why, 't was a very wicked thing ! " 

Said little Wilhelmiue. 
"Nay, nay, my little girl ! " quoth he, 
" It was a famous victory. 

"And everybody praised the duke 

Who this great fight did win." 
" But what good came of it at last ? " 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he ; 
" But 't was a famous victory." 

Robert Southev. 



t.- 



-4 



[fl-- 



•^ 






POEMS OF TEMPERAXXE AND LABOR. 










ifl- 



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fl--- 



--n 



POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR. 



TEMPERANCE. 



B^- 



MORAL COSMETICS. 

Ye who would have your features florid, 
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, un\mnkled forehead. 
From age's devastation horrid. 

Adopt this jilan, — 
'T will make, in climate cold or tonid, 

A hale old man. 

Avoid in youth luxurious diet. 
Restrain the passions' lawless riot ; 
Devoted to domestic ijuiet. 

Be vrisely gay ; 
So shall ye, spite of age's fiat. 

Resist decay. 

Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure. 
But find your richest, dearest treasure 
In God, his word, his work, not leisure : 

The mind, not sense, 
Is the sole scale by which to measure 

Your opulence. 

This is the solace, this the science. 
Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance. 
That disappoints not man's reliance, 

"VVliate'er his state ; 
But challenges, witli calm defiance. 

Time, fortune, fate. 

Horace Smith. 



A FABEWELL TO TOBACCO. 

M-W the Babylonish curse 
Straight confound my stammering verse. 
If I can a passage see 
In this word-perplexity. 
Or a fit expression find. 
Or a language to my mind 
(Still the phrase is wide or scant). 
To take leave of thee, great plant ! 
Or in .any terms relate 
Half my love, or half my hate ; 
For I hate, yet love, thee so. 
That, whichever thing I show, 



The plain truth will seem to be 
A constrained hyperbole. 
And the passion to proceed 
More from a mistress than a weed. 

Sooty retainer to the vine ! 
Bacchus' black servant, negro fine ! 
Sorcerer ! that mak'st us dote upon 
Thy begrimed complexion. 
And, for thy pernicious sake, 
More and greater oaths to break 
Than reclaimW lovers take 
'Gainst women ! Thou thy siege dost lay 
Much, too, in the female way. 
While thou suck'st the laboring breath 
Faster than kisses, or than death. 

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us 
That our worst foes cannot find us. 
And ill fortune, that would thwart us, 
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us ; 
While each man, through thy heightening stean;. 
Does like a smoking Etna seem ; 
And all about us does express 
(Fancy and wit in richest dress) 
A Sicilian fruitfulness. 

Thou through such a mist dost show us 
That our best friends do not know us, 
And, for those allowed features 
Due to reasonable creatures, 
Liken'st us to fell chimeras. 
Monsters, — that who see us, fear us ; 
Worse than Cerberus or Geiyon, 
Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion. 

Bacchus we know, and we allow 
His tipsy rites. But what art thou. 
That but by reflex canst show 
What his deity can do, — 
As the false Egyptian spell 
Aped the true Hebrew miracle ? 
Some few vapors thou mayst raise 
The weak brain may serve to amaze ; 
But to the reins and nobler lieart 
Canst nor life nor heat impart. 



-^ 



p 



492 



POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR. 



n 



Brother of Bacchus, Inter born ! 
The old world was sui-e forlorn, 
■\Viinting thee, that aidest uioro 
The ^od's victories tlian, Iwfoi-e, 
All his pantliers, mid the brawls 
Of his piping Bacchanals. 
These, as stale, wo disidlow, 
Or judge of thee meant : only thou 
His true Indian conquest art ; 
And, for ivy round his dart. 
The refornikl god now weaves 
A finer tliyrsus of thy leaves. 

Scent to match thy rich perfume 
Cheniic art did ne'er presume, 
Through her ipiaint alembic strain. 
None so sovereign to the brain. 
Nature, that did in thee excel, 
Framed again no second smell. 
Koses, violets, but toys 
For the smaller sort of boys, 
Or for greener damsels meant ; 
Thou art the only manly scent, 

Stinkingest of the stinking kind ! 
Filth of tlie mouth and fog of the mind I 
Africa, that brags her foisoii, 
Breeds no such prodigious poison ! 
Henbane, nightshade, both together. 
Hemlock, aconite — 

Nay, i-ather, 
Plant divine, of rarest virtue ; 
Blisters on the tongue would hurt you ! 
'T was but in a sort I blamed thee ; 
None o'er prospei'ed who defamed thee ; 
Irony all, and feigned abuse, 
Such as perplexed lovere use 
At a need, when, in despair 
To paint forth their fairest fair. 
Or in part but to express 
That exceeding comeliness 
Which their fancies doth so strike, 
They borrow language of dislike ; 
And, instead of dearest Miss, 
Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss. 
And those forms of old admiring. 
Call her cockatrice and siren, 
Basilisk, and all that 's evil. 
Witch, liyeua, mermaid, devil, 
Ethiop, wench, and blackamoor. 
Monkey, ape, imd twenty more ; 
Friendly trait'ress, loving foe, — 
Not that she is truly so. 
But no other way they know, 
A contentment to express 
Bordem so upon exct<8s 
That they do not rightly wot 
Whether it be from pain or not. 



Or, as men, constrained to i>art 
With what 's nearest to their heart. 
While their sorrow 's at the height 
Lose discrimination ciuite. 
And their hasty wrath let fall, 
To appease their frantic gall. 
On tlie darling thing, whatever. 
Whence they feel it death to sever. 
Though it be, as they, perforce. 
Guiltless of the sad divorce. 

For I must (nor let it grieve thee. 
Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee. 
For thy sake, Tolwceo, 1 
Would do anything but die. 
And but seek to extend my days 
Long enough to sing thy praise. 
But, as she who once hath been 
A king's consort is a iiueeu 
Ever after, nor will bate 
Any tittle of her state 
Though a widow, or divorced. 
So I, from thy converee forced. 
The old name and style retain, 
A right Katherine of Spain ; 
And a scat, too, 'mongst the joys 
Of the blest Tobacco Boys; 
Where, though 1, by sour physician, 
Am debarred the full fruition 
Of thy favoi-s, I may catch 
Some collateral sweets, and snatch 
Sidelong odoi's, that give life 
Like glances from a neighbor's wife ; 
And still live in the by-places 
And the suburbs of thy giiices ; 
And in thy borders take delight, 
An uncomiuered Canaanite. 

CHARLES L.AMB. 



THE VAGABONDS. 

We are two travelei-s, Koger and I. 

Roger 's my dog : — come here, yon scamp 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
The rogue is growing a little old ; 

Five years we've tramped through wind t 
weather, 
And slept ont-doors when nights were cold, 

And ate and drank — and starved together. 

We've leai'ned what comfort is, I tell you ! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! 

The paw he holds up there's been frozen), 
Plenty of catgnt for my fiddle 

(This ont-door business is bad for 



the strings), T 
ff 



f 



TEMPERANCE. 



493 



-a 



& 



Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 
And Roger and I set up for kings ! 

No, thank ye, sir, — I never drink ; 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral, — 
Are n't we, Roger? — see him wink ! — 

Well, something hot, tlien, — wewon't quarrel. 
He's thirsty too, — see him nod his head? 

Wliat a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ! 
He understands every word that 's said, — 

And he knowsgood milk from water-aud-chalk. 

The ti'uth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I 've been so sadly given to grog, 
1 wonder I 've not lost the respect 

(HiTe 's to you, sir !) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets. 
And rags tliat smell of tobacco and gin. 

He '11 follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 

There is n't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through every disastii-, 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving 

To such a miserable, thankless master ! 
No, sir ! — see him wag his tail and grin ! 

By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! — 
That is, there 's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! 

We'll have some music, if you're willing. 
And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, 
sir !) 
Shall march a little. Start, you villain ! 

Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your offi- 
cer ! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 
(Some dogs have amis, you see !) Now hold 
your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle. 
To aid a poor old patriot soldier ! i 

March ! Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us Iiow many drams it takes 

To lionor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps, — that 's five ; he 's mighty knowing ! 

The niglit 's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
Quick, sir .' I 'm ill, — my brain is going ! 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it 
passes ! 

Why not reform ? That 's easily said. 

But I 've gone through such wretched treat- 
ment. 

Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread. 
And scarce remembering what meat meant. 

That my poor stomach 's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 



I 'd sell out heaven for something warm 
To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think ? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love, — but 1 took to drink, — 

Tlie same old story ; you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these cla.ssic featm'es, — 

You need n't laugh, sir ; tliey were not then 
Such a bunung libel on God's creatures ; 

I was one of your handsome men ! 

1 f you had seen her, so fair and young. 

Whose head was happy on tliis breast ! 
i f you could have heard the songs 1 sung 

When the wine went round, you would n't 
have guessed 
That ever 1, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and do" 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 

She 's married since, — a parson's wife ; 

'T was better for her tliat we should part. — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 

On the dusty road, a carriage stopped ; 
But little she dreamed, as on she went. 

Who kissed the coin that her lingers dropped ! 

You've set me talking, sir ; I 'm sorry ; 

It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
What do you care for a Iwggar's story ? 

Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? 
I had a mother so proud of me ! 

'T was well she died before — Do you know 
If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below? 

Another glas.s, and strong, to deaden 

Tliis pain ; then Roger and I will start. 
I wonder, has iie such a Uimpisli, leiiden. 

Aching thing in place of a lieart ? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could. 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 

And himself a sober, respectable cur. 

I 'm better now ; that glass was warming. 

You i-ascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 
We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think ? 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free. 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor 
drink ; — 

The sooner the better for Roger and me ! 

J. T. TROWB 



■^ 



iS-. 



-R- 



494 



POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR. 



GO, FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. 



Go, IcpI what 1 have folt, 

(!o, boar what I have borne ; 
Sink 'iu>;ith a bUiw a father dealt, 
And the coKl, provid worUi's scorn : 
Thus strni^j;h» on from year to year, 
Thy soU> relief the sealding tear. 

Go, weep as 1 have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall ; 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's SWrrlllrss turned to 'fi\\\ ; 

Hope's faded How.is siiv>v,a all the way 
That led uie up to woman's day. 

Go, luieel as 1 liave knelt ; 

Ini|ilore, beseech, and pray. 
Strive the besotted heart to molt, 
The downward course to stay ; 
15e east with bitter curse aside, — 
Thy prayers burlesijued, thy tears delied. 

Go, stand where 1 have stood. 

And see the strong num bow ; 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, 
And cold and livid brow ; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There niiirored his soul's misery. 

tu). lu>ar what I have heai-d, — 

Tlie soils of sad despair. 
As memory's feeling-fount liath stirred, 
And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been. 
Had he the drunkanl's fate foreseen. 

Go to a mother's side. 

And her crushed spirit cheer ; 

Thine own deep anguisli hide. 
Wipe from her clieek the tear ; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow. 
The gray that streaks her dark hair luiw, 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith, in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth. 
Rut who, forsworn, hath yielded uji 
This promise to the deadly cup. 
Ami led her down from love and light. 
From all that made her jiathway bright. 
And chained her there mid want and strife, 
Tluit lowly thing, - a drunkard's wife ! 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild, 
That withering blight, — a drunkard's child ! 



&■*- 



Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hatlv felt nnd known, 



Then look within the wine-enp's glow ; 
See if its lirightness can atone ; 
Think if its flavor you would try, 
If all proclaimed, — ' T ix drink and die. 

Tell me I hate the howl, — 

Mate is a feeble word ; 
1 loathe, abhor, — my very soul 
liy strong disgust is stirred 
Wheuc'ci' I sec. or hear, or tell 
Of the n.uiK lu: vi'i!.\()K of iiki.i, ! 

ANON^'MOUS. 



OLD AGE OF TEMPERANCE. 



Adam. Let me be your .servant ; 
Though 1 look old, yet am 1 strong and lusty : 
For in uiy youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious licpiors in my blood ; 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness aud debility. 
Tlierefore my age is as a lusty winter. 
Frosty, but kiiuily ; let me go with you ; 
1 'II do the service of a yo\iuger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

SUAKi;srEAKE. 



THE WATER-DKINKER. 

O, WATKR for me ! Hright wati'r for me ! 

Give wine to the trenuilous debavuhee ! 

It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, 

It makcth the faint one strong again ; 

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the seix, 

All freshness, like infant purity. 

0, water, bright water, for me, for me ! 

Give wine, give wine to the debauchee ! 

Fill to the brim ! Fill, fill to the brim ! 
Let the llowing crystal kiss the rim ! 
My hand is steady, my eye is true, 
For 1, like the flowers, drink naught but dew. 
0, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth. 
Anil the ores it yieldcth are vigor and health. 
So water, pure w'ater, for me, for me ! 
And wine for the trenuilous debauchee ! 

Fill again to the brim ! again to the brim ! 
For water strengtheneth life and limb. 
To the days of the aged it added length ; 
To the might of the strong it addeth strcngth ; 
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight ; 
'T is like quafling a goblet of morning light. 
So, water, 1 will drink naught but thee, 
Thon parent of liealth and energy ! 



-^ 




IIOMK Al' CAMBKlUCt 



"Sowi-ti*.!/ All* /ri><« M/ fiZtgr strrtl 



■/•«,• F,tH '" /as O'NKt'y, ,ri 



a- 



LA noii. 



LABOR. 



495 ^ 



L^- 



TilE UAl'I'V UEAKI. 

Akt thou jioor, yet hast thou gohlcri oluintjcrH ? 

Hwcet content ! 
Art tJiou rich, ytt i» thy mind pcriilcxed ? 

iiuniohrniint ! 
DoHt thou laugli t') Wf<; how foolo are vexed 
'I'o add to goMen niiniberB, golden nurnberH? 
HWW^t content ! Hweet, Hwcet content I 
Work A\iSJM, tiyai:':, ii[nu:<i, apace ; 
HoncHt labor hears a lovely lace ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 
Canst drink the waters of the crixpfcd spring ? 

sweet content ! 
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine 
own tears ? 
punishment ! 
Then he that [mtiently want's Imrdcn hears 
No burden b<,-ars, but in a king, a king ! 
sweet cont<!nt ! sweet, sweet content ! 
Work ajKice, apace, apa'je, apace ; 
Honest lalxjr bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

Thomas De'-Kkk. 



THE VILLAGE BLACK8MITH. 

Unkkk a sprca<]ing chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands; 
TJio smith, a mighty man ix he. 

With large and sinewy liands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron Iwnds, 

His hair is crisp and black and long ; 

Hix face is like the tan ; 
Hi» brow in wet with honest sweat, — 

He earns what<;'er he can, 
And Iwjks the whole world in the face. 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from mom till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his hunvy slclge. 
With measured Vxat and slow. 

Like a ncxUm ringing the village Ijell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children, warning home from school, 

Ixjok in at the o|i<;n door ; 
They love t'j S'lc the flaming forge, 

And hear th* bellows roar, 



And catch the burning sparks that (ly 
Like diair from a threshing-door. 

Me g'K;8 on Sunday to the church. 

And sits among his Iwys ; 
He hears the [wrson firay and preach ; 

ile hears his daught'^r's voice. 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes bis he.irt rejoice. 

It soumiii U> him like lier itiollier's voice. 

Singing in I*ara/li»<- ! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How ill the grave she liirs ; 
And with bis hard, rough hand he wii<es 

A t«ar out of his eyes. 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 

Onward through lifi: he goes ; 
Eaidi moniing sec-s s^ime tiuik togin, 

Ea<,h evening w;es it clos(j ; 
Something ;itt';nipt«l, wjinething done. 

Has «inii;<l a night's ruixiiv;. 

Thanks, tlianks to the<;, my worthy frien'l, 
For the lesson thou hast taught '. 

Thus at the (laming forge of life 
Our fortunes must 1«; wrought : 

Thus on its sounding anvil shafxd 
Ea^ih burning deed and thought I 

HeNKV WAIrtWOKTII l^,Nf;PEl.tOW, 



TO THE HARVEHT MOOK. 

Plf.akiso 't is, modest }iUx>n ! 
Xow the night in at her nw^n, 
'Neath thy sway to musing lie. 
While around the /.ephyrs sigh. 
Fanning soft the sun-tannwl wheat, 
Iiilieiied by the summer's lif^t ; 
Picturing all the rustic's joy . 
When txjundless plenty greets his eye. 

And thinking soon, 

modest Moon 1 
How many a female eye will roam 

Along the road. 

To see the load. 
The last dear load of harvest home. 

'Neath yon lowly roof he lies. 
The hustiandiiian, with sleep-sealed eyc-s ; 
He dreams of CTOwded liams, and round 
The yard he hears the (lail resound ; 



^Pi;;^ 



POEMS OF TKMPKRANOK AND LAWR. 



-a 



U, mny iio lmnioi\no iloslroy 

His visioiini'v viows of joy ! 
l^oil of till- wiiuls I I), lu'!ii' liis humblo jimyor, 
Ami wliili' tlio Moon of ll.vivosl sliincs, thy blus- 
toi'iivg whiilwiml si>iiiv ! 

lUtNKY KlKKU WlllTK. 



THR XTSKFUL n.OW. 

A 1 iil'Nl'HY lifo is swi'ol ! 
1m minlorato ooM niui heat, 

To walk in llio air how iiU'as:>iit ami fair ! 
Ill ovovy lioUi of wheat, 

'rhi> liiiivst of rtowoi's aUoiiiiii}; tho howoi's, 
Ami ovoi'y mcailow's hivw : 

So thai I say, no oovirtioi' may 

I'oiiipaiv with thorn who i-lotJio in gray. 
And follow tlu> nsoful plow. 

Tln\Y viso with tho movninj; Inrk, 
Ami lalHirtill almost davk, 

Thon, folillna: thoii- sh»H>p, thoy haston to sloop 
Whilo ovory ploiisant park 

Noxt inorninj; is rinuini; with l>ii\ls that aiv 
sinsiiii!^ 
On oaoli jrtvon, tomU>r honjrh. 

With what eontont ami niorriniont 

Thoir (lays aiv spout, whoso niimls an> bont 
To follow tho nsoful plow ! 



THE PLOWMAN. 

Ci.KAR the Imnvn path to moot his oonltor's 

!;loam ! 
I,o! i>i\ lio comos, hohiml his smoklii£c toam, 
\V it li toil's hriirht ilow-ilivi** i>» l>is snnlmrnt brow 
Tlio loixl of oarth, tho lioro of tho plow I 

First in tho tiohl liofoiv tho rtsidoning sun, 
Uist in tho shadows whon the day is done, 1 

l.iiio aflor lino, along tho bni-st\n,il sixl, 
Marks tho bivad aoivs whoiv his foot liavo trod. 
Still whoiv ho tn\ids tho stublxnn olods divide, 
'riio simxith. fivsli furrow o^hmis d<vp and wide ; 
Matted and douse tho taiigltHl turf iiphoavivi, 
Mollow and dark the ridgy oorntiold oloaves ; 
I'p the stoop hillside, whoiv tho lalwring train 
Slants tho long tniok that sooivs the level plain. 
Through tl\e moist valley, ologg<>d witJi ooiing 

olay. 
The (wtiont ooiivoy bri<aks its destined way ; 
At every turn tlio loosening oliains ivsouud. 
The swinging plowshaiv oiivles glistening round. 
Till the wide Hold one t>illowy waste apivai-s. 
And wearied hands unbind the panting steel's. 

These are tho hands whi»se stunly lalwr brings 
The iK-as!«it's fotnl, tho s^^ldoii pomp of kings ; 



This is the i>age whoso lottei's shall bo soon, 
Cliang<>d by the sun to wonls of living given ; 
This is the sohohir whose immortal piii 
Spoils tho lii'st lesson hunjjor taught to moii •, 
Those aiv tho lines that heavon-oonimamlod Toil 
Shows on his deed. — tJie oharter of the soil 1 

O ijmoious Mother, whoso bonigiinnt bivnst 
Wakes na to life, ami lulls us nil to i\'st. 
How thy sweet fwttuivs, kind to ovory climo, 
Mook with thoir smile the wrinkled front of Time ! 
Wo stain tliv newel's, — tJiov blossom o'oi' the 

dead : 
We ivnd thy bosom, and it gives us broad ; 
Oor tho ivd liold that trampling strife has torn, 
Waves the given pluinagx' of thy tassolod ooni ; 
l^ur maddening eoiilliots soar thy taiivsl plain. 
Still thy sol^ answer is the growing gniin. 
Yet, 11 our Mother, while nnoouiitod oharnis 
Steal iMiind onr hearts in thine onibitieing arms, 
l.ot not our virtues in thy love dooay, 
.■\iid thy fond sweetness waste our stiviigth nwny. 

No, by those hills whose lv>nnei's now displayed 
In blazing ooliorts Antnmn lias nrniyod ; 
liy yon twin summits, on whose splintery oivsts 
Tlie tossing homlooks hold the eagles" nests ; 
l>y these fair plains the mountain oiii'le soivoiis, 
.•\nd foodswith stiviinilots from its dark nivines, — 
Trne to thoir home, those faithful arms shall toil 
To crown with peaoo thoir own untainted soil; 
.\nd, true to God, to fivodom, to mankind. 
It hor ohainod ban-di>:;is Kaotion shall unbind, 
Tho.so stately forms, that, bending: even now. 
Bowed their stivng manhood to tho humble plow, 
Shall rise erect, tho guardians of tho land, 
Tho same stern iron in the same right hand. 
Till o'er their liills the .shouts of triumph run ! 
Tho swoiM has ivscued what the plowsliaro won 1 

OUVKK WkSPKUL UOLMKlik 



THE MOWEK& 

TiiK sunburnt mowoi-s aiv in tho swath — 
Swing', swing, swing !~ 
The towering lilies loth 
Tivinblo, and totter, and fall; 
The moadow-rue 
Dashes its ta.ssels of gvldon dew ; 

And tho ko«ni blade swo<'ps o'er ivll — 
Swiii^, swing, swing! 

riio llowei-s, the Iwrrio-s the plunu^'d gnuss. 
Fall ill a .smotlioivd mass ; 

Hastens awjiy the butterlly : 

With half their bnixlon the biwwn Ives hie : 
.Viid the lueailow-lark shrieks distivst 

.\nd leaves the poor younglings all in tli< 



=4 



rt-f— ■ 



LABOR. 



— a 

197 



Totti^rfl tlift Jafiol/B-la/l'lCT tall, 

Ami Bailly nod 
The royal crowriH of the gol<l(;ii-ro<l : — 

Tho keen Made mowetli all ! 

Anon, the chiming whetHtonen ring — 

Tiny-a-Ung, li/iuj-a-Uwj I 

And the mower now 
PaiisftH and wijies IiIh l«aded brow. 
A moment he «can« the fleeklesH sky, 
A moment, the fiHh-hawk Hoaring high, 
And watchcH the Hwallown dip and dive 

Ancar an<l far ; 
They whiok and glimmer, and ehatter and »trive ; 
What do they go»»ip together ? 

Cunning fellown they are, — 

Wi«e jirophetB to hive ; 
" Higher or lower they eirele and Hkirn, 
Fair or foul to-morrow 'b Iiay-weather ! " 
TallcBt primroBeB or lofticBt dai«ieB 

Not a Bteel-tdufi feather 

Of Blim wing grazeH ! 
" Fear not ! fear not ! " ery the BwallowB. 
Kaeh inower tighteuH his Biiath-ring'H wedge. 

And hiH finger daintily followB 

The long bliwle'B tiekle-edge ; 
Softly the whetBtone'B lawt toucheB ring, — 

Tiim-a-iing, liwj-a-l.inij I 

" Perchance the BwallowB, that flit in their glc;, 
Of to-rnorrow'B weather know little im we," 
SavB Farmer Kujtset ; " 't i« hidden in Bhower 
Or BUDHhine ; to-morrow we do not own ; 

To-day i» ours alone. 
Not a twinkle we '11 want'; of the golden hour. 
Ora«p tightly the nib», — give heel and give toe, 
Lay a goodly Bwath Hhaveil Hrnuoth and low I 

Prime i» the day, — 

Swing, Bwing, swing ! " 
(Fanner IJusset in a^jed and giay, — 
Gray as the frost, hut fresh as the spring ; 

Straight is he 

A» a halHam-trec, 
And with heart most blithe and sinews lithe. 
He leails the row with his nieny scythe.) 
" Corne, boys ! strike up the old song 

While we circle around, — 
Tlie »ong we always in haytime sing ; 

And let the wooihi ring. 

And the Cf;boes prolong 

The merry sound ! " 



June in too early for richest hay 

(Fair weather, fair weather) ; 
The com stretches taller the livelong day, 



fJut graofl is ever too sappy tci lay 

(Clijiall t/;gcther); 
.June is tf<o early for ricliest hay. 

(Ch//rus. ) 
O, we will make haynow while the sun shines — 

We'll v/uxUt not a golden minuti;! 
The blue arch to-d;iy no storm-shadow lines — 

We '11 wast<! not a minute;. 

For the west-wind is fair ; 

0, the hay-ilay in ran '. 
The. sky is without a brown cloud in it 1 

Aiigust 's a month that too far gfjes by 
(\jiiU: weather, lafj weather ;) 

Grasshopfsjrs are chi(/fK:r and kick too high, 

And grass, that 's standing, is fodder B<;or';hed dry 
(Pull all together); 

August 's a month that too far goes by. 

(C'A//r««.) 

July if) just in the nick of time ! 

(Best weather, }x:ni weather ;) 
The mi'hiummer month is the golden prime 
For haycocks smelling of clover and thyme 

(Strike all t<;gether) ; 
July is just in the nick of time ! 

(C/uirut.) 

Still hiss the scythes ! 
Shudder the grassfis" defensidess bla/les, — 

The lily-throng writhes : 
And, as a phalanx of wilrl-geese streams 
Where the shore of April's cloud-hind gleams 
On their dizzy way in semed grades, — 
Wing on wing, wing on wing, — 
The mowers, each a st'tii in Julvance 
Of his fellow, time their stroke with a glance 

Of swerveless force ; 
And far through tlie rncailow lea<l» their course, — 

Swing, swing, swing ! 

MVVOH IJ. IJHKTO.'i. 



THE FAEMER'8 BOY. 

WiiKiiK noble Oraft/>n sprcruls his rich domains, 
Itound Eiiston's vratciiA vain and sloj/ing plains, 
Wliere woods and groves in wdernn grandeur rist;, 
Whcrr- the kite brooding unmolested (lies. 
The woodcock and the painted pheiisaiit ra<:e. 
And skulking foxes, destined lor the eliawi ; 
There GilcB, untaught and unrepining, strayed 
Through every copse and grove and winding 

glade ; 
There his first thoughts to Nature's charms in- 
clined, 
Th.at stamps devotion on the inquiring mind. 



u- 



-4: 



li 



a-^- 



498 



POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR. 



■^ 



e 



A little fium his generous mnstor tilleil, 
Who with peculiar gmoo his station lillod ; 
By ilt'oils of hosiiitality untU'iueil, 
Servi'd from ullV'ctioii, tor liis worth i-evered, 
A happy oll'spriiig Mi'st liis plenteous bomxl. 
His fields were fruitful, aiul his barns well stored, 
And foui'scoro ewes he fed, a stuixly team. 
And lowing kine that graced beside the stream ; 
UiK'easing industry he kept in view, 
And never laokeil a job for Giles to do. 

Fled now the sullen murmui's of the north. 
The splendid iiiiment of the Spring peeps forth ; 
Her univereal groen and the clear sky 
Delight still more and more the gjiziug eye. 
Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong, 
Shoots up the simple (lower, or creeps along 
The mellowed soil, imbibing fairer hues 
Or sweets from freiiuent showers and evening dews 
That summon from their sheds the slumbering 

plows. 
While health impregnates every breeze that blows. 
No wheels support the diving, pointed share ; 
No groaning ox is doomed to labor there ; 
No helpmates teach the docile steed his road 
(Alike unknown the plowboy and the goad): 
15ut unassisted, through each toilsome day. 
With smiling brow the plowman cleaves his way. 
Draws his fresh parallels, and, widening still. 
Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill. 
Strong on the wing his busy foUowei-s play, 
Where writhing earth-worms meet the unwelcome 

day. 
Till all is changed, and hill and level down 
Assume a livery of sober brown : 
Again disturbed, when G iles with wearying strides 
From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides, 
His heels deep sinking, every step he goes. 
Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes. 
Welcome, green headland I firm beneath his feet : 
Welcome, the friendly bank's refreshing seat : 
There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse 
Their sheltering canopy of pendent boughs ; 
Till rest delicious chase each transient pain. 
And new-born vigor swell in every vein. 
Hour after hour and day to day succeeds. 
Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads 
To crumbling mold, — a level surface clear, 
And strewed with corn to crown the rising year ; 
And o'er the whole Giles, once transvei'se again, 
In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain. 
The work is done ; no more to man is given ; 
The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven. 

His simple errand done, he homeward hies ; 
Another instantly its place supplies. 
The clattering dairv-nuiid, immei-sed in steam. 
Singing and scrubbing midst her milk and cream, 



Bawls 



'Go fetch the 



" — he heara no 



For pigs .uid ducks and turkeys throng the door, 
And sitting hens for constant war prepared, — 
A concert str.mge to that which late he heard. 
Straight to the meadow then he whistling goes ; 
With well-known halloo calls his lazy cows ; 
Down the rich pasture heedlessly they graze. 
Or hear the summons with an idle gaze. 
For well they know the cow-yard yields no more 
Its tempting fragrance, nor its wintry stoiv. 
Keluetaiicc marks their steps, sedate and slow. 
The right of comiuest all the law they know ; 
The strong press on, the weak by turns succeed, 
And one superior always takes the lead, 
Is ever foremost wliere'soe'er they stitiy. 
Allowed precedence, undisputed sway : 
With jealous pride her station is maintained, 
For many a broil that post of honor gained. 
At home, the yanl alVoiils a grateful scene, 
For spring makes e'en a miry cow-yard clean. 
Thence from its chalky lied behold conveyed 
The rich manure that drenching winter made. 
Which, piled near home, grows green with many 

a weed, 
A luoiuised nutriment for autumn's seed. 
Forth comes the maid, and like the morning 

smiles ; 
The mistress too, and followed close by Giles. 
A friendly tripod forms their humble seat. 
With pails bright scoured and delicately sweet. 
Where shadowing elms obstruct the morning ray 
Begins the work, begins the simple lay ; 
The full-charged udder yields its willing stream 
While Mary sings some lover's amorous divam ; 
And crouching Giles, beneath a neighlioring tree, 
Tugs o'er his pail, and chants with eiiual glee ; 
Whose hat with battered brim, of nap so bare. 
From the cow's side purloins a coat of luur, — 
A mottled ensign of his harmless trade, 
An unambitious, peaceable cockade. 
As unambitious, too, that cheerful aid 
The mistress yields beside her rosy maid ; 
With joy she views her plenteous reeking store, 
And beai-s a brinuuer to the dairy door ; 
Her cows dismissed, the luscious mead to roam, 
Till eve again recall them loaded home. 

ROBFRT IU.(iOMFIEH>. 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 

.V «HHK pine tloor and a low-ceiled room, 
A wheel and a reiel and a great brown loom, 
The windows out and the world in bloom — 

A pair of "swifts" in the comer, where 

The grandmother sat in her rush-wrought chair. 

And pulled at the distaff's tangled hair ; 



—ff 



e- 



LABOR. 



4'J'J 



■a 



u 



And sang to herself as she spun the tow, 
W'liile "tile little wheel" ran as soft and low 
As niullled Ijrooks where the grasses gi-ow 
And lie one way with the water's How. 

As the Christ's lield-lilies free from sin, 

So she grew like them when she ceased to spin, 

Counted her "knots," and handed them in ! 

Tlic "great wheel " rigged in its liarness stands, — 
A tliree-legged thing with its spindle and bands, — 
And the slender spokes, like the willow wands 
That spring so thick in. the low, wet lands, 
Turn dense at the touch ot a woman's hands. 

As the wheel whirls swift, how rank they gi'ow ! 
liut how sparse ami thin when the wheel runs slow 
Forward and backward, and to and fro ! 

There's a heap of rolls like clouds in cuil, 
Ami a bright-faced, springy, barefoot girl : 
She gives a touch and a careless whirl. 

She holds a roll in her shapely hand 

That the sun has kissed ami the wind has fanned, 

.\nd its mate obeys the wheel's command. 

'J'liero must be wings on her rosy he<d ! 

And there must be bees in the spindled steel ! 

A thousand spokes in the dizzy wheel ! 

Have you forgotten the left-breast knock 
Wlii-'U you bagged the bee in the hollyhock. 
And the angry burr of an ancient clock — 

All ready to strike — came out of the mill. 
Where covered with meal the rogue was still. 
Till it made your thumb an<l finger thrill ? 

It is one, two, three — the roll is caught ; 
'T is a backward step and the thread is taut, 
A hurry of wheel and the roll is wrought ! 

'T is one, two, three, and the yam runs on, 
And the spindle shapes like a white-pine cone. 
As even and still as something grown. 

The barefoot maiden follows the tliread 
Like somebody caught and tethered and led 
Up to the buzz of the busy head. 

With backward sweep and willowy liend 
Monarch would borrow if maiden couhl lend, 
She draws out the thread to the white wool's end, 

From English sheep of the old-time farm, 
With their legs as fair as a woman's ann, 
And faces white as a girl's alann. 



She breaks her thread with an angry twang. 
Just as if at her touch a harp-string rang 
And keyed to the ijuaint old song she sang. 

That came to a halt on her cheery lip 

While she tied one knot that never could slip. 

And thought of anolhcr, when her ship — 

All laden with dreams in splendid guLse — 
Should sail right out of the azure skies 
And a lover bring with great brown eyes ! 

All, broad the day, but her work was done — 
Two " runs " by reel ! She had twisted and spun 
Her two score " knots " by set of sun, 

With her one, two, three, the wheel beside. 
And the three, two, one, of her backward glide. 
So to and fro, in calico pride, 
Till the bees went home and daytime died I 

In apron white as the white sea-foam, 

She gathered the weidth of her velvet gloom. 

And railed it in with a tall back-comb. 

She crushed the dews with her naked feet, 
The track of the sun was a golden street. 
The grass was cool and the air was sweet. 

The girl gazcl up at the mackerel sky. 
And it looked like a pattern lifted high ; 
But she never dreamed of angels nigh. 

And she spoke right out : "Do just see there ! 
What a blue and white for the clouded pair 
I 'm going to knit for my Sunday wear ! " 

The wheel is dead and the bees are gone, 
And the girl Is dressed in a silver lawn, 
And her feet are shod with golden dawn. 

From a wind-s\viing tree that waves before, 
A shadow is dodging in at the door, — 
Flickering ghost on the white pine floor, — 

And the cat, unlearned in the .shadow's law. 
Just touched its edge with a velvet paw 
To hold it still with an ivory claw ! 

But its spectral cloak is blown about, 
And a moment more and the ghost is out. 
And leaves us all in shadowy doubt 

If ever it fell on floor at all, 
Or if ever it swung along the wall, 
I Or whether a shroud or a phantom shawl ! 



^ 



MHt 



/'('/'.'.UN ('A' ri':MI'KIL\.\UK .I.V/i I.AIUH,'. 



O l>i\iw (lull till' olil limi' iiiiMiiiii}{ kissml I 
(Joiia uIkIiI, ii\,v k>'1 "I' ""• il">'l'l<' »"|l Iwixl'i 
(> Imivl'iuil visiuu 1 Vllni^^llill),• luisl ! 



(UNO 1>U' 'I'llKl ANIMUIK, 

'I is lit II 



'riio liiw ii'i'l' r.mriiij; on Iiit In', tliii lull nl' ih'ohii 

piiiiii'il 
Kniiii jiloiii lo uli'iii, »m iil'lin' »m \ llui inainiiuml 

Uy 111,, lumrd ; 
Tl\o luilwiiiiM a.nvii, llio ni.l.li.r k"Ii<', llio lumls 

nUWO III lllO I'lllUIIS, 
Itlll 01I||I1IJ{1' still, luilVl- llUuilH'lS, till' lulWl'l' still 

t'uMK, Mw 111!' I'lvlpliiii'M iiiu'liov I'oif^i-d ; '1 ill lit II I ivmiiiiiM, 

wliilo li.-iil now ; Aii.l not iiii iiirli to lliiu'h ho M^m suvo wlion 

'I'liK liiUowsonisoil, tlio llnwios ilivii'nsinl ; tliouj;li y,, iiiU'li .sUy-1ui;1i, 

on tlio lorKo'.s Imi.w 'pl,,,,; i,,,,,.,.^ Ium'Ik.m.I. 'iim llioimli ho miiil, " I'Viu- 

Tlio litllo tliinioM still litt'ullv pliiY lliiwi>;li Hio iiolliiii" lioro imi 1 I" 

siil.lo inoiiiiil ; ' " 

Anil tltlull.v ,voii slill niiiy soo ll.o ^vim sn.itlis . ^^.j,,^, ;„ yomslrokos in onlo,', lot fool „iul lu.n.l 

rmikinj; voiiml, kooi.'timo; 

Alloliiilinloiillioin piiiioplv, llioi.' l.ivml liii.ids y^„„. ,,,,,^^,^ ,,,,,,^„ „,j,^i^, ^„.,,,,|,,,, ,.,,, „,,,„ j,„^. 



only Uii' 



sloojito's rliimo. 



Somo ivsl iipoii thoir «loa«..s l.ovo, sonu. woik ,,,„ ,,,,;,„ ^.„ ^,,j„j, y,„„, ,,,„,j^^,,_ ^j,,^ . .,„,, ,,,, 
tliowimlliisstlioi',.. tlio l.imlon 1.0, ' 

riio Anolior is lUo Anvil Kin;', uu.l loyul .■nil'ts- 



'rill' wiinlliiss stiiiiiis till' liioklo-i'liiiins, ll\o Miiok 

nionnil lioiiyos liolow, 
Ainl >\nl mill iloop ii luiinlivil yoins Imist out at 

ovoiy 111 1110 i 
It vistw, nmis, ii'inls nil ouliif!;ht, O \'iilomi, 

wliiit II (^low ! 
'Tis lilindinj; wliito, 'tis lilrtatiiij; lirij»lit, tlio 

\\\)i\i sun sliinps not so I 
Tlio liijtli siin soos not, on tliooaitli, suoU a lioiy, 

l'wilt\ll sllONV, - 

'I'lio ivol'-i'iKs swni'tli, tlio oamloiil lioartli. tlio 

vuilily, luiiil i\)\v 
Ol'suiitlis that stuiul, an awloiit Iwuil, liko uioii 

liolow tlio I'oo, 
As, n(iivoi'iii){ tlii\iU);U liis lloooo of lliimo, tlio 

siiiliiis moiistoi' slow 
Sinks oil tlio anvil, -all aliout tlio t'aoos liiM-y 

KIMW. 

" Uiiniili I" tlioy shout, " loaji out, loiip out" ; 

Uuij;, hui);, llio sloilj^'s j^i ; 
tliiiTali ! tho jottoil lij;litiiiiij{M aiv liissiiij; liijjli 

aiul low ; 
A hailiiij; toniit ot' tiiii is stniok at ovory siiuaali- 

iiij; Mow ; 
■riioloatlioiii mail ivliouinls tlio li.iil ; tlio lattliujj 

oiiulovs stivw 
Tho }{iMUiiil aiMund ; at ovory liouiul tlio swoltor- 

iiij; louutaius tlow ; 
And lliiok and loud tlioswinkiuj^oiMwd, at ovovy 

stioko. iKint "llo!" 

l.i\Hi out, 1011)1 out, my niastoi's ; loaji out and 

lay oil load I 
l,ot's r»i'}^i a gvHidly iiiiolioi', a Ivwoi-, tlliok lUld 

Inwid ; 



moil wo 1 
Sti'iko in, stliko in, tho spiiiks lii'}{iu to dull 

llioir i'uslliiij< ii'd I 
(hir liiuniuoi-s ling with sliiiqiov din, niii' work 

will soon ho spoil ; 
thir aiiolitii' soon must olianj;o his hod ol' liory 

lioli ai'i'iiy 
Kor a hammook at tlio iMai'ini» hows, or an oo/y 

loiioli of oliiy i 
Our anolior soon must oliau};i' tlio lay of iiiorry 

oialtsmon hoiv. 
For tlio Yoo-hoavo-o, and tho Uoavo-iiwiiy, mid 

tlio sinliiiiK soaiiiairs olioor ; 
Wlioii, woi;;liini; slow, at ovo tlioy j^i Inr, tar 

I'iMin lovo and homo, 
And aohhiii}; NWt'otlioiirts, in a vow, w.iil o'or llio 

oooiui foam. 

Ill livid aiiil ohdunito gloom, ho diirkms down 

at last ; 
A shain'ly oiio lio is, aiul -stroiij; as i''or tVoiii oal 

wii.s oast, 
trnstodaud trustwovlliy puai-d, it' thou lunlsl 

lil'o liko mo, 
What [iloasiii-cs would thy toils loward hoiioatli 

tlio doop j{iwn .soa I 
doop-soa divor, who mi>;lit thou holiold snoh 

si,t;ht.s as lliou f 
Tho lu«iiy moustoV!!' palaoos ! motliinks what joy 

't worii now 
To go plumii plunging; down ninid tho assomhly 

ol' t ho whaUvs, 
■\nd fool tho oliurnod soa iMiiiid mo hoil lionoath 

tlioir sooursiiiR tails 



fe- 



Kor a lu'art of oak is haiijjiiij; on ovory Mow, I Tlion doop iii tan>;lo-woods t'l tight tho tioioo sou 

Imdo, I uiiioorii. 

And I soo tlio good ship liding, all in a poriloiis .\iid sond him foilod and lH'llowiiij» Imok. for all 

iMad, - I his ivory lio,"'u ; 



"ri'^ 



fjiii 



'I'll l«ttv« till) hhWIo Bwofilfcr-lidli (it \Hiiiy \ilruU< 

forlorn ; 
Anil for Ui'! p{liiwtly-({rlnnir)« nlmrk, 1/i lttii«li Ills 

jawit In «i:orn ; 
To l««Ji ilowii o/i till) kr»ki;li'H Ixuk, wIuti; nilil 

Norwi:/<i(iii ixli.-u 
III) lU'M, :i liil)lx;r HMchorajp; for iiii'l'l<:n nlutllov/iil 

mill:)), 
'rill Hiiorthif^, lik« an undor-wiii volcuno, oil' Im 

MoHiiwIilli; to Hwiiig, ii-l/uHijtin/^ till) iiir-Hiiton- 

i<!li<!i| nitoiilx 
Of lii« l)(i(:klirow(iin« or;<j(ifi calviiB ; or, linjily In 

n i;ovi!, 
Hlii.-ll-otrirwn, anil conwMitt'- of oM U, mmxi l/n- 

ilinir'n lovif, 
To flfi'l till! lon«-liair<ril nii!nnJiliIi;ii« ; or, Imril 

hy |(;y lunilii, 
To wri:i-.t|i; will) llii) iC!a-((i!riK;iil ii|)on ceruluun 

Mllllllit. 



TIIK KONtJ OIC K'lKAM. 

llAiiMlotM nil; ilov/ii v/ltli your Iron Imiiiln, 

lii! diinr of your Mirh iiinl n^ln, 
Kor I («:((rn tliu dtrunKtli of yoiir jmny ImmlM 

A« (I l/!iii|iir«t iMOrnn a i:lmin. 
Mow I l(iiiglii-il lut I lay rjiwnuUtd fioni «i;/,lit 

Kor tiiitny ii ixjiintli^wi lioiir, 
At Ihi! uliililluli l«)(M!t» of liiiniun nil({lit, 

Ami till' priili' of liiiiiiiin |K)Wi:r I 

VVliifM I Miw itn iirmy iijiiin tlin lanil, 

A niivy II (ion lln' iumb, 
C.'rir<!|ijn({ itlon^, n .iniillliko liinil, 

Or wiMui/, till! wjiywfiril \irmy,i:; 
Wlum I niiiiki!<l tlii5 (ii'dwint faintly r'<el 

Willi tin: toil llittl III! ilnlly \x,tit, 
An 111! fi!i:l/ly tiirni!il tin; tjirily wli<!/:l, 

Or iiifi^n'A at thi) wnary oar ; 



Winn I nii!ai-,iiri'l tin! )Kintln« i!oiirit<:r'ii n]if^:<t, 

Tin- llinlit of till! i!arri.!i ilovo, 
Alt llnty l/ori! till: law a kin« i1i;'.tm:'1, 

Or tin- lini:(i «f ini|iatii;nt lovi', 
I ':onl<l liiit think liow tlii: world woiil'l I'mI, 

A« tlliiiV: wi:|i: oi(li',tri|»|ii:'l "far, 
WIk'Ii I nlioulil I/.: l/oiiml Ui tin: iiuJiin^ ki!i:l, 

Or i:liaini:il to tlji; (ly)n;( ';ar. 



O l/roail-anni!(l fintiiir of tlio ili'Cp, wliow! ii\KirU 

can i'i|iial tliini: ? 
Till! l>ol|)l)in wcif^liB a tlioiiwanil toni! tliat tn/^n 

thy i:al>li: llni: J 
Anil hinht tiy night 'tl« thy r|i]ip;ht, thy </loiy I 

ilay l,y ilay, I 

ThroU({li »!il)li: l«;a aii'l hri'akcr whili-, tin: j/ianl 

(^atni' to |)Iay ; | 

I'.ut, Hliaini:r of our lltlli: B|)ortD ! for;{ivi) tin- 

name I <(avi:, - - ' a i ■ i ■ , . i i . ■ i 

A fkhiir'i. joy k to <li-«troy, thine oltlci: i« U, mv.. I ^"l' ' 7"''";'' '" '">' "','""" ''•'"' " '•'"""I'-'' ''''^"' 
loilrrin tin- i.i:a-kinx'«hall«,i;-,n|ih,t thou hut , ^'"' '""«'""' '" '">',""" ^'""P^"'' 

<), thi:n yi: ii;iw a won'iroiin 'Inin^^i: 

On till; larth ami occnn wl'li:. 



(la ! ha ! ha! Ihoy fouml nn: at l;«t, 
Thi:y invit^:il nn; loith at hnjjth, 



uniliirntatnl 
Whom: Ix: tin: whiti- honn'i hy thy h'uU:, or who 

that ilri|i|iiiij{ Ixtinl, 
Hlow HWiiy'inif in tin; imiviun wavi!» th.it rounil 

ahoilt thi:i: Iwnil, 
Willi Koufnln llki) l/ri;aki;r»! in a ilii;;tiri, l)Ii:!N)iif( 

tln;ir ani;i<;iit frii:)nl ; 
O, wulilot thou know what hcrofto ({Ihli: with]'''''"" "l""™- 'wv" .Vi'l''''' t" 

largw HU;\m roiiml thi«, '•'''" ^orlil, tin; woiLI U iniin: • 

Thlin; iron oi-li; woiil-l hw.W with piiih: ; thou '-l«t. ' ''"'"' ''''"'''' ''"' "»» ''"''' '""'"'"•t ''I'"'-. 

li;a|i within thi; («;a ! I "'' 'h'/w; wln;ri: hU liftannt iii:i:\Uii; 

j 'Hn; «i-inl Btri-ania of tin; i|Ui:i;nly Wi.fit, 

01v<: honor U, tlit-lr rrn;niorii;« who left tho jJi-sb- '" "'" '"'"'"'■ """''' '''"'""• 

ant ntranil 
To ahwl thi;ir hlwi'l m> freely for the love of ''''"' '"■'■"" I"''"'" wherever I ;.Wi:e|) 

fathrjrlaml. - i '''" '"='"' '"^ »1>'""!{I'' royii''^^ 

Who left their ehanee of ijiiiet ufio. ami ^KoiKy ^•"' "i""«t':'« "ft'"' '"'"y '''«!' 

ehurehyanl «rav« ' I ''"^-r treinhllri({ at niy voiee. 

Hi, fr<!i;ly for a rft«tlm he-l ami/l the uxisinff ' ''""y ''"• ■"'•"'"'"'""=''"'' "''""'^''' 

The thoujir,ht» "f hia gixlliki; niiinl ; 



Where now niy liery aiiniei riinjre, 
Nor wait for wiml or liile 1 

Hiirrah ! hurrah '. the v/ati-ra o'er, 
The nioiintain'it nU-i:\i ileeline ; 

my [Kiy/nr; 



ry-.- 



wave ; 
O, tlioiif(h our anchor may not he all I have 

fomlly «un({, 
Honor him for their memory whow) Ix/neii he 

liniM ainonpr I 

hahuki, MnuiUw/x, 



The win'l l-'iKi aft«r my j^oin^ forth, 
The li«hlnin« U left hehiinl. 

In the ihirkwjine il'-|/th)) of the fathoinleiw mine 
My tirelenD arm iloth jil.iy. 



^ 



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502 



POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LAHuR. 



-n 



AVhei-o the rooks ne"or saw the sun's dctfliuo I Ho tlie true niler luiJ oouquoroi-, ho tlio tiuo 



Or the dawn of the gh^rious day ; 
1 bring earth's glittonng jewels ui) 

Fivm the hidden oaves below. 
And 1 make the l'o\intaiu's gi-anite oup 

With a orystal gush o'erflow. 

1 blow the bellows, 1 forge the steel, 

In all the shops of trade ; 
1 hammer the on> and turn the wheel 

Where my arms of strength are made ; 
I manage the fiunaoe, the mill, the mint, 

1 oarry, 1 spin, 1 weave. 
And all my doings I put into print 

On every &\tui\lay eve. 

1 've no muscles to weary, no brains to decay, 

If bones to be laid on the shelf. 
And soon I intend you may go and play, 

AVliilo I manage the world myself. 
But harness me down with your iron bands. 

Be sure of your curb and rein, 
For 1 soorn the strength of your puny hands 

As the tempest soorns the chain. 

OEOKGE W. CUTVEl 



LABOR SONG. 



FROM "THE EELL-FOVNDEK." 



fe- 



Ah ! little they know of true happiness, they 

wlunn satiety tills, 
Who, Hung on the rich breast of lu.xury, eat of 

the raukness that kills. 
All ! little they know of the blessedness toil- 

purehased slumlier enjoys 
Who, stivtohcil on the hare! rack of indolence, 

taste of the sleep that destreys ; 
Nothing to hoiie for, or labor for ; nothing to 

sigh for, or gain ; 
Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like, 

bosom and brain ; 
Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling it o'er 

with its breath : 
Nothing but duUne.-is and lethai-gi,-, we.ii-iuess, 

sorrow, and death ! 

But blesskl that child of humanity, happiest man 
among men. 

Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rud- 
der or plowshare or ]wn, 

Uiboreth ever and ever with ho|H; through the 
morning of life. 

Winning houio and its darling di%-inities, — love- 
woi^ijied children and wife. 

Bound swings the hammer of industry, quickly 
the sharp chisel rings. 

And the heart of the toiler has throblnngs that 
stir not the bosom of kings, — 



king of his race 
Who nerveth his arm for life's comliat, and looks 
the strong world in the faoe. 

DE.N»^s Florence MaoCarthv. 



A LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY. 

t" Some coUi'H lus Ulcly been iiupo[t<»l into F-ArringvioH. where 
the milU have been closet! for .•» cousl(ler.-\blc lime The people, 
who were previously in the deet>cit distress, wem i»ut to meet the 
cotton ; the women wept over the Utles fln\l kissetl then), antt 
tinally sans the tXixologj" o\T;r them."— ^frvAtlt'r of May 14. >805.I 

" Pkaise GckI from whom all blessings How," 
Praise him who sendeth joy and woe. 
The Lore! who takes, the Loi\l who gives, 
praise him, all that dies, and lives. 

He opens and he shuts his hand, 
But why we cannot undei'stand : 
Poui-s and dries up his mereies' flood, 
And yet is still All-ix'rfect Oooti. 

We fathom not the mighty plan. 
The mystery of God and man ; 
We women, when alHictions come. 
We only sufl'er and are dumb. 

And when, the tempest passing by, 
He gleams out, sunlikc, through our sky, 
We look up, and through black clouds riven 
We recognize the smile of Heaven. 

Oni-s is no wisilom of the wise. 
We have no deep philosophies ; 
Childlike we take botli kiss and rod, 
For he who loveth kiioweth Ood. 

Dl.VAlt MlLOCK CRAIK. 



TO LABOR IS TO FRAY. 

Pavsk not to dream of the future before us ; 
Pause not to weep the wild carets that comeo'cr us ; 
Hark how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 

rnintennitting, goes up into heaven ! 
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; 
Never the little seed stops in its growing ; 
More and more richly the ivse heart keeixs glow- 
ing. 

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 

" Labor is worship ! " the i-obin is singing; 
" Labor is worehip ! " the wiM Ix-e is ringing ; 
Listen ! that eloipieut whisjier, nj>springing. 
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's i.Ti"t 
heart 



-ff 



f 



LABOR. 



-,()'. 



ra 



y- 



From the dark doiul flown the life-giving shower; 
From the rough ttod blows tlie soft-ljre.-ithing 

flower ; 
From the small insect, the rich coral hower ; 
Only man, in the plan, shrinks from hi« part. 

I,;ihor is life! 't ix the still wat';r faileth ; 
I'ljenirss ever dcspaircth, bcwaileth ; 
Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assail- 
eth ; 

Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
I.abor is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens ; 
Only the waving wing changes and bright<;n« ; 
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; 

Play the sweet keys, wouUlst thou keep them 
in tune ! 

Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet ns ; 

Rest from all petty vexations that meet us ; 

Kest from sin-prom[itings that ever entreat us ; 
K/;st from wojld-sirens that lure us to ill. 

Work, — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy 
pillow ; 

Work, — thou shalt ride over Care's coming bil- 
low ; 

I.ie not down wearied 'neatli Woe's weeping wil- 
low. 
Work with a stout heart and resolute will ! 

Liiljor is health I Lo, the husbandman reaping. 

How through his vi-in» goes the life-current 
leaping ! 

How his strong arm in itsstahvorth pride sweep- 
ing. 
True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides. 

Labor Is wealth, — in the sea the pearl groweth ; 

Rich the r(ueen'8 robe from the frail cocoon ftow- 
eth; 

From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; 
Temple and statue the marble block hides. 

l)roop not, — though shame, sin, and anguish 

are round thee ! 
liravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound 

thee f 
I>ook to the pure heaven smiling beyond thee ! 
Kest not content in thy darkness, — a clod ! 
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly ! 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ! 
Labor ! — all labor is noble and holy ; 
Let thy great deed be thy prayer to thy God. 
Frances s. Osgood. 



THE LABORER. 

Toiling in the naked fields. 
Where no bush a shelter yields. 
Needy Labor dithering stands. 
Beats and blows his numbing hands, 



And upon the crumping snows 
.Stamps in vain to wann his toes. 

Though all 's in vain to keep him warm. 
Poverty must brave tlie st'jrm. 
Friendship none its aid to lend. 
Constant health his only friend, 
Crantii/g leave to live in {Kiin, 
Giving strength to t'lil in vain. 

JOH.V CURB. 



DUTY. 



I SLEPT and dreamed that life was Beauty : 
I woke and found that life was Duty : 
Was then thy dream a shailowy lie ? 
Toil on, sad heart, courageously, 
And thou shalt find thy dream t<'> be 
A noonday light and tnith to thee. 



TRUE REST. 

Sweet is the pleasure 
Itself cannot spoil ! 

Is not true leisure 
One with true toil ? 

Thou that wouldst taste it, 

Still do thy best ; 
Use it, not waste it, — 

Else 't is no rest. 

WouMst behold beauty 
Near thee ? all round ! 

Only hath duty 
.Such a sight found. 

Pest is not quitting 

The busy career ; 
Rest is the fitting 

Of self to its sphere. 

'T is the brook's motion, 
Clear without strife. 

Fleeing to ocean 
After its life. 

Deeper devotion 

Nowhere hath knelt ; 
Fuller emotion 

Heart never felt. 

'T is loving and serving 
The highest and l)est ; 

'T is onwards I unswerving, ■ 
And tliat is true rest. 



:i 



GOOD NIGHT. 

Good uiglit, 
To each weary, toil-worn wight ! 
Now the day so sweetly closes, 
Every aching brow reposes 
Peacefully till morning light. 
Good night ! 

Home to rest ! 
Close the eye and calm the breast ; 
Stillness through the streets is stealing 
And the watchman's horn is pealing. 
And the night calls softly, " Haste ! 
Home to rest !" 



Sweetly sleep ! 

Eden's breezes round ye sweep 

O'er the peace-forsaken lover 

Let the darling image hover, 

As he lies in transport deep. 

Sweetly sleep ! 

So, good night ! 

Shuulicr on till morning light ; 

Sluniljer till another morrow 

Brings its stoi-es of joy and sorrow ; 

Fearless, in the Father's sight, 

Slumber on. Good night ! 



t&-- 



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[&^ 



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^y ^r— -4?/ ^ /^i^^ 



///CiTT^ ^-^-^^^t^^U^^^ ^^^'^^^^'^^ 







-a 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



BREATHES THERE THE MAN — 

Breathes there the man viith soul so dead 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud liis name. 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim. 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
The wretch, concenteied all in self. 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the Wle dust from whence he spning, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



MY COUNTRY. 

There is a land, of everj' land the pride. 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside. 
Where brighter suns ilispense .serener light, 
And milder moons imparadise the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth. 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth ; 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair. 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. 
In every clime, the magnet of his soul. 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; 
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race. 
The heritage of nature's noblest grace. 
There is a spot of earth supjremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter .spot than all the rest. 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and scepter, pageantry and pride. 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. 
Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. 
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life : 



In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
An angel-guard of love an<l graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet. 
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
"Where shall that land, that spot of earth lie 

found ? " 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ; 
0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps loam. 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 

Man, through all ages of revolving time. 
Unchanging man, in every varying clime, 
Deems his own land of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world bpsi<le ; 
His home the .spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 

JAIIF.S MONTGOMERY. 

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE — 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blessed ! 
When Spring, with dewy lingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mold, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever tro<l. 

By fairy hands their knell is rang ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, . 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 

William Collins. 



THE BRAVE AT HOME. 

The maid who binds her warrior's sash 

With smile that well her pain dissembles. 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One .stan-y tear-drop hangs and trembles. 
Though Heaven alone records the tear. 

And Fame shall never know her story. 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As e'er bedewed the field of glorv ! 



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r 506 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AXD FREEDOM. 



--a 



The wife who girds lier husband's sword, 

Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 
And bravely speaks the cheering word. 

What though her heart be rent asunder. 
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 

The bolts of death around him rattle. 
Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 

Was poured upon the field of battle ! 

The mother who conceals her grief 

While to her breast her son she presses, 
Then breathes a few brave words and brief. 

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 
AVith no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
Slieds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor ! 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS. 

It was the wild midnight, — 
A storm was on the sky ; 
The lightning gave its light, 
And the thunder echoed by. 

The torrent swept the glen. 
The ocean lashed the shore ; 
Then rose the Spartan men, 
To make their bed in gore ! 

Swift from the deluged ground 
Tliree himdred took the shield ; 
Then, silent, gathered round 
The leader of the field ! 

He spake no warrior word, 
He bade no trumpet blow, 
But the signal thunder roared, 
And they rushed upon the foe. 

All up the mountain's side, 
All down the woody vale. 
All by the rolling tide 
Waved the Persian banners pale. 

And foremost from the pass. 
Among the slumbering band. 
Sprang King Leonidas, 
Like the lightning's living brand. 

Then double darkness fell, 
And the forest ceased its moan ; 
But there came a clash of steel, 
And a distant dying groan. 

Anon, a trumpet blew. 
And a fiery sheet burst high. 



That o'er the midnight threw 
A blood-red canojiy. 

A host glared on the hill ; 

A host glared by the bay ; 

But the Greeks rushed onward still. 

Like leopards in theii- play. 

The air was all a yell. 
And the earth was all a flame, 
Where the Siiartan's bloody steel 
On the silken turbans came ; 

And stQl the Greek rushed on 
Where the fiery torrent rolled. 
Till like a rising sun 
Shone Xerxes' tent of gold. 

They found a royal feast, 
His midnight bauipiet, there ; 
And the treasures of the East 
Lay beneath the Doric spear. 

Then sat to the repast 
The bravest of the brave ! 
That feast must be their last. 
That spot mast be their grave. 

Up rose the glorious rank. 
To Greece one cup poured high, 
Then hand in hand they drank, 
"To immortality ! " 

Fear on King Xer.ves fell. 
When, like spirits from the tomb, 
With shout and trampet knell, 
He saw the warriors come. 

But dovra swept all his power. 
With chariot and with charge ; 
Down poured the arrows' shower. 
Till sank the Spartan targe. 

Thus fought the Greek of old ! 
Thus wiU he fight again ! 
Shall not the selfsame mold 
Bring forth the selfsame men ? 

GEORGE crolv. 



PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 

Tn ts was the ruler of the land 

"When Athens was the land of fame ; 

This was the light that led the band 
When each was like a living flame ; 

The center of earth's noblest ring, — 

Of more than men, the more tlian king 



4 



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FUEMU OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



507 4^ 



B- 



Yet not by fetter, nor by sjiear, 
His sovereignt}' was held or won : 

Feared — but alone as freemen fear, 
Loved — but as freemen love alone, 

He waved the scepter o'er his kind 

By Nature's fli'st great title — miml ! 

Resistless words were on his tongue, — 
Then eloquence first flashed below ; 

Full armed to life the portent sprung, — 
Minerva from the thunderer's brow ! 

And his the sole, the sacred hand 

That shook her iegis o'er the laud. 

And, throned immortal by his side, 
A woman sits with eye sublime, — 

Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ; 

But, if their solemn love were crime, 

Pity the beauty and the sage, — 

Their crime was in their darkened age. 

He perished, but his wreath was won, — 
He perished in his height of fame ; 

Then sunk the cloud on Athens' sun. 
Yet still she conquered in his name. 

Filled with his soul, she could not die ; 

Her couquest was posterity ! 

George crolv. 



HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 

Laks Poksena of Clusium, 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the Nine Gods he swore it. 

And named a trysting-day. 
And bade his messengers ride forth. 
East and west and south and north. 

To summon his array. 

East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and towm and eottnc;e 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

"Who lingers in his home, 
AVhen Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome ! 

There be thirty chosen prophets. 

The wisest of the land. 
Who alway by Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand. 
Evening and mom the Thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er. 
Traced from the right on linen white 

By mighty seers of yore ; 



And with one voice the Thirty 

Have their glad answer given ; 
' ' Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena, — 

Go forth, beloved of Heaven ! 
Go, and return in glory 

To Clusium's royal dome. 
And hang round Nurseia's altai-s 

The golden shields of Rome ! " 

And now hath every citj'' 

Sent up her tale of men ; 
The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium 

Is met the great array ; 
A proud man was Lars Poi-sena 

Upon the trysting-day. 

Now, from the rock Tarpcian, 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The Fathers of the City, 

They sat all night and day. 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidings of dismay. 

I wis, in all the Senate 

There was no heart so bold 
But sore it ached, and fast it beat. 

When that ill new's was told. 
Forthwith up rose the Consul, 

ITp rose the Fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up thcii- gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 

They held a council, standing 

Before the River-gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess, 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the Consul roundly : 

" The bridge must straight go down : 
For, since Janiculum is lost, 

Naught else can save the town." 

Just then a scout came flying. 

All wild with haste and fear : 
"To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul, — 

Lars Porsena is here." 
On the low hills to westward 

The Consul fixed his eye. 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Rise fa.st along the sky. 

But the Consul's brow was sad. 
And the Consul's speech was low, 

And darkly looked he at the wall. 
And darkly at the fiie : 



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Fh 



OS 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FBEEDiLM. 






' ' Their van will bo upon us 

Before tlie bridge goes clown ; 
Anil if tliey once may win tlio bridge, 

Wliat hope to save the town .'" 

Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captain of the gate : 
"To every man upon tiiis earth 

1 )eath cometli soon or late. 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds 
For the iishes of his fathers 

And the temples of his gods, 

"And for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest, 
And for the wil'e who nurses 

His baby at her breast. 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame, — 
To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me. 

Will liold the foe in play. 
In you strait patli a thousand 

May well be stopped by thi-ee : 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me?" 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius, — 

A Ivumuiiui proud was he : 
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge witli thee." 
And out spake strong Hermiuius, — 

Of Titian blood was he : 
" 1 will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

The three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

IJetbre that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew. 
And lifted liigh their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way. 

Annus, from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the' Hill of Vines ; 
And .Seius, wliose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 
And Pieus, long to Clusium 



fr*- 



Vassal m peace and wai', 
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that gray ci-ag wliere, girt with towers. 
The fortress of Neqiunum lowers 

O'er the pale waves of Nar. 

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Hermiuius struck at Seius, 

Aud clove him to the teeth ; 
At I'icus brave Honitius 

Darted one fiery thrust, 
Aud the proud UmbriiUi's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 

Rushed on the Roman three ; 
And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruus of Volsinium, 

Who slew the great wild boar, — 
The great wild lioar tliat had his den 
Amidst the reeds of Cosii's fen, 
Aud wasted fiehls, and slaughtered men, 

Along .iVlbinia's shore. 

Hermiuius smote down Aruns ; 

Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow : 
" Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate ! 

No more, aghast and pale. 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mai'k 
The track of thy destroying bark ; 
No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
To woods aud caverns, when they spy 

Thy thrice-accui-sM sail I " 

But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes ; 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Si.'c spears' length from the entrance. 

Halted that mighty mass, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow pass. 

But, hark ! the cry is Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

Which none but he can wield. 

He smiled on those hold Romans, 
A smile serene and high ; 



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POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



509 H^ 



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He eyed tlie ttinclung Tubcaus, 

And scoru was in liis eye. 
Quoth he, " The she-woll's litter 

.Stand savagely at bay ; 
But will ye dare to follow, 

If Astur clears the way ?" 

Then, whuling up his broadsword 

With both hands to the height, 
He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 
With shield aud blade Horatius 

Right deftly tuiiied the blow. 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 
It missed his hehn, but gashed his thigli. 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood How. 

He reeled, and on Heriuiuius 

He leaned one breathing-space. 
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Through teeth and skull aud helmet 

So fierce a thrust he sped. 
The good sword stood a handbreadth out 

Belrind the Tuscan's head. 

And the great lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke. 
As falls on Mount Averuus 

A thunder-smitten oak. 
Far o'er the ci'ashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
Ainl the pale augui-s, muttering low, 

Gaze on the bla.sted head. 

On Astur's throat Horatius 

Right firmly pressed his heel. 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
"And see," he cried, "the welcome. 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucumo comes ne.\t 

To taste our Roman cheer ? " 

But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran. 
Mingled with wi-ath and shame and dread. 

Along that glittering van. 
There lacked not men of prowess, 

Xor men of lordly race, 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round tlie fatal place. 

But all Etruria's noblest 

Felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earih the bloody corpses. 

In the path the dauntless three ; 



And from the ghastly entrance. 

Where those bold Romans stood, 
jUl shrank, — like boys who, unaware. 
Ranging a wood to stait a hare. 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
Lies amidst bones and blood. 

Was none who would be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried "Forward ! " 

And those before cried " Back ! " 
And backward now aud forward 

AVavers the deep antiy ; 
And on the tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards reel, 
Aud the victorious trumpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 

Yet one man for one moment 

Sti'ode out before the crowd ; 
Well known was he to all the three. 

And they gave him greeting loud : 
" Now welcome, welcome, Se.xtus ! 

Now welcome to thy liome I 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome. " 

Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

Aud thrice turned back in dread ; 
And, white with fear aud hatred, 

Scowled at the narrow way 
Where, wallowing in a |)0ol of blood, 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 

But meanwhile ax and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 

Loud cried the Fathers all, — 
"Back, Lartius I back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

Back darted Spurius Lartius, — 

Herminius darted back ; 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces. 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone. 

They would have crossed once more ; 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam. 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 



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roHMS OK I'A'ni20Tl&M AyV FUJiEliOM. 



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And a laHjj shout rf tiiuiuph 
luvse ftvm tlif walls of Hoiur, 

Ai to the hijchost tuvivt-tojvs 
Was sjJashtnl th<> jvHow loam. 

And Uko a hoi-so uuluv>ko«, 

Whou fii-st h<» tWJs tlio iviu, 
Thf fuviovis rivor st^'t»J^l<^l hai\l. 

Ami tvwstHl his tawny uiani\ 
Ainl bui-st the ourK a>ul Knmdwl, 

Kojoiv'ui^ to l« f»?«< ; 
Ami \v)>i>luvjj do\v«, iu lio>\ti oartHxr, 
liattlomout and {Jaiik aiul jvver, 

Kudirtl headlong to the st<tk. 

Alouo stotnl brave Horatius, 

l>«t wiistaiit still in wind, — 
Thviw thiviy thonsixiul Ivh's K-fore, 

And the UwMid llovxl Ivhiud, 
" Down with him ! " mievl fsUso Sextus, 

With a snule on his (vJe liu-<> ; 
" Sow yield thet\" evi<\l Uu-s Foiiseua, 

" Nvw yield thee to o>«- gi'aw ! " 

Kov\ud turneil he, as not deiguiug 

Those OKivea jtu>ks to si<<> ; 
Nansht s{\>ko he to l^vs l\>rsena. 

To Sextus naught sjv>ke he ; 
15\»t he saw oj» iSUatinvis 

The white poi-eh of his home ; 
And he sjwke to the noWe river 

That >\xlls by the towetis of Kome : 

" Til«er ! Father 'Hlw ! 

To whou\ the Komans i>i-ay, 
A Koi\>au's life, a Koinim's arms. 

Take thou in ohai-g<< this day ! " 
So he si>ako, and, sjH\>fciug, sheathtxl 

The g\xxl swonl by his side. 
And, with his harness lUi his l>ack, 

riimg«Hl he!>dlong in the tide. 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heai\l fivni either Ivxuk, 
But tViends and fo^^s in dumb suri>ri»e. 
With jwrtevl lijvs and sti-ainiug ey<>s, 

Stoinl g^siug wheiv he sjuik ; 
Aud when above the sw'ges 

They si»w his cr«st aj<pear. 
All Kvnxte sent forth a j'apturous ery, 
Aud even the ranks of l\iseauy 

Could sosuve forl>ear to cheer. 

Bxit fiercely ran the ouiivut. 
Swollen high by months of Kiiu ; 

And fast his Wood was flowing, 
And he was sotv in twin. 



Aud he!>vy with his armor, 

Aud si*ut with ehiuigiug blows ; 

Aud oft they thought him sinking. 
But still ag!iiu he l\vse. 

Never, 1 wwu, did swi\nmer. 

In sueh an evil case. 
Struggle thivugh suoh a mgiug lloo»l 

Safe to the lanvliug-idaiv ; 
But his limKs weiv Unue uji Imwely 

By the U«ve hwut within, 
.\ud our gi>od Father 'lllvr 

Baiv teively u\> his ohiu. 

" Cui'st) on him ! " ^uoth false Sextus, — 

•' Will not the villain d>\n\u ; 
But foi- this stiiy, ejv ehwe of >liiy 

Wo sliould have saekc^l the towu ! " 
" Hiv»vei\ helj> him ! " quoth Uire Poreena, 

"And la'iug hiu» siU'e to slioiv ; 
For sueh a gitllaut feat of arms 

AVas never seou K-foiv." 

And now he I'wls the lHittv>m ; 

Kow on dry wuth he stands ; 
Now ivuud him thwvng the Fathei-s 

To jvre«s his gory hands ; 
And now, with slumts and elaj^juug, 

Aud luuso of w«>)«ug loud. 
He entei-s thivugh the Kiw»--gate, 

Bonie by the joyous crowd. 

They gsivc hint of tl\e corn-land. 

That was of jiuUie right. 
As much as two stivug oxen 

Could \Jow I'lvm utorn till uisjht : 
Aud they made a molten image. 

And !iet it up on high. — 
And ther«i it stands unto tliis day 

To witue.^s if 1 lie. 

It stands in the Comitixuu, 

riain for all folk to see, — 
Horatius in his harness. 

Halting Uix<n oiu' kiuv ; 
And underneath is written, 

lu lettci-sallofgold. 
How valiantly ho kept the luiilgo 

In the l«t»ve days of old. 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Vnto the men of Uoiue, 
As the trnmiH>t-blivst that cries to them 

To chai-gt* the Volsciau home ; 
And wives -still iflt>y to Jxino 

Fw Wys with hearts as Kild 
As his who kept the bridge* s>» we"l 

lu the bravt< davs of old. 



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I'OEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



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511 



Aiid in the nights of winter, 

W)ien the cold north-winds l>low, 
And the long howling of the wolves 

Is heard amidst the snow ; 
When round the lonely cottago 

lioars loud the tenij^est's din, 
And the good logs of Algidus 

lioar louder yet within ; 

When the oldest cask is opened. 

And the largest lainji is lit ; 
When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 

iVnd the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 

Around the firebrands close ; 
When the girls are weaving baskets, 

And. the lads are shajiing bows ; 

When the goodiuan mends hLs annor. 

And trims his lielmct's jdume ; 
When the goodwife's shuttle menily 

Goes flashing through the loom ; 
With weeping and with laughter 

Still is tlie story told, 
ilow well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

Thomas Bajjincto.v Macaulav. 



SEMPROMUS'S SPEECH FOR WAR. 

My voice is still for war. 
Gods ! can a Roman senate long clebate 
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ? 
Xo ; let us lise at once, gird on our swords. 
And at the liead of our remaining troops 
Attack the foe, break through the thick array 
Of his thronged legions, and cliargc home upon 

him. 
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, 
May reach his heart, and free the world from 

bondage. 
Rise ! Fathers, ri.se ! 't is Rome demands your 

help : 
Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens. 
Or share their fate ! The cor]ise of half her 

.senate 
Manures the fields of Tliessaly, while we 
Sit here deliberating, in cold debate. 
If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, 
Or wear them out in servitude and chains. 
Rouse up, for shame ! our tjrothers of Pharsalia 
I'oint at their wounds, and cry aloud, — "To 

battle ! " 
Great Pompey's shade complains tliat we are slow, 
i\ai Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us. 



43-.- 



WuEN the British warrior queen. 
Bleeding from the Roman rods. 

Sought, with an indignant mien. 
Counsel of her country's gods, 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 

Sat the Druid, hoary cliief ; 
Every buniing word hu spoke 

FuU of rage and full of grief. 

" Princess ! if our ageil eyes 
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 

'T is Ijccaiise resentment ties 
Ml the terrors of our tongues. 

" Rome shall perLsh — write tliat word 
In the blood that she has spilt, — 

Perish, hopeless and aljhorred. 
Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

" Rome, for empire far renowned, 
Tramides on a thou.sand .states ; 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, — 
Hark ! the Gaul is at Iier gates ! 

"Other Romans shall arise, 
Heedl&ss of a soldier's name ; 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
Harmony the path to fame. 

"Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land. 

Armed with thunder, clad with wings. 
Shall a wider world command. 

" Regions Ca;sar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew. 

None invincible as they." 

Such the bard's pro])lietic words. 

Pregnant with celestial fire, 
Bending as he swept the chords 

Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch's pride. 
Felt them in her bosom glow ; 

Ru.shed to battle, fought, and died, — 
Dying, hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
Empire is on us bestowed. 

Shame and ruin wait for you ! 

WIIJ_IAM COWPC 



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POXMS OF PATMIOTISM A.\l> FMJiEDOM. 



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RIKN2I TO THls: ROMANS. 

I come not hei'e to talk. Ye kuow too well 
The stoi-v of our thi'aldoui. We are slaves ! 
The blight sun vises to his course, aud lights 
.\ race ol" slaves ! he sets, and his last beam 
FiOls ou a slave ! Kot such as, swept along 
Uy the full tide of power, the toiujuoiw leads 
To orimsou glory and vindyiug tUme, 
r>ut Ktse, ignoble slaves ! — slaves to a hoixle 
Of jwtty tyrants, feudal desix>ts ; lojxls 
Kioh in some doicn jialtry vilhiges, 
Strong in some hundrevl sj>eai'men, only gi'eat 
In that strange spell, — a name ! Each horn', 

dark fraud. 
Or ofieu rapine, or pixite^'tetl muuler, 
l\ies out against them, Bxit this very day 
An honest man, my neighbor, — thei'ehestands, — 
Wits struck — struck like a dog — by one who 

wore 
The badge of Ursini ! be^-ause, foi'sooth. 
He tossevl not high his ivady cap in air, 
Xor lift«l up his voice in servile shouts. 
At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men. 
And suffer such dishonor ! men, and wash not 
The stain away in blowl < Such shames are com- 
mon. 
1 have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to 

ye — 
I havl a brother once, a gracious boy. 
Full of all gentleness, of calmest ho{ie, 
Of sweet and ^uiet joy ; there W!«s the look 
Of Heaven upon his face which limners give 
To the belove*! disciple. How I love<l 
That gracious boy ! younger by fifteen years, 
B»x>ther at once and son ! He left my side, — 
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smite 
Farting his innocent lijis. In one short hour 
T!ie pretty, harmless boy was slain ) 1 saw 
The coi-se, the manglei,! corse, and then 1 cried 
For vengeance ! Rouse ye, Komans ! Rouse ye, 

slaves ! 
Have ye brave sous ? — Look in the next fierce 

brawl 
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? — 

Lix>k 
To see them li%-e, torn from your arms, distaine^l. 
Dishonored ; suid, if ye daj-e call for justice. 
Be auswei-e<.l by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, 
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 
Of beauty rule«.l the world .' Yet we are Komans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Rotuau 
Was greater than a king '. And once again — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus I — once again, 1 swear. 
The eternal city shall be free ! 

.MARY KUSSBIL MITFORD. [ 



BKUC£ AHV TH£ SFIDKK. 

FoK Scotland's and for- freeilom's right 

The Bruce his jwrt had jilayeil. 
In five snci-essive fields of fight 

lieeu coiujuered and dismayeil ; 
Ouce more against the Eiiglisli hiwt 
His K»nd he linl, and once more Uwt 

The meed for which he fovight ; 
And now from battle, faint and worn. 
The homeless fugitive forlorn 

A hut's lone slielter sought. 

And cheerless was that I'esting-place 

For him who claime<l a throne : 
His canopy, devoid of grace. 

The nule, ix>ngh beajus alone ; 
The heather conch his only Wl, — 
Y'et well 1 ween had slumber tW 

From couch of eidei--down 1 
Through darksome night till dawn of day, 
Absorlievl in wakeful thoughts he lay 

Of Scotland and her crown. 

The sun rose brightly, and its gleam 

Fell on that hajJess betl, 
And tingetl with light each shaj>ele«s beam 

Which a>ofetl the lowly stie<.l ; 
AVhen, looking up with wistful eye. 
The Bruce belield a spider try 

His filmy thread to tliug 
From lieam to t>ean» of that rude cot ; 
And well the insect's toilsome lot 

Taivght Scotland's future king. 

Six times his gosssunery thread 

The wary spider threw ; 
In vain the filmy line was sped. 

For }x)werless or untrue 
Each aim appeaivil, and back i^ecoiled 
The jvatient iusei-t, six times foiled. 

And yet nno-mnuered still ; 
And soon the Bl'uce, with eager eye, 
Saw him prepare om-e more to try 

His courage, strength, and skill. 

One effort more, his seventh and last ; 

The hero hailevl the sign ! 
And ou the wishevl-for beam hung fast 

That slender, silken line ! 
Slight as it was, his spirit caught 
The more than omen, for his thought 

The lesson well could trace. 
Which even "he who runs may i-ead," 
That Perseverance gains its meevl. 

And Patience wins the race. 

Ber.nak:i >uri\>n- 



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POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



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BANNOCKBURN. 

At IJannockljurn the English lay, — 
The Scots they were na far away, 
But waited lor the break o' day 
Tliat glinted in the east. 

But soon the sun broke through tlic heatli 
And lighted up that field o' death. 
When Bruce, wi' saul-insjiiring breath, 
His heralds thus addressed : — 

" Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has olteu led, 
AVelconie to your gory bed. 
Or to glorioiui victory ! 

" Kow 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's [xjwer, — 
Edward ! chains and slavery ! 

" Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sac base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

'* Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
Caledonia ! on wi' me ! 

" By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins. 

But tliey sliall Ijc — shall l>e free ! 

" Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
TjTants fall in every foe I 
Liberty s in every blow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die '." 

KOBERT Burns. 



LOCHIEUS WARNING. 



t 



WIZARD. - LOCHIEL. 



LocHlEL, Loehiel I beware of the day 

AVhen the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle 

array, 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight. 
And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and 

crown. 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the 

plain. 



But liark ! through the fast-Hashing lightning 

of war. 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
"r is thine, O Glenullin I whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the 

gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
0, weep i but thy tears cannot number the dead ; 
For a merciless sword on CuUoden shall wave, 
CuUoden ! tliat reeks with the blood of the bi-ave. 

LOCHIEL. 

Go, jireach to the coward, thou death-telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory CuUoden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 



Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be 

torn ! 
Say, rushed the Ixild eagle exultingly forth 
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the 

noith ! 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeedin;.', he 

rode 
Comjiauionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his liavoc on high ! 
Ah! home let him speed, — for the sjKiiler is 

nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the 

blast 
Those cmljers, Uke stars from the firmament ca.st ? 
'T is the fire-shower of ruin, aU dreailfully driven 
From his eyrj', that beacons the darkness of 

heaven. 
crested Lochiel ! the jxjerless in might. 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height. 
Heaven's fire Is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling '. all lonely return ' 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it 

stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

broofl. 

LOCHIEL. 

False Wizard, avaunt ! I ha ve marshaled my clan. 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are 

one 1 
Tliey are true to the last of their blood and their 

breath. 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to tlie 

sliock ! 



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Let liim dash his proud loam like a wave on the 

rook ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud. 
All plaided and plumed in their tiirtau array — 



— Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ; 
For, dark and despairing, my sight 1 may seal. 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal ; 
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
1 tell thee, CuUoden's dread echoes sliall ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive 

king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the phials of wrath, 
Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my 

sight — 
liise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
'T is finished. Their thnnders are hushed on the 

moors. 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores, 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ! Where ? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and 

torn ■ 
Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling ; mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, tliat it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs. 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet. 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to 

beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 



— Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 
.So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat ! 
Though my perishing i-anks should be strewed in 

their gore. 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains. 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the 

foe; 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name. 
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of 

fame ! 

THOMAS Campbell. 



C.iLEDOxi.i ! stern and wild, 

Jleet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the Hood, 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ? 

Still, as I view each well-known scene. 

Think what is now, and what hath been. 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; 

And thus I love them better still. 

Even in extremity of ill. 

By Yarrow's stream still let mo stray. 

Though none should guide my feclile way ; 

Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break. 

Although it chilled my withered cheek ; 

Still lay my head by Teviot stone. 

Though there, forgotten and alone. 

The bard may draw his parting groan. 

siK \valter Scott. 



MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. 

(These verses are ncbpted to a very wild, yet lively, jjathering 
tune, used by the Macgrcgors. The severe treatuieut of this clan, 
their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded 
to in the ballad.] 

The moon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the 

brae, 
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day ; 

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach I 

Gather, gather, gather, etc. 

Our signal for fight, that from monarehs we drew. 
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! 

Then haloo, Gregalach ! haloo, Gregalach ! 

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach, etc. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and 

her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours : 

We 'relandless, landless, landless, Gregalach ! 

Landless, landless, landles.s, eU: 

But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord ; 
Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword ! 

Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach ! 

Courage, courage, courage, etc. 

If they rob us of name, and pui-sue us with beagles. 
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to 
the eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, 

Gregalach ! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc. 



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PUEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



515 



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While there 's leaves in the forest, and foam on 

the river, 
Macgregor, despite theni, shall flourisli forever ! 
Come then, Gregalach ! come then, Grega- 

lach ! 
Come then, come then, come then, etc. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine tlie steed 

shall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall 

steer. 
And the rocks of Craig- Royston like icicles melt. 
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance uufelt ! 
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach ! 
Gather, gather, gather, etc. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



MY COUNTRY. 

FROM "THE T1.MEP1ECE." 

England, with all tliy faults, I love thee still, — 
My country ! and, while yet a nook is left 
Where English minds and manners may be found. 
Shall be constrained to love thee. Tliough thy 
/ clime 
Be fickle, and thy year most jiart deformed 
With dripping lains, or withered by a frost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
And fields without a flower, for wanner France 
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers. 
To shake thy senate, and from height sublime 
Of patriot eloquence to fl:ish down fire 
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
Thy joys and soitows with as true a lieart 
As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates whose very looks 
Reflect dishonor on the land I love. 
How, in the name of soldiership and sense. 
Should England prosper, when sucli things, as 

smooth 
And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er 
With odors, and as profligate as .sweet, 
Wlio sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 
And love when they shoiiItTfight, — when such 

as these 
Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 
Of lier magnificent ami awful cause ? 
Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
In every clime, and travel where we might, 
That we were born her children. Praise enough 
To fill the ambition of a jn'ivate man, 
That Cliatham's language was his mother tongue, 
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
William Cowper. 



THE LAND OF LAlfDS. 

Yotr ask me why, thougli ill at ease, 

Within this region I subsist, 

Whose spirits falter in the nu'st, 
And languish for the purple seas. 

It is the land that freemen till, 
Tliat sober-suited Freedom chose ; 
The land where, girt with friends or foe.s, 

A man may speak tlie thing he will : 

A land of settled government, 
A land of just and old renown. 
Where freedom broadens slowly down, 

From precedent to precedent : 

Where faction seldom gathers head ; 
But, by degrees to fullness wrought. 
The strength of some diffusive thought 

Hath time and space to work and spread. 

Should banded unions persecute 
Opinion, and induce a time 
When single thought is civil crime. 

And individual freedom mute ; 

Though power should make, from land to land. 
The name of Britain trebly great — 
Though every channel of the state 

Should almost choke with golden sand — 

Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth. 
Wild wind ! I seek a warmer sky, 
And 1 will see, before I die. 

The palms and tem]iles of the South. 



RULE BRITANNIA I 

When Britain first, at Heaven's command. 

Arose from out the azure main. 
This was tlie charter of the land. 

And guardian angels sung this strain : 
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves ! 
For Britons never will be slaves. 

The nations not so blest as thee 

Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall ; 

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free, 
The ilread and envy of them all. 
Rule, Britannia '. etc. 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blasts that tear the skies 
Serve but to root thy native oak. 
Rule, Britannia ! etc. 



^ 



©-: 



5H> 



rouMs or i'ArmoTi&M Asn FUJisvoM. 



■^ 



Thtv liaii^hty tymiits up'or shall tamo ; 

All their »tl«»iin>ts tv> Iwuil tluv liowii 
Will but ai\i>is<> tl>,v j^n\oiv«s tlaiiu\ 

Aiul wAxi'k tlvoir ww — 1>»H thy ivju>wh. 
Kolc, IJritiUiuia ! rtv, 

'IV lluv K'U\i>^irs the vut-al ivijju ; 

Thy oitiivs sluUl with (\iH\tuoiw shine ; 
All thine shall Iw the sulyev-t main, 

Auvl every sluwv it eiivh-s thine. 
Knle, Uritiumia ! etv\ 

The Mnsj'*, still with F\-»H\U«n iVmuil, 

Shall to thy hapi'V v\v>st iviviir ; 
UU^t Isle ! with «\atehless K'auty eivwn<\l, 
AnU manly h«als to j;\ia>\l the lair. 
IvuUs liiitaunia ! eto, 

J.VJaSiS rn>.>Msvv\, 



THK ^Jil'O l.n-n.K 1SI-\M\ 

l^Ai<i>Y NKrrfXB, one »lay, to Wnslom ilivl say> 

If ever I livnl n)xm vlry land, 
The sin>t I should hit on wouhi l>e little Britain ! 
iSays l'\vt-»lom, ■• \V hy, that 's my own isltuitl ! " 
f, it "s a suuj» little island ! 
A ri^ijht litths ti^irht little islsuid ! 
Susxivh the gloK> wund, none ea« W tovutd 
So ha|>\>y as this little island, 

Julius (.'V«!ur, the Kiwnui, who yiehUnl to no 
man, 
(.\une l\v water, — he couldn't ixane hy land ; 
And l^ie, Hot, and Saxon, their honi«$ turuMl 
their Isxeks on. 
And all for the sake of our islai\d. 
O, what a snuj; little isliuid I 
They 'd all have a touoh at the island ! 
S*nne weiv sliot dt\-«d, si>me of them fl<\l. 
And some stayxnl to live on the islunl. 



Voor llaixdd, the ki\i^ of our island ! 

lie K^l lH>tli his life and his islan\l. 

That 's all verv true ; what nnnv eould he 

do? 

Like a Uritou he ditnl for his islautl ! 

The S|vuiisl> armada st>t ont to invade — a, 
"T will suiv, if they ever ivme nij;h laml. 
They ivuld n't do U>ss than tuek np tjluwn lh>ss, 
And take their l\ill swinjj on the island, 
1^ the (vor <|UtH'n of the i.sluud ! 
The IVns came to i>lun>ler the islam) ; 
Uut snujj in her hive the nmvn was alive. 
And •• huts " was the woi\l of the island. 

Thesi' i>ivn>l i>ull<Hl-np cakes thoujiht to n»ake 
ducks and ilrakes 
t^f our wealth ; but they hawlly ivnUl s|\v land. 
When our Urake had the luck to make their 
j>ride duck 
.\ml stvH>i> to the lads of the ishuid ! 
The jtvxvl wiHvlen walls of the island ; 
IVvil or Oon, let them conu' on, 
.\iul s»H> how they \l come olf the island ! 

Since FlxWom iuui Kejitune have hitherto kept 
tune. 
In KKch saying. " This shall Iv n\y land " ! 
Should the "Arn>y of Vatgljuul," or all it iMuld 
bring, land. 
We \l slu>w "em sotne play for the island. 

We'd light for onr right to the island ; 
We 'd give them eitough of the island ; 
I nvsulers should just — luteonceat thedust. 
But not a bit more of the island. 

TIK>M.\S OlWMN. 



MONCONTOUK. 



Then 



1:1 



very grei>t wai^man 
Nonnan, 
Orievl, " Prat it, I nevxT liked nry land. 
It wovtld l>e much n«\re han»ly to leave this 
Xonuandy, 
And liv<< on your b<\'>ntit\il island." 

Says he, '• Tis a snvig little island ; 
Sha' n't us go visit the isl.aiul * " 
Hoi\ skij\ and jum\v, there he was plnm|\ 
And he kickcvl up a dust in tlie island. 

But jvwty dewit helix\i the Xormans to beat ; 

Of ti'aitors they nian!>g<sl to buy laud ; 
B\- V>ju»e, Saxvui, ixr Kct, liritons ne'er had luseu 
lickcil. 

Had they stuck to the king of tlieir island. 



WKKP for Moncontour ! l\ we«'p for the hour 
iUled Billv the ' ^Vhen the children of darkness and evil had 



jvw»<r ; 
When the ho\-semeu of Valois triumphantly tiwl 
On the K^svuns that blwl for their rights and 

their 1<ikI. 

0, wet>p for Momxuitour ! O, w«vp for the slain 
Who for faith and for frctnlom lay slanghteiW in 

vain ! 
l">, w«x-p for the living, who linger to K>ar 
The r<uuvgade's sliame or the exile's despair ! 

One hx>k, one last hvk, to the ivts aiul the 
tvwers, 
] To the rvws of our viut-s and the K^ls of our 
, fto\v»rs ; 



^ 



jg—- »_Qj 

^-' I'OKMH Olf I'A'nUOTlHM. ASb I'lifCKPUM. TAJ ^-^ 



'I'll till; clitifBh <n\u!rH tilt; Uitu* of our IMiKn I An/1 hark ! Ilk* tb* r'>ar of th* \A\\iivi» oh th« 

'Iwjaywl, »li//f<;, 

WW'j y/<! foiidly had <WH/fl tliat '/ur own ] TJi* cry '/f t«ttlft riwas iil//n({ tMr <;l>ar({i/)^ lifo: ; 

*ih//iil>l t* lai/L f (/r f/'^'l ! hr tin: i-jMHh ! — Uir l\iy. '-huf':h ' t'/r 

U«; laws ! 
Ala« ! w<: mruit l<«v<; tlw*, 'lAar 'l/jj/date liz/rn*;, [ f<yr Cl/arhai, kiujj '/f Knglaii/1, a«</l Uufi^rt of tli« 
To tlie >t]i';iiiiiif.u of t'li, the i(hav';liii{{» of (i//Hj<; ; Uhi//* ! 

'I'o th<! wrjxiot of VUiKiuM, till: Kiiltaw of Hj/aio ; 
To tlu; j/ri/l« of Afijorj, aij/1 the guih: of ly/rraine, TItf; fnrunv/. (imiinii '/iiiu-x, with hi» <:Uiri//iw awl 

I hi* <lrar/W(, 

Kar<;w<:ll t/< thy foimtal/w, funwhW Ui thy tiAiiuhtti, \ Hi* hravows of Al«itia af//l |/'^<ffl of 'Whit*h»ll ; 
To the viun of thy youtlus, awl llu; 'laww of thy , Tlj«y ar"; l/tjntiiij; on our fiaxk* ; Cfa*{( your 

»iai<h« ; (;iki» ! ';i//ix! your rank* I 

To th« l/r<5»th of thy (jar'hai*, tlwj hum 'if thy I for i'M^ftrX Mvnt </iuit» l/in t// 'y/zcjiwrr, or tii 

U^«, fall. 

Awl th« \iinn waving Iin« <yf tlw; hliie I'ymnxx ! 

Th<;y ar<! Uitn, — tf</;y rij»lj '/ti, — w* ar* V/folwfi, 
Far<;w.:ll an/1 fr/rev<;r ! Tlw; j/ri/At arcl tlw; clave \ ~ «"= af^* «'"»«. — 



Miiiy rule in tlw; halln of tlie free and tip; 1/rave ; 
f)orh<*irth»weal<an/lon, — our lanilx we r««ij{n, — 
IJut, Father, we kn<«l t// no altar imt thine. 



Otir left ij( Ix/rne Wore tluirtn like rtoW^ on the 

Ua«t. 
I>/r<l, put forth thy rniglit ! O fy/r'l, 'lefen/1 

the /i^^lit ; 
Htniiil W;k t/^ hci/;k, in Oo<r» narne ! an/1 fi(f)/t 

it t// tlu; Ja*t ! 

Stout Skii/j>en hath a w</un'l, — tlie center hath 



0, WHWiKFoiiB 'y/rne ye forth in tnumi/h from \ ,, J^, . ^ , . ^ .i ^ ,■ , 

,. ^, Hark ; riark ! wt»at tiueni» tJie tmtitAiitx of 

the n//rth, • •, 



With 



li//rw«/ien on our r'^or ? 



.1 I r d. I • 11*11 i^-IIIKtl 'III 'I'll f'^l I 

your itan/u, an/1 your l/^^, an/l your rai- 1 ,,,, , , , . ,.,.,...,■, 

.,'!,. Wn//ise tjanner 'I// 1 nee, r/oy» f fu be ! tiiank 
K;Ht all re<l f r- I - 'i ' 1 V t 

At</1 wh/;r<rf'or<; 'l/>th your rout een/l forth a joy- ,, ' " , ' ■ \.', •, , ,■ - . , 

, . -^ * ' iJear un an//tii/rr minute ! IJrave Oliver i* Jiere : 

'/u« >,hout f 

An/1 when/^, he tli/; i^i-f:* of the wirie-j/re** tliat 'j-j^j,;, ]^i^ ^ ,,t,^,,,i„^ i,^^ tl<«r yAtiU all in 
ye tr'ja/l ? , ^ „„j,^ 

Like a whirlwi«/l on the tree«, like a 'lelujre on 
O, evil wa» tlie root, an'l Mtt/;r wa* tfi/; frtiit, jj,^ dike* 

\n/l erinuson wa» tfie jui/« of the vintajje that r>ur <;tiirawi/;ri Jiave l/ar*t //n the rank* of the 

For we trarni,h4 on tlie throng of tlie liauglrty ^^^ ata «hflek have »catt/*«d tlie f'/re*t of hi« 



an/l the xtrotii^ 
Willi «at<; in tJie higli j/la/ies and >.h^ tlie isaintx 
of Oo-l. 

It wa« aU/ut til* nor/n of a jjl/wious day <yf June 
Tliat we saw tl/eir imutiKn dan/:« an<l their 



j/ik/:«. 

Fa«t, fa»t tlie gallaritu ride, in nooie tafe no'/k l// 
hid/j 

Tfieir owar*! liead*, i/r«<le«tine<l tr< r'/t on Tem- 
ple Bar; 



euiraow* *hine, And lie -he turn*; lie fli/A; »Iiara<; on t>/o«« 

An/1 til/; man of iiUxA wa« there, with him long (-niel ey'« 

'«!<rti/»^ liair, Xiuit lx/r<: t// 1/y/k on torture, and dare n'/t W/k 

And /Viitl/;y, an/1 Sir M^mia/luke, and K<i(<ert of fyn war ' 

tlM; llhin/:. I 

I Ho, eornrad/;* I K/«nr t)ie plain ; an'l ere ye xtrip 
Like a (servant of tlie ly/rd, with hi* BilJ* and the *lain, 

hix bwopL I Firijt give another »tab to make yimr teareh se- 

The Oeneral ro<le along u» to fi/na w> ff/r the figlit ; ] rMf: ; 

Wli/;n a munniiring w/und broke out, an/1 tswelh^l Ttien xliake from nbseve* an/1 poekete tli/rir br'/ad^ 

int// a sliout pie';e« and l/><;ket«, 

Am//ng the go'll/si* lior»ewien U(x/n the tyrant"* 'Ilie t/zkems of the wanton, tlie plun/ler of th* 

right, pf/or. 



\Er. 



olS 



IVEAtS OF PATSIOnSM AXD FR^EDOH. 



-o 



Fools ! \\>«r douhU'ts slwno with gv^Ul, ami vout ! 

ht>!>rts wxnv jp>y ami VvW, I 

AVhoJi \vv» kissinl jxiur lily liiUuU t« yxnir lonimis ! 

tv>-<lt>y ; [ 

Ami t>>-ni>M'i\«v shall tho fox ftvm hor cIuuiiVk'W \ 

in tho t\vks I 

l^Hul lovtli hertawtiy o«lv5 1\> howl alxnt' tho j>t«y. ! 

Whoro Iv >vur t\M>j:m<s, that lat»> mooktsl at ! 
hoi»\-on suul holl aud fevto ! i 

Ai\d tho liivgo>-s that one* w»ro s».> Inisy with yovir 1 
Waa<\-s > , 

Yovir iwl\u\u\l s<»tin olotlio*, \w»r oatohos auvl 
\\>ur K\«ths ! 

Your sti\^>-|>laj"s ami wur sonuots, jwir dia- 
monds ami wur sjvulos? 

IVwu : dowii ! fotwor dowu, with tho witor aiul 

tho orv«vn ! 
With tho lUJial of tho court, ami tho Mamiuou 

of tho ro\w ; 
Thoro is w\h> iu OxfoM halls, thoiv is wail in 

Purlnun's stalls ; 
Tho >U>svut suiitos his Ivsiwi, tho bishoi> r«>uds 

his oi>jHV ] 

And slu> of tho suvon hills shall mourn hor ohil- 1 

dron's ills. 
And tn-mWo \vho« slio thinks »>n tho oiljo of 

Kitgland's s\n<i\l ; ! 

And tho kinjrs of «uth iu fosu- shall slmddox 

whon thoy ho!>r 
Wluit tho hiuul of Cnxl hath wi\inj;ht for tho 

housos aiul tho WMnl ! 

Thomas iukinv.kw Macai'lav, | 



LKT RRIX RKMEMEKR THK PAYS OF OLD, 

Lkt Krtn romomlxr tho dsix-s of old. 

Kro hor fiuthloss sons Mrawl hor : 
Whon Miilaohi \\\>iv tho ivllar of gold 

Which ho wvui fixMu hor proud in\-5\dor : 
Whoji hor kin^sTS with stsxndarvl of gr>\<n nnfurlod 

1*h1 tho Koil-Btanch Knij;hts tv> dan^^r. 
Kt* tho omoiald ^\m rf tho western wvrld 

Was sot iu tho ciown of a stt?u\gor. 

On Lough Xoagh's Ivxnk as tho tishonnan stra\-s, 

Whon tho cK\->r vvld o\v "s divlinin^. 
Ho sx-os tho rvnmd towvrs of other d,->\-s 

In tho waw Ivnoath him sliining ! 
Thus sliall memory oftvn, in drt-juus suhlimo, 

t^tch a gliinjvso of tho d,\\-s tlwt aw ov«r. 
Thus, sighing, look thnmgh tho waves of timo 

For tho long-fadcvl glories tl«y cover ! , 

T»v^MAS M>X«B. I 



THK HAKT THAT ONC« THROtmH TARA'S 
HALLS, 

TuK harp that o\u>o tluvngh Tarn's ludls 

Tho so\il of music shrtl, 
Now hangs !»s muto on 'l\ira's wsUls 

As if that svml woiv ll^l. 
So slivjis tho prido of formor daj-s. 

So glory's thrill is oVt, 
And hi'sirts that once Iwat high for pmist" 

Sow tVl that i>ulso no morx> ! 

N inor«> to chiefs and ladios hright 

Tho harp of Tara swells ; 
Tho chonl alone that hivaks at night 

Its tide of ruin tolls. 
Thus KV»wlom now so seldom W!>ki\s, 

The only thrv^h she gix^vw 
Is when svimo heart indignant breaks, 

To sl»ow that still slvo lives, 

Thomas Mookb. 



SllvV>' VAN VOOHT. 

0. rii K French are on tho s;iy ! 

S!>ys the Slum Van Wwht ; 
Tho b^vnch aiv on tho ssiy. 

SaN"s tho Shan Van Yoi-ht ; 
O, tho FlYUch ar\' in the l«y ! 
They "U K- here without delay. 
Ami tho Oi-sxnge will decay. 
Sji\-s the Sh!U\ Yaji Yooht, 
0. Ikf PrrMcM nw »n tht ha^ .' 
Tkfji 'II bf htty bji bitaH- tj/'rfrtV, 
Ami tif OntHg* tnfW dfcan, 
Stttfn lAf S*rtn Van J'otXL 

And whoro will thoy havv their camp ? 

Says the Shan Yan A\vht ; 
Where will thoy haw their camp ? 

Says the Slum Yan Yocht ; 
On the ^.^n•^ach of Kildaro, 
Tho K\\-s thoy will Iw thorv 
With their pikos in gocnl rei«ir, 
Sjn-s tho Shim Yan Vooht- 
7",> .'*<■ (""hmxiA i>r" A'lWujY 
Tkf N>,ws rtcv tfiV/ ref>>u'r. 
And £f>r\i Riir^tnl trUI b( Mfiv, 
Snys tt« S»<w Van J'oe^K 

Thou what will the yeomen do ? 

S,a\-s the Shan Y,an Yoi-ht ; 
What will the yeomen do ? 

Sa\-s the Shan Yan A"oi-ht ; 
AVliat shvnild tho yeomen di\ 
l^U tlmw oir tho re>l and Muo, 
And s\\>v>r that thoy '11 Iw tnw 

To tho Shan Y.^n Yoiht ? 



tQ^- 



-^ 



iD- 



J'UEMH OF I'ATUIOTIHM AND fUEEUOM. 



n.'.) 



-a 



ll^/i/tl n/uml'l tJu: ycoifuiiL ihi, 

Hal. IhTinn iijf lliA rm), awl Um, 

A, id Huxwr UujX IImj 'il Ik Inu:, 

To l.h; Slum Van Vodd < 

Aiiil what tv>\i>t will tlu;y weir { 

Hnyh 111'! Hliaii Van Voclit ; 
Wliat c/tUir will tliey wear i 

Hityn til": SImii Van Voclit ; 
Wliat miUtr hIkjuIiI Ik: wrun, 
W|ji;r(; our (:illi':r»' lixiiiiw Iiav<! W;n, 
Hut our own im mortal gincn i 
Sayn till; Hlian Van Voi;lit, 
IVImI oilor Hlundd Ik vxn, 
IVItf.ri; owr ftiUixfil lumwM lujivi: heen, 
IjuI, irar iivm imin/jrOd ijm.ii, 'I 
Hiiija line Shin Vmn yiKlU. 

And will lr>.-lan<l then tx; free I 

Kayo thr; Shan Van Vocht ; 
Will lii.laii'I then Ix; free! 

Sayit the Shan Van Vrx;lit ; 
Ye» ! Irelan.l Bliall he free, 
From the i:i:uU:i Ui the wtfi ; 
Then hurrah for lilx.-rty ! 
.Sayt. the Shan Van Voeht. 
Vim / IrdawJ, h)uiM Ik frix, 
Vi'ina Ijut ct.nlt'.r hi tlw, h^ji ; 
'I'lv.it kurrak fi/r HIktIj) I 
HayH titr, HImu Vuii, VuiM. 

A«0.>(VMOU«, 



fe 



8HAMU8 O'BKIEN. 

JiHT afther the war, in the year ninety-eij^ht, 
Ail Koon an the boys wor all (scattered and \ai>:, 
"r was the c.wtUim, whenever a jiiisant wa» got, 
To hanj; him by thrial, — Varrin' fiich ax wan dhot, 
TlirTe waa thrial by jury goin' on by daylight, 
And tlift martial -law hangin' the lavinH by night, 

II'h them waH liard timenforan honest gouwjon ' 

If he miftdwl in tlu; judgcsi, — he'd mitiA a dra- 
gw<n ; 

An' whether tlie sodgeru or judgen gev dentemw. 

The divil a rnach time they allowed for repent- 
ance. 

An' it'H many'd the fine boy waa then on hi« 
keepin' 

Wid ftmall share iv nfdtin', or atin', or nlwpin' ; 

An' liecauHC they love<l Erin, an' tviomi^X t'l oell 
it, 

A prev for the blowlhound, a mark for the bul- 
hk, - i 

I'n»helt'.-re<l by night, and unre«t/:d by day, | 

With the h<jath for their l)arra/;k, revenge for 
their \iny ; | 



An' tlu; brav<9(t an' liardii:!it U.y iv them all 
Waj» Slianiii«0'liri<;n, from the t/)wn iv filing; I! 
llix limlot were well wX, an' lii» liody wa/( light, 
An' the kiarn-langwl hound \iiul not tt/.-th \ut\< 

mi whiU; ; 
iJut hi* fiu* wan ajt jiale im the fa/x of the de:wl, 
An/1 liijt eh<«k never wnnniA with the bluxh of 

the r<A ; 
An' for all that Ik,' Wiia n't an ugly young b'y. 
For the divil liimwlf could n't blaw; with hin eye, 
S'j droll a/i' HO wicke/1, w, dark and no bright, 
Like a (ire-(la»sh that erowra the dejrth of the 

niglil ! 
An' he wan the Ixsit mower that ever liax t««:n. 
An' the illiganti.ift liuilcr tlwt ever wjui »n:i:/i ; 
An' hix dancin' wa« HJeh that the men ii«d to 

litiire. 
An' tlie women tuni crazy, he done il mi <jiiare ; 
An', by gorra, the whole world gev in Ui liini 

there. 
An' it'H he wim the Ixyy thai win hard Ui l/c 

'»ught, 
An' it'h ofti.-n he run, an' it'ii often he fought. 
An' it's many the one («in rememlx;r right well 
The <iu;ire things lie done ; an' h'mifti:!! I heerd 

U;ll 
How he latlierrj/l the ywmen, himw.df agin' four, 
An' uln-.U'.iiiA the two Htrongeisl on old flalti- 

mori,'. 
liut thf: fox miuit (deep oometimeit, the wild di'cr 

niUKt rent. 
An' treachery prey on the bhxxl iv the l<e<tt ; 
Aftlier many a brave a/;tion of jiower and pri<l(t, 
An' many a hard night on the mountain')) bliak 

Hiilc, 
An' a thoinund grisit 'langent and toil» overjaiit, 
In the darknesH of night he w-m tiiken at la»t. 

Now, Stiamuj*, hwk lja/:k on tlu: Ixsjutiful ni'xjn. 
For the lUxir of the piixon mutit dow; on you 

(Kxjn, 
,\n' tiike your la«t I'xik at her dim, lovely light. 
That faliji on the mountain and valley thih night ; 
f)iii: look at the village, one look at the (hxxl, 
.\n' one at the xhelthering, fiir-diKtant wixxl ; 
Farewell to the forcirt, larewcll t/i the hill. 
An' farewell to tlie friend* that will think of you 

Htill ; 
Farewell t/j the fiiitbeni, the liurlin', an' wake. 
And farewell to the girl tliat would die for your 

Bake. 
An' twelve »o<lgcr(i brought birn Ut Jlarylx^rougb 

jail. 
An' tlie turnkey reitavixl him, refuBin' all l;ail ; 
The (l':et limlxt wor chained, an' the Bthrong 

ban'U wor Ixjiind, 
An' he laid down lii» length on the cowld iirmrn 

giound. 



^ 



LtJ- 



i^-20 



J'OJiMt! OF J'ATKIOTISM AKD KREKDOM. 



-^ 



All' lln' ili'i>iim.i of Ills iliiMlioiul Kt'iH oviu- liini 

lll.M-O 

As fjtmllo an' sort «s tlio swcol suminoi' air ; 
All' lmi>i\v ivim'iiil'iiimi's. I'nnviliiij; on nvi'V, 
As I'usl lis llio I'mim lliiki's illiiit't ilowu on tlio 

livoi', 
lii'iii); tWh to liis lioiirt im'i'i'\' iluvs loiij; };\>in> 

»\v. 
Till llu> trtii's gi\tlu'ivil lii'iivy mul thick in his 

ryo, 
r»il thi> tola's iliil u't I'tiU, lor the jirido of his 

h«irt 
Woulil not suH'ov ono ihvji ilowii his jviln ohi-i-k 

to stnrt ! 
All' ho spiiuij! to his fwt in thoilark (irison oavo. 
All' ho swoiv with tho lU>ivoiu>ss that niisory 

I'lV till- ho|>os of tho }^>oil, iu\' tlio oaiiso of tlu> 

hravo, 
'riiat whon ho was nioliloriug in tho >'oUl gravo. 
His oiiomios uovor sliouKl havo it lo boast 
Mis sooni of thoiv voiij^'aiu'o one iiiouioiit was 

hvst ; 
His lnvsotu tnisht Wooil, hut his iliook slionUl Ih> 

aiiry. 
For muhuiutoil ho '<! livovl, luul uiulamiteil ho'U 



Woll, as soon as a tow wooks was ovor auvl ji^uio, 

Tho lorrihlo liay iv tho thrial koin on ; 

Tht'iti was aioh » oiMWvl thoiti was soaivo ivoni to 

stanil. 
An" so>l,s;^'i>i on i;iiai\l, an' ilhraj^vions s\\vii\l in 

haiul ; 
An' tho ooiuihonso so full that tho jwoiJo woiv 

Kitlioivd, 
An' attornoys an' oriel's c»n tho point iv Knn' 

sinothoi'jHl ; 
An" oonnsolors almost s«>v ovor for doad. 
An" tho jniy sittin' ni> in tlunr 1h>n; ovorhoail ; 
An' tho juilno sotthsl out so >lolarniinoil an' hii;. 
With his i^>wn on his l>aok. and an illogimt now 

wis : 
All' siloiu'o was oalhnl, an' thomiimto 't was si\ul 
Tho ooin't was as still as tho luvut of tho doad ; 
An' thov hi-iuil hnt tho ojH'tuu" of oiio jirison 

hvk. 
All" Shamns O'lhion kom into tho dook. 
For ono tninnto ho turnwl his oyo w>und on tho 

thi\>njc. 
An' ho lookod at tho Ivu-s, so tivm and so stivnj;. 
An' ho saw that ho had not t\ hoi>>> or a iViond, 
A oliaiuo to osoajv. or a wot\i to dofond ; 
An' ho foldod his arms as ho stv>od tlioiv alon<\ 
As oalm anvl as void as » stattu' of stono ; 
Aiivl thoy rtsid a hij; writin', a yai\l loiij; at lasfo. 
An' Jim didn't niidoi^tand it, nor mind it a 



tl-- 



tasto 



, All' tho jlldjjo look a I'ij^ I'ilioli iv siiiilV. uu.l lio 
says, 

, "Alv yon K"'''y "'' "'''• '''"' ** I'lion. av yon 

I jilaso (" 

I 

An' all hold tlioir hivalli in tho silonoo of dUi-iiul, 
An' Shanuis O'llrioii niado answov and said ; 
"■ My lorvl, if you iisk mo, if in my lifotimo 
1 tlioujiht any ti'»>ason, or did any orimo 
That should oall to my ohook, as 1 stand aloiio 

llOlH<, 

Tho hot hlnsh of sliamo, or tho oohlnoss of I'oar, 
Thouj;h 1 stooil hv tho j;ravo to ivi'oivo my death- 

Wow. 
Uoforo l!od and tlio world 1 would aiiswor vou, 

No ! 
Hut if yon would ask mo, as I think it liko, 
If ill tho I'ldH'Uion 1 oarriod a piko, 
An' fonxlil for onld liwland fivni tho lii-st to tlui 

I'loso, 
An' shod tho hoart's Wood of lior hittoi'.vst i'iios, 
1 answor yon, Yivs j and I toll you ajpiiii, 
Thoujth 1 stand horo to jiorish, it's my glory 

that tlion 
In hov oanso 1 was williiij' my voins should run 

dhry. 
An' that now for hor sako 1 am ivady to dio." 

Thon tho silonoo was jjivat, and tho jury sniilod 

hright. 
An' tho judgr' wasn't soirv tho joh was mado 

light : 
liv inv sowl, it's hiius.lf was tho oraliKnl ould 

oha,. ! 
In a twiiiklin' ho pullod on his ugly hlaok oap, 
Thon Sliamus' mothor in tho orviwd staiidiu' hy, 
I'alloil out to tho judgo with a pitiful ory : 
" jnilgt< 1 darlin', doit't, 0, don't say tho wonl I 
Tho orathnr is young, havo moivy, my loi'*! ; 
llo was fmdish, ho did n't know what ho was 

doin' ; 
You don't knv>w him, my Uml, — t\ don't givo 

him to rnin I 
Vlo's tho kindliost orathnr, tJu<tondhoivst-hoart(Hl ; 
Vion't i>art us foivvov, wo that 's Ihhmi so long 

\>art<Hl. 
.luilg<\ mavonnuvn, foi-givo hiiu, forgivo him, 

my loi\l, 
An' Oixl will foi'givo yvw> — t^, don't say tlio 

\voi\l ! " 
That was tlio first minnto that O'Rrion was 

shakivn, 
Whon ho s!iw that ho was not nuito fo\^>t or 

foi'sakon ; 
An' down his jvvlo ohooks, at tho won! of his 

mothor, 
Tho hig toars wor ruuuiu' fast, ono aft hor tho 

othor ; 



-S 



a- 



I'OKMH ')/•■ I'ATIUOTIHM AMI) FltKF.hOM. 



12?^ 



An' twi) or tliri;is tiriicn iiu «)i<li!aivor'»l to njakfi, ; At limt tlii;y tlii'W ii|.i'ii tlir: \,in (iiiw(r) ({al<;, 

lint till; Htlir(i(i({, iiiiiiily voi<;i: wwiiicil to liiltliKr An' out kiiiiij tin; nlii'iitlH imil »oilg<;ii) in ntjiUf, 

iiml liir:ul< ; An' a liiti't in tli<; rrii>i<lli;, un' Hlianiiix wan in it, 

lint lU limt, Ijy Ihi; htri;n;{lli of lii« lii;^li-nionnl- Not j/aler, lint |iroii<l':r llian cvi;!, lliat niiniiti:, 

in« |>nili,', An' m noon an tti<; {h<i\i\i: »aw Khaniim 0'liii<ri, 

III: W)niiui!ii:<l and maKt)ii;ri:il liiji griufn »w«llin;( W'iil piayin' ami McsHin', anil all tin- ;^irl« iiyin', 

liili!, A Willi wailin' wiiiml ki;in on l/y i|i'({iii'K, 

An', Mayo In;, " Mother, durUn', lion't lirwik l/iku l)i« Mounil of tin; lohi;»i<nii; wind Mowin' 

your poor lifiurt 1 tlirougli tri«:ii, 

I'or, hoonur or lati.-r, the d(!«r««t iniiiit pait ; On, on to tin; gallows tin: HluTiHii an: ({"m-, 

And (Jod known it'H biitlhor than wandering in An' the i.-art an' tin: nodgi i» go ntwidily on ; 

Tear An' at every hide ewellin' around of the I'ait, 

On the Weak, lrai;kleHH mountain, among the A wild, xorrowlnl noiind, that id o)H-n your heiirt, 

wild deer, Now under the gallows the eart taken ili! xtand. 

To lie in the grave, where the he;id, heart, and An' the hangnmn getit uji with the ro|»e in hi« 

hieaitt, hand ; 

I'roni thought, lahor, and Borrowforeveniti/ill rent. An' the j/rient, havin' Mint hini, goi:i down on 

Then, mother, my da;lin', don't ery any more ! ; the giound, 

I>on't make me ii<:em hroken, in lliiii, my hmt An' Khamun (»'l!rii-n thrown one lant look around. 

hour ; Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the j«:oj.ln 
l''or I winli, when niyhcail'H lyin' undher the giew nlill, 

raven, Voiing laeii, turned iiiekly, and warm hi-arlH 
No thrue man ean nay that I diwl like a eraven ! " turned ehill ; 

Then lowaidn the judge Hhai/nix hent down hU An' the ro|>i: liein' ready, IiIh iieek wan made 

head, hate. 

An' that minute the wdemn death-Hinlcnc<j wao J'or the grii* iv the liCe-ntrangiing lord Ui jire- 

»aid. jwre. 

An' the good JiHent haii left him, havin' «:iid hh) 
1'hft inornin' was hiight, an' the nii»t« rotio on '""'• praye-r. 

Iiigli, ISiit the gooil priest done more, lor his hand» lie 
An' the lark wlii«tled merrily in the elear nky ; unhound, 

lint why are the men ntandin' idle w< late < ' And with one ihiring npiing Jim ha» leajwl on 
An' why do the erowdn gather Cant in the htnet ? t'"" ground ; 

What eonie they to talk of? what eome they to !''»"« ! l«'"K '■ K'»--» t'"- '•arhifien, and eh.sli goe« 

Hi-e ? ' Ihe nalierii ; 

An' why doen the long roj.e hang from the ero»». He'n not down ! he's alive Klill I now f.tand to 

tree y him, neighliorn ! 

O Hhamun O'ltiien I pray fervent and fast, \ Through the Hniokc and the horf«;» lie's into tho 
May the Haints take your HonI, for this day io eiowd, — 

your last ; Hy l'"' heavens, he 's frw: ! — than thunder more 
I'ray fiutt an' pray sthrong, foi' the moment isnigli, '''"''> 

When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you '*y """ •*'"'"' •"'""' ^'"-' l""l'''-' ••'"= l"'avenB were 

must die. | shaken, — 

An' fastlier an' Cisthcr the erowd gathereil there, """ "'"'"^ '-''"' ^'"= ''"■"' "' ^'"' "'"''' "''*<'''^ 
I'loys, hoiw;s, and gingerhreail, just like a fair ; awaken. 

An' whiskey was sellin", an' eussamiiek too, The soilgers ran this way, the sheiilfs ran that. 

An' onid men and young women enjoying the An' Father Malone lost his new Suinhiy hat ; 

view. To-night he 'II Ut sleepin' in Aherloe Olin, 

An'ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark. An' the divil's in the diee if you eaU;h him 
There was n't sieh a sight sinee the time of ag'in. 

Noah's ark. "a ' your Ki)K:iis may clash, and your carl/ines 
An' Ij« gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sieh K" '"""«> 

a seiugu, j Hut if you want liangin', it's yoursi;lf you must 
Kieh divarshin and crowds, was known since tlie hang. 

deluge, I 

For thousands were gathered there, if there was "e has niount<;d his hor:i<-, and soon he will U: 

one, In Ameiiea, darlinl, the hind of the fid:, 
Waitin' till such time as the hangin' id eome on. ' '' '•'■ ''*'"'• 



©-*- 



-^ 



&-: 



POEMS OF PATlUOriSM AXD FREEDOM. 



--a 



OOUOAliNK liAKRA. 

I Vhc l-.ikc of ViOU^Atiiir Ivtin, I. *-. llio liollow. or recess v>f St. 
J-imi liAr. ii\ iIk* incx^l tctiitvuy ol' lbtt-L.;u^tKtirv (the O'LcArys' 
coiinnyt ill ll«? "'est oiKt or the csnmly of Cork, is tho |>AT«nt of the 
rticr l.c«. Its waters clitlttAcc a siuaII btit s^nUlU islAiul of alHHit 
U;»lt All Acre In OMOIU. which apimxwhes its pitstcn\ shvirc. The 
Uke. AS lis ivinu' iinplics. is sitnAte in a lU-eji hollow, surmiuuletl on 
cvv-ty si.ll^ ls;»ve tlic OAsl. where its su|)er.\hunilAUt waters Are tlis- 
ch.ir)^!) hy vAst An.l Almost perpcuvlicuLw tiunuMAins. whose il«rk 
in\ ertea shAtKws .tre nhnnnily rvtlcelctl in its still wittctN IvncAth.J 

TiiKKK is jji'^'p" isliuul in lono (uiujjauuo Kivni, 
M"lunv AUiu\ of songs vuslios I'nith tis «i\ !iri\i\v; 
In tU'o|i-vi\lloyiHl l\'sn>ond — :> tlnnisiiiul wiUl 

fountains 
Ooino down to that luko fivm tlioiv homo in tlie 

mountains. 
TluMv gi-ows tho wiKl ash. and a tiino-striokon 

willow 
Looks ohiiiingly down on tlio niirtli of tho billow : 
As, Ukosomog-ayoliild. tliat s;ul monitor sooining, 
It lightly langhslwokto tUo laugh of tho moniing. 

And its zoiio of dark hills, — 0, to soo them all 
brightoniii};, 

\Vhi'n tho ton>iH>st llings out its ivil Iwnnov of 
lightning. 

And tho wators rush down, mid tlio thnudi'r's 
dooji rattlo. 

liiko ohms tivm tluir hills at tho voice of the 
Ivittle : 

.Vnd brightly the liiv-eivsted bilUnvs an> gleaming, 

.Viid wiUUy fivm MuUagh the eagles «ro scream- 
ing ! 

i,\ whoiv is the dwelling, in valley m' highhmd, 

So meet for a l>ai\l as this lone little island ■ 



And gleaned eai'h grtiy legend that darkly was 

sleeping 
Whert< the mist aiul the niin o'er their beauty 

weiv eiveiiing ! 

Lei\st huxi of the hills, — were it mine to inlierit 
The liiv of thy harp and tlie wing of thy spirit. 
With the wivngs which like thee to our country 

have bound me, 
IMil your mantle of song lling its radiance aiMuiul 

me, 
Still, -•itiU in those wilds might young Liberty 

rally. 
And send her stivng shout over mountain and 

valley. 
The star of the west might yet rise in its glory, 
And the laml that was darkest Iw brightest in 

story. 

I loo shall be gvue ; — but my name shall 1h> 
spoken 

When Erin awake-s tmd her fettet^ aiv broken. 

Some minstrel will come, in the summer eve's 
gleaming. 

When I'reeilom's young light on his spirit is 
beaming, 

.\nd iieiid o'er my grave with a tear of emotion. 

Wheiv calm Avon-lhiee seeks the ki.sses of ocean, 

Ov plant a wild wivatli, fi\>m the Kuiks of that 
river. 

O'er tJio heart and the harp that aiv sleeping for- 
ever. 

.I.\MtiS JOSUrU CALLAN.XN. 



How oft when the summer sun ivsted on flam. 
Auil lit the tlark heath on the hills of Ivei-a, 
Have 1 sought thee, sweet spot, from my home 

by the oeean, j 

.\ml trod idl thy wilds with a miiistivl's devotion, I 
.\!id thought of thy lvti\ls, when assembling to- j 

gether, 1 

111 the cleft of thy iveks, or the depth of thy I 

heather : 
Tliev lied ti\>m the SswtMi's dark bondago and 

'slaughter. 
And waked their last song by the rush of thy I 

water. 

High sons of the lyw, (1, how pivnd was tho 

feeling. 
To think while alone thivugh that solitude steal- 
ing. 
Though loftier minstivls given Krin can nuinlior, 
1 only awoke your wild harp fi\Mn its shunlHU-, 
And niingh>d once moiv witli the voice of those 

fountains 
The songs even Leho foi-gv>t oil her tnounttiins ; 



KXILK OF ElUN. 

THKllK came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 

The tlew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ; 
For his country he sighed, when at twilight iv- 
iwiring 
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 
Uut tlie day-star attmeted his eye's s;>d devotion. 
For it rose o'er his own native isU' of the oeean, 
Wheif once, in the liiv of his youthful emotion, 
He sang the bold anthem of Erin gti bitigh. 

Sad is my fate ! sjtid the heart-broken strsuiger ; 

The wild deer tind wolf to a covert can lice. 
But 1 have no ivfuge from famine and danger, 

A home ami a country romain not to me. 
NevtH' ag!>in in the given sunny lKnvei"S 
Wheiv my foivfathcrs lived shall I sjwnd tho 

sweet lioui-s. 
Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowei-s. 

And strike to the numbers of Vain go bragh ! 

Erin, my country ! though sad and forsttken, 
In divams 1 ivvisit thv sea-' 



,-lH>aten shoiv ; t 
3 



©- 



I'OEMH OF J'ATUIOTISM AND FHKEDOM. 



fj'Z:', 



n 



u 



I5ut, (iliiH ! ill 11 fill' loiijij;ii IhihI 1 iiwiikBii, 
Ami Hi^li for llio IricmU who can iiirat imj no 

O rriii:! liiti- ! will, tlioii i.<:vi;r rojiliun; iiin 

ill u iiiau.Hioii ol jM::ii:i-, wiicn; no {icriiif i:iin cliimc 

me 'I 
Never again ttliall my l)ioliic:r;i cmbrai.'c mo? 
They (lieil to ilelenrl me, or live to ile[.loro ! 

Where is my caliin iloor, fiiHt hy the wiMwwjil ? 

SiBtera and Hire;, diil ye weep lor its fiill f 
Wlierei«tliemollier that looked on my.hililliood ? 

Ami wlieie iH tlie hoHom-frieiiil, ileaier tiian all ; 
my (tail heart ! long ahaniloneil by [JeaHurc, 
Wliy (lid it dote on a t'ant-l'ading tieaiturc I 
Tear», like the rain-droji, may fall without 
nieiiHure, 

I5ut rapture and beauty they cannot recall. 

Yet, all itn Had recolleetionH «ii|)[)rcH»ing, 
One dying wish my lone Ikwomi can draw, — 

Erin, an exile befiueatlm thee lii« blesiting ! 
I-and of my forefatlierx, Krin go bragh I 

IJuried and cold, when my heart Htillx her motion. 

Green In; thy lieldx, swectcBt isle of the ocean ! 

And thy liarp-»tiiking barda ning aloud with 
devotion, — 
Erin mavourneen, Erin go bragh ! 

THOMAS CAMI'DKI.I. 



IRELAND. 

TiiEY are dying! they are dying! where the 

golden corn in growing ; 
Thiiy are dying I they aie dying ! where the 

crowded herds are lowing ; 
'J'hey are gaHjiing for existence where the Htrcamo 

of life are (lowing. 
And they perish of the ];lagiic where tlie breeze 

of health i-i blowing I 

(UA of justice ! Ood of power I 

I)o we dream ! Can it )«, 
In this land, at this liour, 

With the blossfjni on the tree. 
In tlie gladsome month of May, 
When the young lambs Jilay, 
When .N'aturc looks around 

On her w.-iking children now, 
The seed within the ground. 

The bud upon the bough ? 
Is it light, is it fair. 
That we perish of despair 
In this land, on this s^jil, 

Where our destiny is set. 
Which we cultured with our toil, 

And watered with our sweat ? 



We have plowed, we have sown, 
r.iit the crop was not our own ; 
We have reapwl, but harjiy hands 
.Swept the harvest from our lands ; 
We were perishing for food, 
When lo! in pitying mood. 
Our kindly rulers gave 
The fat fluid of the slave. 
While our corn filled the manger 
Of the war-horse of the stranger I 

Ood of mercy I must this lost? 

Is this land prconlained, 
For the present and the past 

And the future, to U; chained, — 

To be ravaged, to be ilrain(»l, 
To be robbed, to In; spoiled. 

To 1«! hushed. Id be whipt. 

Its soaring pinions dipt. 
And its every ed'ort foileil 'I 

iJo our numWs multiply 
J5ut to ]«;ri8li and to die ? 

Is this all our destiny Vdow, — 
That our bodies, as they rot. 
May fertilize the sjiot 

Where the harvests of the stranger grow I 

If this be, indeed, our fat«. 
Ear, far better now, though lat*;. 
That we seek some other land and try some other 
zone ; 
The coldest, bleakest shore 
Will surely yield us more 
Than the storehouse of the stranger that we dare 
not call our own. 

Kindly brothers of the West, 
Who from I-iberty's full breast 
Have fed us, who are oi-jihans beneath a step- 
dame's frown, 
liehold our haji[iy state. 
And weeji yoiii- wrctclied fate 
That you share not in the splendors of our 
empire and our crown ! 

Kindly brothers of the Eiott, — 

Thou great tiara'd priest. 
Thou sanctified Kicnzi of Kornc and of the earth, — 

Or thou who bcar'st control 

Over golden IstamUd, 
Who felt for our misfortunes and helped us in 
our dearth, — 

Turn here your wondering eyes, 
C'all.your wis(«t of the wise. 
Your muftis and your ministers, your rnen of 
deepest lore ; 



^ 



f 



524 



POSAIS OF PATBJOTISM AKD FSKKDOM. 



■fb 



l.ot U\o saJ^^st of your saj^vs ' 

^^[v our isJauvl's mystic i\«j?<s. 
And oxnl»iu unto your liij;lm<>ss tho \vo«>loi-s of 
our slioKV 

A fruitftil, tivmiHj! soil, 
Wluviv tho jMtiout i<otuiiiuts toil 
Bout>»tli tho svuumor's sun and tho witorv wiutor 
sky : 
Whoiv thoy toiul tho J;^lldou gcstiu 
'nU it U'uds u[H>u tho ulaiii. 
Thou iwm it for tho stR>JUg<-r, and turu asido to 
dio: 

AVhoiv thoy watch thoir Hooks incit>aso. 
And stoiv tho suowy t\ootv 
Till thoy sond it to thoir niastoi's to lx> wovon 
o'or tho W!»vx<s ; 
AVhoi\\ haviujj s»-ut thoir nioat 
Kor tho fon'ijjuor to oat, 
Thoir mission is I'ultilUHl, and thoy ciwji into 
thoir graves. 

"T is for this thoy aiv dying whor* tho golden 

ivrn is givwiug, 
'T is lor this thoy aro dyii\j; \vhoix< tlu> ovwdinl 

hoi\ls aiv lowing, 
"r is for this thoy aro dying whoiv tho strvonis 

of lifo ajv llowing. 
And thoy jx-rish of tho j^laguo whoiv tho hnvio 

of hoitlth is Mowing ! 

l^^;MS 1-l.OKl.X. >. M >.•■>■ >KV!1V 



MARCO BOZZAIU& 

(M»iv-\< Rvxsrsris. thf Ki«n\im\n,kis ,«" imyWrn Circctv Ml in 
ni»jhl fttUck; uvH>i\ tho TviriKK^h c*uxj. At l.A^tv. the saw \\f the ai 
okM^I rfe»t.-v«. Avijiuiit j,\ iSft^v aiut cSkViiw^i in the uUM»v»t v^ victv^r; 
Mis Ust wwvis vcM« ! " To v(w (vM UNfrt)' is « jJwisttK, »m\ wot 

Ar n\\dnight, in his guawUxl tout, 

Tho Turk was divsuniuj; of tho hour 
\Vhoi\ GftHvo, hor knw in su|>i>liiuutL< liont, 

Should tivnihlo at his nowoi\ 
In diwuus. iluvugh camp and »\iurt, ho \xir» 
Tho tiv(<hios of a ivn>(Uoi\>r ; 

lu diw>ms his s^>ng of trivmiph ho!U\l ; 
Thou wow his nionaivh's signot-ring. 
Thou mvssrtl that monaivh's tlmmo — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and g;iy of wing. 

As K.don's gai\lon Wrvl. 

At midnight, in tho forost shades. 

B>«iaris rsuigrtl his Sulioto K>nd, — 
Trvio as tho stwl of thoir trioil VJades, 

Hoiws in heart and hand. 
Theiv had the rei-sian's thonsjiuds st5ixl. 
There had the slad. earth drunk their WivhI. 



On iJd riatav>'s day ; 
.\ud now thoiv l>i\s>th>Hl that hauuttnl air 
Tho sous of siivs who counuoiwi theiv. 
With arm to strike, and .soul to dtuv, 

.\s vjuiek. as far, as they. 

All hour ^>asso^l on, tho 'l\\rk awoko ; 

That bright divam was his last : 
He woko - to hoar his st'utries shriek, 

"To arms ! they vvmo 1 the tiiwk 1 thetliwk ! 
He woke — to die midst llamo, and smoke, 
.\nd shout, and groi\u, and s;dH>r-slivko, 

.\nd death-shots falUug thick auvl fust 
As lightnings fivm tho mountain-cloud ; 
And h(>ai\l, with voiiv as trumjvt loud, 

Ui«iaris ohwr his Wud ; 
"Strike — till tho last armtnl fiH< oxi«i\>s ; 
Strike — for your altars and your liivs ; 
Strike — tV>r the gtwn graves of your .siiivs, 

GvkI. and your native laud '. " 

Thoy fought — like bravo tuon, long and woll ; 

Thoy i>iUsl that givund with Moslem slain : 
Thoy vvnuuoivvl — Imt l>o£/;aris fell, 

Ulooiliug at every vein. 
His few surviving wnu-ados saw 
His snxilo when rang their \uvud hurrah, 

And tho ixsl tield wtis won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids cU>so 
».\ilmly, as to a night "s ivjxvso, 

Uko tlowoi's at sot of sun, 

Oomo to tho hridal chamlvr, Ooath. 

Oomo to the xuother, when she fivls. 
For tho tirat tituo, her tirst-Kiri\'s hwith ; 

Conio whoi\ the hlesstsl seals 
That chvso the iH'stilenco aiv bi\)ko, 
,\nd eivwded cities wail its stix>ko : 
Ootno in consnniption's ghastly form, 
Tho earthiiuake slnx-k, the ocean storm : 
Come when the heart l>eats high a\id warm. 

With Kvnuuet song and dance and wine, — 
.\nd thou art terrible ; the t«>i', 
Tho grvxtn. the knell, tho jvill, the bier. 
And all wo know, or d>\v>n>, or fwxr 

Of agvMiy, aiv thine. 

But to tlu> hero, when his swo>\l 
Has won tho K-<ttle for the fixv. 

Thy voivv .souvids like a pivjiliet's wvnl, 

And in its hollow toi\es aiv h>\u\l 
I Tho thanks of millioi\s yet to Kv 
i OvMno when his task of fame is wivught ; 

l\«no with hov lauivl-K>i»f, Wwd-Knight : 
' Oomo in hor crowning hour, — and then 
I Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 

To hin> is welcome as the sight 
1 Of sky and staiis to jiriiioni'vl men ; 



ig 



■-& 



f 



fOEMH OF PATRIOTISM AND FliEKlJOM. 



525 



■a 



^- 



Thy irTim\t in vttWiuu: an th« harul 
01 l(r'jl)ii;r ill a foreign laiid ; 
'I'Jiy >iuiimi<ji)« v,t:\f/iiiin a» tlic cry 
'Diat VA<1 lii-. Iijiliaii ihhm w<;rc liigli 

To th<; W(,l\i[-fiti:kilin (jdliwiu:, 
W'lii;ii til'.- laii'l-wiii'l, (ioiii wiKKbt of j>glm. 
Ami oraiiJ5<!-){rov<;ii, a;i<i (ioM* of Iwliii, 

|j)<;w O'.-i tlte Jfaytiaii wiaij. 

Vi<r/.7.anii ! with th* xUirv-A hrave 

liriv.fu: nurtun^l in ln;r ({loiy'i* time, 
I£';Bt tliw ; tli'.-r<; i)t no prou'l'ir gtave, 

Kven ill lw;r own [iroml itliiitK. 
81ii! wore no funeral kvAx lor ttw;*;, 

Nor Iwli; tlie <l;iik h'-Mtrm wave itx plnme, 
Like toni l«an'.l) liom i\v<it\in k-alleii» tree, 
In witow'h [Mnij) ami i<ag<stntry, 

'I'lie lieartlci*» luxury of the tomb. 
But »he rmiuniitmn the'; ajs one 
I>jn;{ love<l, ami for a muttim gone. 
For thi«; lw.-r jK^et'i* lyre ix wreatli'j'l. 
Her marble wrought, her nioni/; br'aitlied ; 
Kor thee fcli* ringx the biithilay Urlhs ; 
Of th'« her l/aU;»' linst limping t/;ll« ; 
Kor thine her evening i<rayer io )>ai<l 
At laUfx ixiui:U an<j i^rttage Ij<:/1, 
Her Kol'Jier, eloning with the IVx:, 
Oive» for thy «ake a .lea'lli/fr blow ; 
Hi)i I>light/;<1 niaiilen, when ohe fearu 
For him, the joy of hrrr young yearn, 
Thinkis of thy fat<;, anil eheckJi her t«ara. 

Anil she, thft mother of thy txiys, 
Though in her eye and fa/hyl ehe/jk 
I» read the grief ishe will not npirfik. 

The memory of her burii^l joys, — 
And even she who gave thi* birth, — 
Will, by her jiilgiim-eireled hearth. 

Talk of thy duoni without a isigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame' 8, — 
I One of the few, the immortal name* 

That were not Ix/ni to die. 

rnz-CKHExn Halleck. 



SOKO OF THK (il'.EKK POET. 

FKOM "O'JW ;i,'A.'*" 

TllF. ixlej* of Cre»y-e, the 'mhrn of Orewe! 

Where biiniing .Sapjjho loveil and nung, 
Where grew the art* of war and pea/*, — 

Where iJehi* r<mi, and Phoibun Bj/ning I 
F,ti;nial uurnrner gilds them yet ; 
But all, i:xiv\A, their nun, in set. 

The Si.i'an and the Teian rnuw;. 
The hiiro'tt harj), the lover's lute. 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their pla/e of birth alone is mut/; 



To wunds vh'uili w;ho fcirtlu^r west 
Tlian your sired' " Island* of tin: Blest." 

The mountains hx^ik on Alarathon, 
And .Marathon lv*k» on the wia ; 

And musing th<;re an hour alone, 

I dreamed tliat Oi':':^;'; might still U; fre* ; 

Kor, standing on the I'ersians' grave, 

I i;ould not ili^-m mywdf a slave. 

A king sat on the rwky brow 

Whieh lixjks o'er wsi-lxyni hulmu'w ; 

And shi]« by thousamis lay iflow, 
And men in nations, — all were hi* ! 

He eounteil tlK;m at biisik of liay, — 

And when the sun w;t, wliere were theyf 

And where are they '! an/1 where art thou, 
ily i^/juntrj'? On thy voiiajless shore 

The heroic lay is tunelews w>w, — 
The heroic tftvjui U«it« no more ! 

And must thy lyre, si^ long divine, 

lJegem;rat/; into hands like mine ? 

'T is w^rnething, in the 'leartli of fame, 
Though Unkt-A among a fi:tV:T'A nfJt, 

To feel at least a jratriot's sliame, 
Kven as I sing, suHus*: my {mx ; 

For what is left the jH)".! him I 

Kor Gr'^'iks a blush, — for OriAi* a Ujar. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we Imt blush f — our fathers bliyL 
Earth ! render \ai'k from out thy brsist 

A remnant of our .SjiailUtn dea/1 ! 
Of the thre« hundre'l, grant but three 
To make a new 'niermopyla; I 

Wljat, silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah, no '. the voi/;',-s of the d<-a/l 
Sound like a dUtant torrent's fall. 

And answer, " I>;t one living hea/l. 
But one, ariic;, — we come, we come ! " 
'T is but tlie living who are dumb. 

In vain, — in vain ; strike other choril*; 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
l>;ave Ijatthrti Ut the Turkish hordes. 

And sh/jil the Uvdl of Scio's vine, ! 
Hark ! rising Ut the ignoble ':all. 
How answers each bold Bacclianal I 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, — 
Where i« the Pyrrhic plialanx gone? 

Of two such imvinii, why forgift 
The nobler and the rnanli<:r one ? 

You Iiave the letters Ca/lmiw gave, — 

lliink ve he meant them for a slave ? 



-^ 



e^ 



5-26 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



■^ 



Fill high the howl with Samiaii wine ! 

We w'ill not think of thomes like these ! 
It made Auaoreon's song divine : 

He served, hut sexveii Tolyerates, — 
A tjT.uit ; bnt our mastei-s tlien 
Were still, at least, our countrymen. 

The t>-rant of tlie Chersonese 

Was fi-eedom's liest and bravest friend ; 
That tvRuit was Miltiades ! 

that the pivsent hour would lend 
Another desjmt of the kind ! 
Sueh chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wino ! 

On Suli's rock and Parga's sliore 
Exists the ivmnant of a lino' 

Such as the Poric mothere bore ; 
And there perhaj>s some seed Is sown 
The Heracleidau blood might own. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks, — 
They have a king who buys and sells : 

In native swonls, and native ranks. 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 

Wovild break your shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl \rith Samian wine ! 

Our virgins diuice beneath the sliade, — 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But, gazing on each glowing maid. 
My own the burning tear-diMp laves, 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Place nie on Sunium's marbled steep. 
Where nothing, save the waves and I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ;'~ 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine, — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

Lord bvron. 



FROM "CHIU>E HAROLD." 

Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! 
Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, 

great ! 
Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth. 
And long-accustomed bondage unv'reate ? 
Not such thy sons who whilom did await, 
The hopeless warriore of a willing doom. 
In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait, — 
0, who that gallant spirit shall resume. 
Leap from Eurot;»s' banks, and call thee from 

the tomb? 



Spirit of Freedom ! when on Pbyle's brow 
Thou sat'st with Thnisybulns and his train, 
Couldst tliou forbode the disnnU horn- which 

now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ! 
Not thirty tyi-iuits now enforee the chain. 
But every carle can loixl it o'er thy land ; 
Nor rise thy sous, but idly rail in vain, 
Trembling Ih^neath the scoui-ge of Turkish hand, 
From birth till death enslaved : in wonl, in deetl, 

unmanned. 

In all save form alone, how changed 1 ami who 
That murks the lire still sjmrkling in each eye. 
Who but would deem their bosoms burned anew 
WitJi thy uunuenched lieani, lost Lilierty ' 
And many divam withal the hour is nigh 
That gives them Ixick their fathers' heritage ; 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage. 
Or tear their name detiled frem Slavery's mourn- 
ful imge. 

Hcrenlitary Ixmdsmcn ! know ye not, 

Who would be free themselves must strike the 

blow ? 
By their right arms the conijucst must Ix' 

wrought I. 
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no ! 
True, they may lay your proud desjKnlers low, 
But not for you will Freedom's altju-s flame. 
Shades of the Helots ,' triumph o'er your foe : 
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the 

same ; 
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of 

shame ! 

LORD B\'RON'. 



FROM "THU GIAOVK." 

Clime of the unfoi^itten brave ! 
Whose land, from plain to monntflin-cave. 
Was Freolom's home or Glory's grave! 
Shrine of tlie mighty ! can it be 
That this is all remains of thee > 
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave ; 

Say, is not this Therraopyh« ? 
These w-.itere blue that round you lave, 

servile offspring of the free, — 
Pronounce what seji, what shore is this ? 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! 
These scenes, their story not unknown. 
Arise, and make again your own ; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The emlx>ra of their former fires ; 
And he who in the strife expires 
Will add to theii's a name of fear 



B-«- 



-^ 



rOEMH Ob' PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



^ 



ifl- 



That Tyranny shall ([Uake to hear, 
Anil leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
They too will rather ilie than shame ; 
For Freedom's hattle onee begun, 
l!e(iueatheil liy bleeding sire to son, 
Though balllcid oft is ever won. 
Hear witness, Greece, thy living page ; 
Attest it, many a deathless age : 
While kings, in dusty darkness hid. 
Have left a nameless pyramid. 
Thy lieroes, though the geni'ral doom 
Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
A mightier monument command. 
The mountains of their native land ! 
There points tliy Muse to stranger's eye 
'I'lje graves of those that cannot die ! 
'T were long to tell, and sad to trace, 
Kach step from splendor to disgrace : 
l'",nough, — no foreign foe could (luell 
Thy soul, till from itsidf it fell ; 
Yes ! self-abasement ]iav(!d the way 
To villain-boniis ami despot sway. 

Wliat can he tell wlio treads thy shore ? 

No legend of thine olden time. 
No theme on whieh the Muse might soar, 
High as tliine own in days of yoi-e, 

When man was worthy of thy clime. 
The hearts within thy valleys bred, 
Tlie fiery souls that might liave led 

Thy .sons to dee<ls sublime, 
Now crawl from eradhi to the grave, 
.Slaves — nay, the bondsmen of a slave. 

And callous save to crime. 

LORD nVRO.M. 



WAIiSAW'shist il;am|.ii)Ti from her height sur- 
veyed, 
\Vid(! o'er the fields, a waste of niiii laid ; 
"<) Heaven!" he cried, " my lilccdinj,' eonntiy 

save ! — 
Is there no hand on high to sliield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction swee]) these lovely ]>lains, 
Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on hiijh, 
And swear for her to live — with her to die ! " 
He said, and on the rampart-heights aiTayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form. 
Still as the breeze, hut dreadful as the storm ; 
Low murmuring sounds along thdr banners fly, 
Revenge, or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omniiiotent to ehann. 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alann ! — 



In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few '. 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : — 
O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time ! 
Sarmatia fell, unweiit, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
.Strength in her amis, nor mercy in her woe ! 
Drop[jed from her nerveless grasp the shattered 

spear, - 

Closed heT briglit eye, and curbed her higli career ; 
Hope, for a sea,son, bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell ! 



MEN AND BOYS. 

The storm is out ; the land is rouse<l ; 
Where is the coward who sits well housed ? 
Fie on thee, boy, disguised in curls, 
Uehinil the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls ! 

A graceless, worthless wight tliou must be ; 

No (jerman maid desires thee, 

No German song inspires thee. 

No German Hhine-wine fires thee. 
Fortli in the van, 
Man by man, 

Swing the Ijattle-sword who can ! 

When, we stand watching, the livelong night. 
Through piping storms, till morning light. 
Thou to tliy downy bed canst creep. 
And there in dreams of ra|iture sleep. 
A graceless, worthless wight, etc. 

When hoarse and shrill, the tninijiet's tilast, 
Like the thunder of God, makes our hearts beat 

fast. 
Thou in the theater lov'st to appear. 
Where trills ami quavers tickle the ear. 
A graceless, worthless wight, etc. 

Wlieii the glare of noonday scorches the lirain. 
When our parched lips seek water in vain. 
Thou canst make champagne coiks ily 
At the groaning tables of luxury. 
A gi-aeeless, worthless wight, etc. 

When we, as we rush to the strangling fight. 
Send home to our true-loves a long "Good-night," 
Thou canst hie thee where love is sold, 
And buy thy plea.sure with paltry gold. 
A gi'aceless, worthless wight, etc. 

When lance and bullet come wliistling by, 
An<l death in a thousand shapes draws nigh. 
Thou canst sit at thy cards, and kill 
King, queen, and knave with thy spadille. 
1 A graceless, worthles.s wight, etc. 



^ 



rOEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



-a 



If on tlio rod Urlil our licll .sliouUl toll, 
Thoii woli'Oiiio 1)0 iloalli to llio pntriot's soul I 
Thy piim|ieri'il llcsli shiiU nuaku at its ilooiii, 
Aud crawl ill silU to a liojiolcss tomb. 
A [lilii'iil oxil Ihiiio sluiU ho ; 
No (icniiaii iiiaiil shall \\'w[' for tlieo, 
No ('■I'liii.'iii soiij; shall they sing for thoo, 
No (ifiniaii gobk'ls slinll ring for thoo. 
Forth ill the van, 
Man for man. 
Swill" tlu' biUtlo-sworil who can I 



THE MARSEILLES HYMN. 

Yk sons of froodom, wake to glory ! 

Hark! hark! what myriads bid you riso I 
Your I'hildron, wivos, and grnndsiros hoary, 

lU'liolil thoir tears and hoar their cries ! 
Shall hateful tyrants, niisehiefs breeding, 
With hireling hosts, a vuflian baud, 
All'right and desolate the land. 
While iieiieo and liberty lie bleeding? 
To arms ! to arms ! ye brave I 

Tir avenging sword unsheathe ; 
March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved 
tin victory or death. 

Now, now the daiigerons storm is rolling, 

Whii'h treacherous kings eonfederate raise; 
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling. 

And lo ! our lields and cities blaze ; 
And shall we basely view the riiiii. 

While lawless force, with giiilly stride, 
S)iveads desolation far and wide, 
With .rimes and blood his hands ombruing. 
To arms ! to anus ! ye brave, etc. 

Liberty ! can man resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous llaraot 
fan dungeons, bolts, or bars conliue theo! 

Ov wliiiis thy noble sjiirit tamo ! 
Too long the world has wept, liewailing 
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield, 
But freedom is our sword and shield, 
And all their arts are unavailing. 

To arms! to anus! ye brave, etc. 

KoucKT DB Lisle. 



MAKE WAY FOR LIBBaRTY I 

(Oil (tie exploit of Ar»oUt Winlcclrlal nt the Iwttle of SemiMcli. 
n «lu*;h ttie SwKs. fiKhtin,; for tlictr iiulcpcndeiice, totally clefeated 
lie .\iistrians, in tlic fourtecmh century ] 

Make way for Liberty ! " — he cried ; 



U 



" Make way for Liberty ! " — 
JIado vn\y for Liberty, luid died 



In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 
A living wall, a human wood ! 
A wall, where every conscious stono 
Seemed to its kiudred thousands grown ; 
A rampart all assaults to bear. 
Till time to dust their frames should wear ; 
A wood, like that euehanted grove 
In which with liends Kiualdo strove, 
Where every silent tree Jiossessod 
A spirit prisoned in its breast, 
Which the first stroke of coming strifo 
Would startle into hideous life : 
So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, 
A living wall, a linman wood ! 
Impregnable their front appears. 
All horrent with projected spears. 
Whose polished points before them shiuo, 
From Hank to ilank, one brilliant line, 
Hright as the breakers' splendois run 
Along the billows to the sun. 

Opposed to these, a hovering band 
Coutemicd for their native land : 
Teasants, whoso new-found si length had broke 
From manly necks the igiiobU' yoke, 
And forged their fetters into swords. 
On eiiiial terms to light their lords. 
And what insurgent rage had gained 
In numy a mortal fray maintained ; 
Mai-shalod once more at Freedom's call, 
They came to comiuer or to fall. 
Where he who compiered, he who fell, 
Was deemed a dead, or living. Tell ! 
Such virtue hatl that patriot breathed, 
So to the soil his soul benueathed, 
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew 
Heroes in his own likeness grew. 
And warrioi-s sprang from every sod 
Which his awakoniug footstep trod. 

And now the work of life and death 
Hung on the passing of a breath ; 
The lire of eonnict burnt within. 
The battle tivmlilcd to begin : 
Yet, while the Austrians held tlieir gixnind, 
I'oint for attack was nowhere found ; 
Where'er the impatient Switzers giued, 
The unbroken line of lances blazed : 
That line 't were suicide to meet. 
And perish at their tyrants' feet, — 
How eoiilil they rest within their graves, 
And leave their homes the homes of slaves ? 
Would they not feel tlieir children tread 
With clanging chains above their head ! 

It must not lie : this day, this hour, 
Annihilates the oppressor's power ; 
All Switzerland is in the field, 
She will not fly, she cannot yield, — 



--& 



[& 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FUEKDOM. 



629 



-a 



i 



Slu) miiat not full ; hui- liaUur I'lito 
lli'ii' f^ivi's licr III! immortal diite. 
I''i'u wiiv till' luimliurs slio couKl bonst ; 
r.ul i\.r\ li,.iii;iii WHS n luwt, 
All. I I. II I,,. Ihrnyl, liiiuM'irwiTo he 
(111 uliMs,. s(.|.. arm liuii^ vi.-|,.ry. 

It (lid ac'iKMid un wu- i.idcrd ; 
Hdiold l.im, —Arnold Winkt'lii,..! ! 
Tliuro souiids not to llic tnimii nf lame 
Tho echo of ii iiolilev immi>. 
Unmai'kod ho stood amid llic llnoiit;, 
111 luiiiiiiiitioii dcrp ami loiiy, 
Till yoii mi^'lit sic, wiili siulduii gvaw, 
Tlici voiy tliuu^'lit roiiiu o'lT his face, 
And liy lliu motion ol' liis foiin 
Aiilici|mtu thu liuistiiij; storm, 
And liy the iiiilil'liiit,' ot his lnow 
Tell w'luT,, Ihr lioll wi.idil strike, and how. 

Hill 'I was no soon, r thoii^dit llinn done, 
Till' lii'lil was in a momi'iit won : — 

" MaUo way for Liljerly ! " hu cried, 
Then ran, with anna extended wide. 
As if his dearest frii'iid to eliisp ; 
Ten siieais he swi'iil williiii his ^inisp. 

" Make way for Liberty I" he cried ; 
Their keen iioiiits met from side to side ; 
He bowed amonjjst them like a tree, 
Aii.l (liiis made way f.ir Liberty. 

•Swill lo the breach his eoinrades liy ; 
" iMiike way for Liberty !" they cry. 
Ami llirough the Austrian idiahinx dart, 
.'\s rnslied the spears throiifjli Arnold's heart ; 
Wliile, in.stiintaneons as his fall, 
h'oiil, niiii. panii'. s.Mttered all : 

.\ii iaiili.|iiaK .ill. I in. I overlhiow 

A .-ily with a suivr bb.w. 

Thns Switzerhiiiil a^;aiii wiis free ; 
Thus Death made wav for Liberlv ! 



SWITZERLAND. 

FHOM "WILLIAM T1:LL,'" 

Onck Switzerland was free ! Willi what a pride 
I used to walk these hills, l.iok up to lieavcn, 
And l.le.ss (u)d that it was so ! It was free 
l''i..iii end to end, from elill'to lake 't wa« froo I 
Kree as our torrents are, that leap our rocks. 
And plow our valleys, without a.sking leave ; 
<b- us our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
111 very presence of tho rognl sun I 



^- 



llow hniipy was 1 in it then I 1 loveil 

Its very storms. Ay, often have 1 sat 

In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake. 

The stars went out, and down the mountain 

gorge 
The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed 
Thethumler breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To .see him shake liis lightnings o'er my head, 
And think 1 b.i.l no master save his own ! 

J.\MliS SltUKlUAN KNUWLIiS. 



A COURT LADY. 

Heu hair was tawny with gold, her eyes with 

purple were dark, 
Ilor cheeks' pale ojial burnt willi a re.l and rest- 

less spark. 

Xever was lady of Milan nobler in name an.l in 

race ; 
Never was hidy of Italy fairer to see in tlie fiii'e. 

Never was la.ly on earth niiiie true as woman 

and wife, ' 
Larger in jmlgmeut and inslin.-l. pn.ii.ler in 

manners and life. 

.She stood in the early Tiioriiiiig, an.l said to her 

maidens, " liiing 
That silken robe made ready to wear at the court 

of the king. 

■'liring me the clasps of diain.ni.l, luciil. clear 

of llie mote. 
Clasp me th.. large at lb., waist, an.l clasp me 

the small ill the ihroaL 

" Diamonds to fasleii the hair, and diamonds t.. 

fasten the sleeves, 
Lnees to drop from their rays, like a powder of 

snow from the eaves." 

Oorgeons she entered the sunlight which gath- 
ered her up ill a. llaine. 

While straight, in her open carriag... sh.' to the 
hospital came. 

In she w.'iit at the door, and gazing, from end 

t..,.n.l. 
" Maiiv an.l l..w an. the pallets, but each is the 

plac'c of a fii..n(l." 

Up she ]ias.sed tlirongh the wanls, an.l slo.nl at 

a young man's bed : 
nioody the baud on his brow, an.l livi.l the 

droop of his head. 



-EP 



[fi-*: 



r>30 



POEMS OF PATh'JOTJSM A^W FKJSKDOM. 



-a 



"Art t]>ou n Liunlxml, my luvtlior ! Happy art 

tliou I " shtf oiii\l, 
Aud saniUnl liko Italy on lum : ho iIivjuiuhI in 

hor taoo anil ditxi. 

l\Je with liis i^ssiuj; soul, sli<> wojit on still to 

a siwunl : 
Iff was a j;ravt\ hai\l man, wlioso ycai-s by ilnn- 

J<W>US w-oiw IwklUKHl. 

Wounds in his Wty wore soiv, wounds in his 

lilo wore soivr. 
"Art thou a Uoniagnolo?" Hor oyos divvo 

lij;htninip; Ivfoiv hor. 

"Austrian and priost had joined to douWo and 

tighten tho o<^i\l 
AWo to l>ind thoo, stivng ono, — hvo l>y tho 

stmko of a s\vo(\l. 

" Now Iv >;n»vo for tho n>st of ns, nsing the lifo 

ovoivast 
To rilx'n onr wino of tho pivsont (ttH> now) in 

};hx>ms of tho p-\st." 

Down slio stoppod to a jwllot whoiv lay a faw 

liko a girl's, 
Yonnji, and jvithotio with dying, — a dot^p Waok 

holo in tho ourls, 

"Art thou fivm Tuscany, bivthor? and soost 

thou, divaniing in ivdn. 
Thy motlior stand in tho piazza, si<aivliin}; tlui 

list of tho slain?" 

Kind as a mothor hoi'solf, sho touolunl his ohivks 

with hor hands ; 
"Blosswl is sho who has Iwrno thoo, although 

sho sliould woop as sho stands." 

On sl\o (vissod to a Fix'nolininn, his arm oarrioil 

oil" by a IwU : 
Knooliug, . . "0 more thiui my Imithor ! how 

sliall 1 thank thoo lor all < 

" Eaoh of tho hoivos arvmnd ns has fo\is;ht for 

his land and lino. 
But Mi'ii hast fought for a strangor, in hato of a 

wrong not thino. 

" Happy aiv all fi-oo jx'ojilos, too strong to Iw dis- 

possi»ssod ; 
Bnt blossJd aiv thivse among nations who dare to 

Ih> strong for tho ivst ! " 

Evor sho )>ass«l on hor way, m)d oamo to a oovioh 

whoro innwl 
t">no with a faoo from Vonotia, white witli a hopo 

o\it of mind. 



Long slie stood and giued, and twice slie triwi at 

tho name, 
But two givat crystal toai-s woiv all that laltoivd 

and oan>o. 

Only a tear tW Yonioo ! — sho turned as in jxis- 

sion and U'>ss, 
And stoo|H'd to his foivluMid and kissoil it, as if 

sho woro kissing tho cross. 

Faint with that strain of heart, she moved on 

thou to another, 
Stern and stivng in his dwitli. " .Vnd dost thou 

sutler, my l>rothor ? " 

Holding his hands in hers ; — "t.>ut of the Hod- 

mont lion 
Cometh the sweetness of fixHHlom ! swet>tost to 

live lU' to die on." 

Holding his cold, rovigh hands, -" Well, 0, 

well have ye done 
In noble, noble riodnuuit, who would not bo 

noWe alone." 

Back he fell while she spoke. She i\«> to her 

foot with a sjaing, — 
"That was a riodniontoso ! and this is th» 

Court of the King." 

ELl-'AlillM UAKK»;rV UKOWXINC 



VILLA FRANCA. 

AVait a little ; do we not wait I 
Louis Napoleon is not Fate ; 
Francis Joseph is not Tinio ; 
Thero 's one hath swifter feet than (Tl'imo ; 
Cannon jwrliamonts settle minght : 
Venice is Austria's, — wlu>so is thought 1 
Minie is gvHHl, but, spite of change, — 
Guttonbui'g's gun has the longer range. 

Spin, spin, Clolho, spin ! 

Lachcsis, twist I and AtrojHi.s- sever ! 

In the shadow, year o\it, year in, 

Tho silent hoad.snian waits forover ! 



Wait, we -say ; our years aro long ; 
Men aiv weak, but Man is strong ; 
Since tho stai's lii'st curved their rings, 
AVe have looktnl on many things ; 
(iivat wai"s conu' and great wai-s go, 
Wolf-tracks light on jndar snow ; 
AVe sliall see hiui come and gone. 
This second-hand Napoleon. 

Spin, spin, Clotho, spin ! 

Lachesis, twist ! and .\troiios, sever ! 

In tho shadow, year out, year in. 

The silent hoadsmui waits forowr 



-4 



a- 



POEMH OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



^r^ 



ig-- 



We (law the tlder C'oi-nican, 
An'l C'lotho rnuttciwl an hIic ((i»an, 
While tTowtii;ii lackcyH Ixire tlie train 
Of the pincljlitck Charlemagi]';, — 
"Sister, »tiiit not length of Ihicail ! 
8i»t(;r, «tay tlie mamn 'Ireiul ! 
On St. Helen's gianite bleak. 
Hark ! the vulture whetH hLs beak I " 

Sjiin, Bfiin, Clotho, Bpin I 

La<;he«i»i, twist ! and Atrojioii, fMJver! 

In the shallow, year out, year in, 

The silent hea/lsniati waits forever ! 

The Bonajcirtes, we know their Ijees, 

They wa<le in honey, reil t/j the knees ; 

Their |Kitent reaper, its sheaves sleep sound 

In doorless garneiis undergrouml : 

We know false Glory's Bi^ndthrift race, 

I'awning nations for feathei-s and lace ; 

It may be short, it may be long, — 

" 'T is reckoning day 1 " sneers unpaid Wrong. 

S[iin, spin, Clotho, spin ! 

Lacliesix, twiot ! and Atrojios, sever ! 

In the shadow, year out, year in. 

The silent headsman waits forever ! 

The cock tliat wears the eagh.-'s skin 
Can promise wliat he ne'er could win : 
Slavery reaped for fine wonLs sown. 
System for all and rights for none ; 
De8])0ts at top, a wild clan below. 
Such is the Gaul from long ago : 
Wash the bla<;k from the Kthiop's face 
Wash the past out of man or race ! 

Spin, spin, Clotho, spin ! 

Lachesis, twist ! and Atropos, sever ! 

In tlie hli.'idow, yeai- out, year in. 

The silent headsman waits forever ! 

'Neath Gregory's throne a spider swings 

And snares the people for the kings -. 

" liUther in dea<l ; old finarrels pass ; 

The stake's black scars aie healed with grass " 

So dreamers prate ; — did man e'er live 

Saw priest or woman yet forgive- ? 

lint liUther's broom is left, and eyes 

Peep o'er their creeds to where it lies. 

Sjiin, spin, Clotho, spin ! 

Lacdiesis, twist ! and Atropos, sever ! 

In the sh.'idow, year out, year in, 

The silent headsman waits forever ! 

Smooth sails the shi|) of i-ither rralm, 
Kaiser and .Jesuit nt the helm ; 
Hilt we look down the deeps, and mark 
Silent workers in the ilark, 



Building slow the sharp-tuskf^i reefs, 
OM instincts hardening to new Ijtliefs ; 
I'atienw, a little ; Icain \m wait ; 
Hours are long on the clock of Fate. 

Spin, spin, Clotho, spin ! 

Lachesis, twist ! and Atropos, sever ! 

Dark is strong, and so is Sin, 

lint only God endures forever I 

JAMI^, kC!,sliI.I. UjwnLL, 



WESTWARD, HOI 

PROM "O.s THh f'KOM'I-xr OP VLA»VIUC ART AND LEABH- 
IKr, m AMERICA."* 

WbstwakI) the course of llmpire takes its way. 

The four first acts alreaily jiast, 
A fifth shall clos<; the ilrania with the day : 

Time's noblest odspring is the last. 

GKoRCK Berkeley. 



MfrriiKK of a mighty race. 
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace ! 
The elder dames, thy haughty [wers. 
Admire and hate tliy blooming years; 

With words of shame 
And taunts of sconi they join thy name. 

For on thy checks the glow is spread 
Th.it tints thy morning hills with red ; 
Thy st/.-ji, — the wild deer's rustling feet 
Within thy woods are not more fleet ; 

Thy ho[ieful eye 
Is bright as thine own sunny sky. 

Ay, let them rail, those haughty ones. 
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. 
'I'hcy do not know how loved thou art, 
How many a fond and fcarlras lieart 

Would rise to throw 
Its life lietwecn thee and the foe. 

They know not, in their hate and pride, 
What virtues with thy children bide, — 
How true:, how good, thy graceful maids 
M.ake Ijright, like flowers, the valley shades; 

SVhat generous men 
Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; 

What cordial welcomes gieet the guest 
15y thy lone rivers of the west ; 
How faith is kept, and tnith revered. 
And man is loved, and Ood is feared. 

In woodland homes, 
And where the ocean border foams. 



-^ 



fr: 



532 



POEMS OF PATJilOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



-a 



^Q- 



There 's fl'»>eilom at thy s?«tos, M>il I'wst 
For earth's do\vu-ti\>tWoii ami opj>i'(«st, 
A sju>ltt-r l\>r thi< luiMttnl heail, 
For the starved lalnMvr toil a\\d l>iva>l. 

Tower, at thy Kmmls, 
Sto\>s, and ejJls Iwek his hatlU\l houiuls, 

fair young motiier I on thy l>ix>\v 
Sliall sit a nobler grace than now. 
Oeep in the hrightness ol' thy sliies. 
The thtxMiging years in glory rise, 

And, as they Heet, 
P>\>1> strength and riehes at thy feet. 

Thine eye, w ith every coming hour, 
Shall hrighten, and thy form shall tower ; 
And when thy sistei's, elder Kirn, 
Would hnmil thy name with woixls of scorn, 

liefoit" thine eye 
Upon their lijvs the tannt sliall die. 

wuLUM ci'iiRN Bryant. 



Coi.VMinA, (.'olmnhia, to glory arise. 
The nueen of the world, and the child of the skies ! 
Thy genius commands thw ; with ruptuiv Ivliold, 
■While ages on ages thy .sjilendors unfold. 
Thy reign is the last and the noWest of tin>e. 
Most fruitful thy soil, nuwt inviting thy clime ; 
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimsou tliy 

name. 
Be freedom and science and virtue thy fame. 

To conquest and slaughter let KuiviH' aspire ; 
Whelm nations in hUnid, and wmp cities in fire; 
Thy helves the rights of mankind sliall defend. 
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. 
A world is thy realm ; for a world 1h> thy laws 
Enlai'gtil as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 
On Fivwlom's hixwd Kisis that empire shall rise. 
Extend with the main, lUid dissolve with the 



Fair Science her gates to thy sons sliall unbar. 
And the eiist see thy morn hide the l>eams of her 

star ; 
New Ivnxls and new siiges uiiiivalcd sliall sojir 
To fame unextinguished when time is no more ; 
To tlue, tlio hist lelui;.' of virtue designed. 
Shall lly fivm all nations the Wst of mankind ; 
Here, grateful to Heaven, with transport shall 

bring 
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. 

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glqry ascend. 
And gxaiius turd beatity in harmony blend ; 



The graces of form shall awake pure desiiv. 
And the charms of the soul ever cherish tJie tir»; 
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners It? tilled, 
.•\nd virtue's bright im»g»>, enstamped on the 

mind. 
With pwice and soft niptuiv shall teach life to 

glow. 
And light up a smile on tlie asiiect of woo. 

Thy fleets to all regions thy jHiwev shall disiJay, 
The nations admiiv, and the octwt olH>y ; 
Each shoiv to thy glory its tribute unfold, 
And the east and the south yield their spicea and 

gvMd. 
As the daysju'iug unlKumded thy splendor sliall 

How, " 
And earth's little kiiigvloius M'ore thee shall K>w, 
While the en.signs of union, in triumph unfurlinl, 
Husli the tumult of war, and give peace to the 

world. 

Thus, as down a lone viUley, with cedars o'ei-- 

spread, 
Fivm war's dread confusion, I pensively strayed, — 
The glootn fivm the face of fair heaven ivtiitHi ; 
The wind ceased to murmur, the thiindera e.\- 

piivd ; 
Perfumes, as of Eden, flowmi swwtly along. 
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung ; 
"Oolumliia, Columbia, to glory arise. 
The nueen of the world, and the child of the 

skies ! " 



AMKMCA TO GREAT BRITAIN. 

Ai.l. hail ! thou noble land, 
Our Fathers' native soil ! 
0, stretch thy mighty hand, 
l^igantic gixnvii by toil. 
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore ! 
For thou with magic might 
Canst reach to whciv the light 
Of riuelnis travels bright 
The world o'er ! 

The (.umius of our clime 

Fivm his pine-eml>attled steep 
Shidl hail the guest sublime : 
While the Tritons of tliedwp 
With their conclis the kindred loagne shall pro- 
claim. 
Then let the world combine, — 
O'er the main our naval line 
Like the Milky Way shall sliiiie 
Bright in fame ! 



Though agi>9 long have past 

Since our Fathers left tlieir home. 



-^ 




<£ ^ ^ 
^ >- I • 









r 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



533 



Tlicir jiilot in the blast, 

O'er untraveled sea« to roam, 

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! 

And shall we not i/roi;laim 

Tliat blood of honest fame 

Which no tyranny can tame 

By its chains ? 

While the language free and bold 
Which the Hard of Avon ^>ung. 
In which our Milton told 
How the vault of lieaven rung 
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ; 
While this, with reverence meet. 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast ; 

While the manners, wliile the arts. 

That mold a nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts, — 
between let Ocean roll. 
Our joint communion breaking with the sun : 
Yet still from either Ijcach 
The voice of blood shall reach. 
More audible than speecli, 
"We arc One." 

WASIlI^■CTO^^ allston. 



^ 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and Iwld ; 
Tlie British soldier trembles 

When JIarion's name Ls told. 
Our fortress Is the goo<l greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us. 

As seamen know the sea ; 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy gras.s. 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near ! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear ; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain. 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
Ami hear the tramp of thou,sauds 

L'jKjn the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings releaee 
From danger and from toil ; 



- We talk the battle over, 

And share tlie liattle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout, 

As if a hunt were up. 
And woodland llowen> are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumlx;r long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The Ijand that Marion leads, — 
The glitter of their rifles. 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'T is life to guide the lierj' barb 

Acioss the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the liritLsh camp — 

A moment — and away 
Kack to the pathless forest, 

Before the ]>eep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our Iwnd 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And teal's like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty anns, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton 

Forever from our .shore. 

William Cl'Lle.n Bry/u>t. 



SUNG AT T^ 



By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their (lag to April's breeze unfuiled. 

Here once the embattle<l fanners stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept ; 

Alike the compieror silent sleeps ; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creep*. 

On this green bank, Ijy this soft stream. 

We set to-day a votive stone ; 
That memory may their deed redeem. 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 



-^1 



fl-- 



f>34 



Pi>]iMS OF PATKtOTlSM ANO t'MKWM. 



-a 



Si>irit. U»«t mmlo Uios» hoivos daw 
'l\> dio, or lisivo tln'ir oUiUlivu IW, 

The shall wo «vis>' to thorn mul thoo, 

R.WrH WAtlV l^MBK.s 



WARU.KN'S AiniKKSS, 

Si'AM> ! the givuiul's yoiiv own, luy hravys! 
Will yo jjivo it up to sIkvw / 
Will Yo liHik I'ov giwiu'v gravv's t 

llo|K' y<> luoivY stUl 1 
What s the moi\'y (U>slK>ts fwl t 
Uoiir it ill that lvittlo-iH>al ! 
K«>vl it on yoi\ hristUnj; stwl I 

Ask it, — yo who will. 

F«u' yo I\h's who kill lor hiro f 
Will yo to yo\ir hoints ivtiix* ■ 
Look Ivhiuvl you : thoy 'iv atiiv ! 

Ai\d, K'l'oiv you, sw 
Who havo >lono it ! Wnu the vale 
l^u thoy oouii- ! — a«»l will yo ^uail f 
Ia\>vIou i-.iiu ami iixM\ hail 

Lot thoir woUxxuo ho ! 

In tho l!«vl of Ivitthw trust ! 

Oio wo may, — ami >lio wo must ; 

l>ut, 0, whoiv oau ilust to ilust 

l>o i\>iisij;i\0(l so woU, 

.\s whoro h«>vo\i its dows shall shwl 

Ou tho martyivd \v>triot's Iwl, 

And tho iwks shall raiso thoir hoad. 

Of his d.tds to toll ■ 

John imksiwst. 



L 



THK OU) OOJJTINKNTALS. 

In thoir r!VJQ^^l ivjjimoutnls 
StvKHl tho old ooutinoutsls, 

Yioldiuj; not, 
NVhon Iho jtivuadiors wow luugiiij;. 
And liko hail toll tho |il«iij;iuj; 
t.'au\iou-shot ; 
Whou tho filos 
Of tho vslos, 
tVim tho smoky nij;ht ouoauipuiout, lH>it> Uio 
Iwuuor of tho ram|vju>t 
I'uiooru, 
And jjrummor, grumuvor. s'""""'''" voIUhI Uio 
ivll of tho drummor, 
'riu\>uj;h tho morn ! 

Thou with oyos to tho fixmt idl. 
And with j!uus horiioutal, 

Stooil our sii\>s ; 
And tho Iwlls whisthnl dwidly. 
And in strosuus llashiuj; wily 

Ul,'U»\l tlio tti-»» ; 



As tho row 
t.'lii tho shoiv, 
Swopt tho sti\>uj; l>j>ttlo-l>i\<i>ko\-s o'or tho givou- 
soddwl aoi\>s 
t>r tho plaiu ; 
Aud loudov, loudor, loudov, oniokod tho Maok 
jjv>miowvlor, 
Cwokiug amain ! 

Now liko smiths at thoir forgxvs 
Workod tho ivd St. OuKU-j^-'s 

(.'amiouooi's ; 
Aud tho "villainovis saltiiotor" 
Kuug a lioivo, vlisooulant motor 
Uouuvl thoir oai-s ; 
As tho swift 
Storin-drift, 
^Yith hot swooping augt'r, oamo tho hoi'soguai\U' 
olai\j;\>r 
Ou ovir llanks ; 
Thou highor, highor, liighor, huruod tho old- 
fashioniHl lii~>' 
Thivtigh tho rjmks ! 

Thou Iho old-fashioiu>d oolouol 
CalloiH'il th>\>ugli tho whilo inforual 

IVwdol^oloud ; 
Aud his hi\>avl swoi\l was swiugiiijt, 
.Vnd his hra.'ou thi\v>t was ringing 
Tnuu|H't-loud, 
Thou tho Wuo 
UuUots tlow. 
Aiul tho tivoiHn--iaokots iwldou at tho touoh ii( 
tho h<adon 
Uilloluvath ; 
Alul roundor, wundor. ivuudor, iwuvd tho iivn 
six-jKiundor, 
Hurliuj; di\>th ! 

C.OV HOM|-IIK«V MOMASVBR. 



PAXIl, KKVKRK-S RinK. 

l.lsrKN. >ny ohiUhvu, a\id you shall hi>«r 

Of tho midnight rido of Taul Kovoiv, 

("•u tho oightotMith of April, in Sovouty-t\v» : 

Uaixlly a \uau is i\ow alivo 

Who ivmomUn's that famous day aud yoar, 

llo s)ud to his IViond, "If tho l^ritish maroh 
l>y laud or s«( fi\>m tho town to-night. 
Hang a lantoru alolt in tho Kdfry an'h 
Of thf North Ohuivh lowor as a signal light, — 
lh\o, if by land, and two, if hy stsi ; 
And I ou tho opiHwito shoiv will Iv, 
Koady to rido auil spi\v,>d tho alarm 
Thivugh ovovy Middlosox villagv> aud farm, 
For tho wuntj-y folk to Iw up and to arm." 



-^ 



cO- 



I'OKMH OF l-ATiaOTIHM AN I) FIlRKDOM. 



535 



:-i-tJ 



'X')ii;ri hi: Kiii'J, "CiixA iii(/lit ! ' anil witli iiiriHIwl | As it nmn al/civi; tloj g/avnx </i) Ui« till), 

l/init\y aii/l H|««;tial ami si<jliil«;r aii'l «till, 
I Aii'l )'< I ;o( 111; |cx,k», on llift lx;l(iy'» li<,-i((lit 
A jt)iiiiiiii:i; ami tli/;» a (:{|i«ti(i of linlil. 1 
U<; i>j<ii)i;{» to tli<! KvlUi:, lli<; l/ri'll<! Ii« liirnn, 
lint lUini:i-» an'l (^/iziM, till lull on lii;) >ii;{l)t 
A w.'co/i'l lump ill till! Ixilfry l/urriK ! 



Silently rowi;<l to tin: '/'liarl<!>!t/;wn )tli«ro, 

JiKit (u( till! moon row- ov<;r lli« liay, 

Wln-ri! itw'\uii)iin wl'ln at lii;r iiiixirliii^ lay 

'I'lii! HoinBiwd, IJiitixli ma(i-of-war ; 

A |iiiaiit'<in itliiji, witli 'tfi/:!! imuit an<l Hjiar 

A/;i'«» t);<; moon like a );i!)iOii liiir, 

Anil a liii;{<: \i]:ti',k liiilk, tliat wan magniiiixl 

IJy itx own ri;lli;';tioli in tliu tide. 



fe- 



M'lanwliili', li/Jf fiiiiii'i, tliioiigli alley aii'l Htrmd, 
Wanileio ami wat^jln;* witli i^if^er eaiii, 
'I'ill in tliii oilen'w aioiiii'l liini lie lieara 
'I'lie uiuHUir III men at tlie ir,uiiv:k ilifji; 
'I'liii w/iinil of aiiiiB, an'l tlie linni|< of Cwt, 
Aii'l llie nieamueil tiea<l of tin; ({ren;uliein, 
Mar(;liiii({ ilown to tlieii \Ki:>i4 on tlie slioic, 

'i'lien lie eliinlwl llie t-iwei of tlie Olil Xortli 

Cliiiieli 
|{y tlie woollen »tairi», witli nUialtliy tieiul, 
To tlie l»llry-eliainl;<;r overlicail, 
Ami iilartle'l llie |iigeonit fioni tlieir (n;ieli 
On tlie icinilK-r rafti;i'i), that loiiml liini in/vle 
ManJien ami moving i>lia|)<;ii of xliaije, — 
IJy till! trenililing la/I'ler, iit/;<;ji ami tall, 
To tlie liij;hi-Hl wimlow in tlie wall, 
W]ii:ri; lie |«iiiii<i| Ui lixt^;)! an'l look <iown 
A niomi;nl 'in tlie I'cifn of tlie town, 
Ami till; m'ionli;{lit llowiii;^ over all, 

\'x-iir!d\i, in tlie elmreliyai'l, lay tlie lUtiul, 

In tlieir niKlit-<;n'am;iment on tlie liill, 

Wi.'ij<)(i;i| in oilem'e wi 'l<;/;|i ami «till 

Tliut lie eoiil'l liear, like a Kentinel'ii trea/1, 

Tlie walelifiil iii(?lit-win'l, an it went 

''re';|)in;< aion;^ from t/;nt to tent, 

Aii'l w;eniin« Ui wliii(jn;r, "All in well ! " 

A moni'iit only lie I'eeln llie <i(>ell 

Of III'; |.la<;e ami tlie hour, ami tlie mxrist ilreail 

Of llie lonely liell'ry ami tlie ileail ; 

For Hii'Menly all liii tlioii({litit are lient 

On a nlia'lowy )ioriii;tliin« far away, 

Wlii-re tlie river wi'lenii t'l meet llie lay, — 

A line of lila/;k that lieml» an.l lloatu 

On the ridin;^ tide, like a hiiilge of UwIh, 

M'-anwhiJe, im|Bitient t'l mount ami ri'le, 
li')0U;<l an'l «fiiiiTi;'l, with a heavy Ktri'li', 
On the ii]i\hmU: whore walk';/l I'aiil Severe, 
Now he |wtt<«l hiH lior>K;'n Hide, 
Now fiflXi'A at the lamlwape far ami near, 
Then, linjietuoim, «la)n|K«l the eailli, 
An'l tunied an'l liiiiilitii<>i\ hin «i'lille-((irth ; 
I'jiit moKlly he wat/;liey| with ea<(er n':arcli 
The lurlfry-tower of the Ohl .North C'hiirch, 



A htirry 'if li'iofn in a village dtrwt, 

A uliajie In the niooiilighl, a hulk in the dark. 

Ami l)en':alli, from the ix;hhle», in I>!i»»lnx, a 

()|iark 
Htrii';k out hy a nU-M Hying firarienii an'l ll'"-l : 
That wad all ! An'l yet, through the glo'iin ami 

the light. 
The fat"; of a mition vr.iM ri'llng that ni({lit ; 
An'l the iijwrk Htriiek out hy that iiti;'y|, in hb) 

(light, 
Kimll<;<l the lau'l into ILaine with itn heat. 

II'; lian left the village ami niounl'-.'l the (it-<;';ii, 
Ami lK;n<:atli him, tiamiuil an'l hroail an'l d>;eji, 
l« the .MyDti';, mwtiiig the <i<:i;an ti'lisi ; 
Au'l un'ler tin; al'leiK, that nkiil its wige. 
Now Koft on til'; (ianil, now lou'l on the hvlge, 
I« h<«ird the tram|) of hix nt';';'! an he ri'li;«. 

It waii tW';lve by the village elo':k 

Wh'fii he r.iiihivjl the hridge iiili) M^il'oil t',wii. 

lie liear'l tlw; erowing of the wek, 

Ami the l/arking of tin; farmer'/! dog. 

Ami fell the danij) of the river fog. 

That ria.-o alU-r the «u« g'Aa 'lown. 

It v/mt iiif, hy tin; villag'; 'rioek 

When In: gallojied into l/;xingt//n, 

lie liaw the giMi;'l W':atln:ri;oek 

Hwiin in the imxinlight a>i he ]iium:i\, 

Ami the inwting-lioiiw: wimlown, hlank ami liare, 

OaW! at liiiii with a «fK:J:li;il glare. 

An if they alf'::Kly niinA agtw.t 

At the lil'xxly work th';y woul'l hxik uj>on. 

It wax two liy tin; village ';lo';k 

When In: eaiiie to the hridge in O'on'iOfl \»ivin. 

lie hiair'l tin; hlcating of the ll'/ek. 

Ami the twitt';r of hiriln annmg the treen, 

Ami felt the hreath of the imiining hret»! 

ISIov/ing over the rnea/lowx brown. 

Ami one Wiix xafe and anleefi in hU li':d 

Who at the hridge woul'l Ik; limt ii> fall. 

Who that 'Lay would In: lying d';a/l, 

l'ier';';'l hy a liriliiih muitket-lMll. 

Voii kinw the rest. In the hookn ym have r<5a<l, 
llov^ the Uritixh lt':gular« fir':'l an'l (1<;'I, — 
I low the farmemgave tlicni hall for liall, 
Kroin liehiii'l eaeh fenee ai.<l fann-yar'l wall, 



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I'^wixii ilam hv/i ymts* utA ti*« *«*'» "iw/J*- 
ti'/// : 

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a- 



538 



POEMS OF PATiaOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



^ 



Thmi tllil Hi'owii, 
Osiiwivlomiii liniwii, 

Sllrd II. .1 II liilU', hut sllllt hi', I.M'lli, 

II U'lrihh. IVmvii I 



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Ih.y Mri/ol Miiulhn h., 
Ih.< himt ul'liiillh', 
I'lul III pi'iii'ii, hi'liiiiil hlM l>hiw»hiii 
lhii,V himUa hliM wiUi flmiiis, 
All, I »ilh |,ikos, lichiio Ih.urlmrai.a, ..v.mi aa Ih.'.v 
Kimil Lhnir ciilih', 
Di'uvci him, cM'iinlly, I'lir Uiuir aiiui't, iiiul at liwl 
hknv mil hiH lnuilia; 
'I'hc.ii (Ud Brown, 
(l.sawiitoniio llrown, 
UiiiHwl liis li-lil hiina up to llnivcii, I'.illiiif^ ^ Ciiiiy lln' foiiiity iin.l th.. Stutc', ay, ami all 



llu huii^^hl no |ilo\vs and IlivI'l'oWH, simuIoh iinil 

hIiuvi-U, or Miii'h trill™ ; 
liut i|iiii'll\ 1,1 liiH raiirho lliiMii niiiii', hy rvory 
llalll, 
lloxrs lull of iiiki'.s an.l pislols, aiul hin wi'll-h,,- 
Iov.hI Shai'iir'H vilh'M ; 
And I'ifilarrn ollmr nnidnioii joined Un'ir 
liiadm' llniro iiHiiin. 
Siiy.s Did lirovvn, 
Osinvaloniiii I'linwii, 
"lloya, wo 'v>' ;;ol an iiiiny hirf^c imoiij^di toniiirch 
and wliiji tlio town I 

"TaUi. tho touii, and H,i/., lli„ imi^kids. fivi- tlio 
iiof^rors, Mild llu'ii ann lln-in ; 



llt'avim'.t vi'iignauri! dowi 

And liii sworo a hailiil oalh, hv I lie naiiio of 
tlio AlmiKhlv. 
11.^ would hiinl IhiH ravening .vil that liad 
Heathed an.l loni him so ; 
II.' w.uihl aeizo it hy tlio vilaU ; he woiil.l einsh 
it .lay ami iii^dit ; he 
W'oul.l so ]iursiie il.s hiolstniw, --so veliiin it 
hhnv loi' hhiw, - 
Thai OKI lii'own, 
(laawalonii.' Hrown, 
.Shonl.l he a namo to sw.'iir hy. in haekwo.i.l.s or 
in town I 

'I'lieii his h,.:inl h,,eame mole f{ii/,zl,.,l, and lii.s 

wihl hliiii eye .,'i'ew wil.ler, 

An.l m.ii'o Hliai'iily enrve.l his Imwk'a-noao, 

aniilliii>{ liatlle IVoin al'ar ; 

.\n.l he and the two lioys hit, thoiinh 111.. Kan- 

.snR stril'o wiixe.l miUler, 

^\\w\' more siilh'ii, till was ov..r the hlo.i.ly 

H.ir.h.i- War, 

An.l Ol.l i!r..wn, 
Osawal.imie Brown, 
Ua.l j;.iiit' .'riuy, as they roekone.l hy his rearl'nl 
glai'i' and IVown. 

So he h.l'l 111., iilniiis of Kansas an.l their hitter 
w.igs hehiiid him, 
.Slii't oil' into Virginia, where the stnlesiii..n all j 
iiro horn, 
llii.'.l II I'arm hy Harper's Kerry, an.l no on., 
knew where t.i liu.l him. 
Or whether ho '.1 tnrn.'d pars.m, .ir waa jaek- 
et.'.l an.l shorn ; 
K.a'Ohl l!r.iwn, 
I >siiwatomii' Briiwn, 
Ma.l as he was, knew toxts iin.mj<h to wiiiir a 
piirs.in'H ({own. 



111.. p.it.'Ut Sonlh 
t)n their own hea.ls h.. the slan«liler, if their vi.'- 
liins rist. t.i harm Hi. 'in 
TlioHo Virginians! who h.'li..ve not, ii.ir w.ml.l 
hoed the warning,' month." 
Siiys Olil Brown, 
Osawatoinie Brown, 
'•'IMie world shall se.. a U.'pnhlie, or my mini.' is 
not John Brown I " 

"r was the sixl.'.nlh ot (litoh.r, on 111.' ..v.'iiiii^! 
ota .Snn.lay; 
••Thist,'oodwork,".h.elar.'.llh...'aplain. '■shall 
he on a h.ily nij^dil ! " 
It was on a Snn.lay evening;, an.l, heh.re Ih.. 
n.i.m nl' Mon.hiy, 
With two sons, and Captain Sli'plu.iis, lill.>eii 
pvivattis— hhi.'k an.l white, 
Captain Br.iwn, 
(Isuwatomie Br.iwn, 
Mareh.'.laei'osslhehri.l>!.'.l l",i|oina.-,aiidkinn'ke.l 
the sentry .l.iwn ; 

T...ik 111.' K»»l''l'''l lUiiioiy-huildiiiK, an.l the 
mnskets and the caniuin ; 
Caplnri'd all the eoniity majors and Urn eolo- 
ni'ls, .mo hy one ; 
S.'ai.'.l I.) .hath eaeli gallant s.'ion ..1' Virginia 
lh.>y ran mi, 
An.l h,,f.ire tin. n.i.m of Mon.hiy, I say, llio 
.hH..l was .l.nn.. 
Ma.l (U.l l!r.iwii, 
Osiiwiitmnie Brown, 
With his eighteen othev erazy uieii, wiiit in an.l 
t...di th.' t.iwn. 

W'ly Utile n..ise an.l hhister, little smell .if p..w- 
.h-r, niiulii he ; 
II was all doiio in tho nii.lnight, like the em- 
poror'a cmip il'eM ; 

1 \_j' 



a- 



rOEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



539 



-a 



u 



"Cut tho wires I stop the rttil-i;urn ! hold llic 
streets iiml bridges ! " said lie, 
Then decliired tlie new KciMildic, will. Iiii.iself 
lor f^iiidirjg star, — 
Tliis Old Drown, 
(jHawiitomie Hrown ; 
And till) liold two thousand citizens run uK and 
lelt the town. 



Then wiiH riding iuiil railroading and exiirossing 
here and thither ; 
Aiid the Marlinsljurg Shariisliooters and the 
Chailestown VoliiiiteeiT), 
And the tjhepherdstown and Winchester Militia 
hastened whither 
Old lirowii was said to muster his ten thou- 
sainl grenadiers ! 
( leneral IJrown, 
Osawatoniie Urown ! 
liehind whose ranipaiit banner all the North was 
jiouring down. 

I5ut at hist, 't is said, some prisoners oseajped 
from Old Brown's <Uiranee, 
Aiid the eU'ervesceiit valor ol' the Chivalry 
broke o\it, 
When they h^arned that tiineleen mailmen had 
the marvelous assurance — 
Only nimleen — thus to seize tho pluco and 
driv(! tliem straight about ; 
And Old lirowii, 
Osawatoniie lirowii. 
Found an army come to take liiin, eneamiied 
around the town. 

But to storm with all the forces we have men- 
tioned, was too risky ; 
So they Imrricd oil' to liiclinioud for the Gov- 
ernment Marines — 
Tore themfrom their woejiing matrons, fired their 
souls with Hoiirbon whiskey. 
Till they battered down I'rown's castle with 
their ladders and machines ; 
And Old Brown, 
Osawatoniie Brown, 
Received thici! bayonet stabs, and a cut on his 
brave (dil crown. 

Tallyho ! the old Virginia gentry gather to tho 
baying ! 
In they rushed and killed the game, shooting 
lustily away ; 
And whene'er they slew a iclid, Ihosit who eamo 
too late for slaying, 
Not to lose a share of glory, fired their bullets 
in his clay ; 



And Old Drown, 
Osawatoniie Brown, 
.Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between 
them laid him down. 

How the coni|uerors wore their laurels; how 
they hastened on the trial ; 
How Old Brown was iilaced, half dying, on tho 
Charlestown court-house floor ; 
How ho spoke his grand oration, in the aeorn of 
all denial ; 
What tho braveold madman told thorn, — those 
are known the country o'er. 
" Hang Old Brown, 
Osawatoniie Brown," 
Said the judge, "anil all such rebels I" with his 
most judicial frown. 

But, Virginians, don't do it I for I tell you that 
the flagon, 
Killeil with blood of Old lirown's olfspring, was 
first jioured by Southern hands ; 
.■\nd each drop frutn f)ld Brown's life-veins, like 
the red gore of the dragon, 
May spring lip a vengeful Kiiry, hi.s.sing through 
your slave-worn lands! 
And Old Brown, 
Osawatoniie Brown, 
May trouble you more than I'vcr, when you've 
nailed his collin down ! 

UDMUNO Cl.AUIiNCI'. SrCDMAN. 



8IIERIDAN'.S RIDE. 

Ill- from the South at break of day. 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 

The alfrighted air with a .shudder bore, 

l,iko a herald in haste, to the ehieflain's door, 

The terrible grumble and rumbh,' and roar, 

Telling the battle w.as on once more. 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 

Tliundcred along the horizon's bar ; 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled. 

Making the blood of the listener cold 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway, leading down ; 

And there, through the flash of the morning light, 

A steed as black as the steeds of night. 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. 

As if he know the terrible need. 

He stretched away with the iifmost speed ; 

IlilK ruse and fell, —but his lii'art was gay, 

With Sheriilaii fifteen miles away. 



-^t? 



1&-, 



540 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



--a 



[&. 



Still apniii}; (tova thoso swift houfs, thuiidoring 

South. 
The tlust, liko sinoko flviii tho oiiimou's mouth ; 
(.'i- tlio tniil of n oonu)t, s\vw(>iuj; I'listt'i' uud t'listor, 
Koioboiliug to ti'jiitocs tho ilooui ol'ilisustor. 
'rtio hoHit ol' tho stooil, mill tho hoiiit of tlio uuistor, 
Woiv lu'iitiui;, liko piisonoi's iissuultiuj; thoir 

walls, 
ln>)>iilioiit to ho whoiv tho Imttlo-tiohl oalls ; 
Kvoiy uoivo of tho oluivsoi' was stiiunoil to full 

phiy. 
With Shoiuliui ouly ton uiilos iiwny. 

Ihidor his siuiiiiinj; foot, tJio ivad 

Like nil nnvwy Aliiino rivor llowoii, 

And tho lauilsoinio sihhI invay bohiuil, 

Liko an oooaii tlyiiij; hot'oiv tlio wind ; 

And tho stood, liko a Iwik fod with fiivnaoo iiv, 

Swopt on, with his wild oyos full of lire ; 

liut, lo ! ho is noariujc his heart's dosiiv, 

Ho is snulling tho swoko of tho rotiring fray, 

AVith Shoiidau oi\ly tivo milos away. 

Tho lii'st that tho t^onoml saw woiv tho grouiis 
t~>f stvaggloi-s, n\id thou tho ivtivatinj; tivojis ; 
What was dono, — what to do, — a glauoo told 

him hoth. 
And, sti'ikinj; his spurs with a tovrihlo oath, 
llo dashod down tho lino mill a stoim of huitzas. 
And tho wavo of retivat oheokod its ooui-so thore, 

hooanso 
Tho si_s;lit of tho mastor oomjiollod it to (kuiso. 
With foan> and with dust the hlaok ohai'gor was 

Si-ay : 
Uy the Hash of his oyo, and his nostiil's )>lay, 
llo soomiHl to tho whole givat anny to say, 
" 1 Imvo Invujtht you Shoiidan all the way 
t^vrn Winoliostor down, to save tho day ! " 

lluniih, hurrah tor Sheridan ! 
Hurndi, hurrah for hoi-so ami man ! 
And when thoir statues aiv plaoed on high, 
Tudor the dome of the Union sky, — 
Tho Amorioan soldier's Temple of Fame, — 
Thoiv with the glorious (loneral's name 
I5e it said in lettei's both hold ami bright ; 
" Uoiv is the steed that saved the day 
r>y earrying Slu>ridan into the light, 
Kivm Winoliostor, — twenty milos awsiy ! " 

Thomas IU'OIIANAN Rkao. 



THE BIVOXtAC OF THK DKAD. 

Thk n\utlled drum's sad ivU has heat 

The soldier's last tattoo ; 
No more on life's (larado shall moot 

That hrave and fallen few. 



On Fmno's eternal eamping-giwiiul 

Their silent touts aif spread. 
And glory guai'ils, with solonm round, 

Thehivouaeof the a.ud. 

No rumor of the foe's advanoo 

Now swells upon the wind ; 
No troubled thought at midnight Imuuts, 

0( loved ones left behind ; 
No vision of the morrow 's strife 

The warrior's divam alarms ; 
No hrayi\ig horn or sewaming Rfo 

At dawn shall eidl to arms. 

Thoiv shivewd swoi\ls are nd with rust, 

Tlieir pluuu^d heads are bowed. 
Their li.iuglity liiinner, trailed in dust. 

Is now their martial shroud ; 
And plenteous funend twirs have wasluid 

The ltd stains from eaeh brow. 
And the proml forms, by Iwtlle gashed, 

Are free fiiun anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the Hashing blade, 

The bugle's stirring blast. 
The eharge, the dreadful eannonado, 

The din and shout aro ]iast : 
Nor war's wild mito, nor glory's poal, 

Shall thrill with lieree delight 
Thoso bivasts tliat ni'ver moi'i' may feel 

Tho rapturo of the light. 

Liko tho tioivo Northern hurrieane 

That sweeiis his great plateau. 
Flushed with the triumpli yet to gain, 

t'an\e down the serried foe ; 
Who heanl the thunder of the fray 

Hroak o'er the Held hev\eath. 
Knew well the watehwonl of that day 

Was Vietory or Peath. 

Full many a norther's breath has swept 

l^'er .•\n_gv>stura's plain. 
And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above its nmldeivd slain. 
The raven's .seivam or eagle's llight, 

Or shephenl's pensive lay. 
Alone now wake eaeh solenni height 

That frowned o'er that divad fray. 

Sons of tho Dark and Bloody round ! 

Ye must not slumber there, 
Wheiv sti-angiM- steps and tongues rosi^und 

Along the' heedless air: 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall he yo<ir litter grave ; 
She elainis fivun war its richest spoil — 

Tho ashes of hor bravo. 



a-*- 



POEMfi OF FArmOTlHM AND FliKKUOM. 



541 



■a 



Thiui, 'ncatli their [Kircnt turf tbey r«(it, 

Far from tlic gory field, 
Borne to a Spartan rnotlicr'u Ijreast 

f>ii iiiaiiy a IdooiJy xliield. 
The suhithiiie of their native sky 

Smiles i«ully on tlieni licrc, 
And kindrwl eyes and lie:ii-t« watch by 

The heroes' sepulchcr. 

Itest on, einl»alni<!'l and sainted dea*!, 

I>(jar as the blood ye gave ! 
No impious footstep herw shall tr<«ul 

The herbage of your grave ; 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While Fame her re/»rd keejis, 
Or Honor jtoints the hallowe<l spot 

Where Valor proudly sleeiw. 

Yon marble miiiHtrel's voi'^dess stone 

In deathless song sliall tell, 
When many a vani»h<^J y<«ir hath flown, 

The story how he fell ; 
Nor wreck, nor ehange, nor winter's blight, 

Nor time's remorsidess doom, 
Can dim one ray of holy light 

That gillhi your glorious tomb. 

Tllli/JfXyKE O'lUKA. 



e-- 



THE WOOD OF CHANCELL0E8VILLE. 

TnK ripe re-l Ix-rries of the wintergrwn 
Lure me to jjause awhile 

In thi« deep, tangle<l wood. I stoji and lean 
Down where these wiW-flowcrs smile, 
And rest me in tlii* sha/le ; for many a mile, 

Through lane and dusty street, 

i 've walkeil with weary, weary feet ; 

And now 1 tarry mid this woodland scene, 

'Mong ferns and mosses sweet. 

Here all around me blows 

The i<ale i)rimrose. 

I wonder if the gentle blossom knows 

The feeding at my heart, — tlie solemn grief 

So whelming and so deep 
Tliat it disilaiiis relief, 

And will not let me weep. 
I wonder that the wooilbine thrives and grows, 
And is indifferent to the nation's woes. 
For while tlies"; mornings shine, tlie«<; bloss<jms 

bhwin, 
Impious ItcUillion wraps the Laud iu gloom. 

Nature, thou art unkind, 
Unsym[>athizing, blind ! 
Yon liehen, elinging t/i th' o'erlianging rock, 

Is happy, and <iaeh blade of grass. 

O'er which unconsciously I pass 



Smiles in my fa<«, and seems to mo<;k 
Me with its joy. Alas ! I cannot find 
One charm in Ixjunteous nature, while tlui 
wind 
That blows ujKjn my cheek lj<;ars on each gust 
The gioans of my j/oor <;<iuntry, bhicling in the 
dust. 

The air is musical with notJis 

Tliat gush from winged warblers' throats. 

And in the liafy trees 

I hear the drowsy hum of hxa. 

Prone from tlie blinding sky 

JJancc rainlsjw-linti^l sunbeams, thick with 
mot^is. 

Daisies are shining, and the butterfly 
Wavcis from flower to flower ; yet in this woo<l 
The ruthless fo<!man sU^fj*!, 
And every tuif is drenehi^l with human bloo<l. 

heartless flowers ! 

O trc<;s, cla<l in your roljcs of glist^.-ring shten, 
I'ut off this 'anopy of gorgeous grwn ! 

These are the hours 

For mourning, not for gla/lncss. While this 
smart 

Of treason dire gashes the Nation's heart, 

Ix!t birds refuse Ui sing. 

And flowi;is ti> bloom ujjon the lap of spring. 

Iy:t Nature's fa<;e its<;lf with tears o'crllow, 

In dee|)<;st anguish for a jjeople's woe. 

While rank 1'cl.Kdlirjn stan'ls 

With bl'xj<l of martyrs on his impious hau<ls ; 

While slavery, and chains. 

And cruelty, and direst liatc, 

Uplift their IkswIs within the afflicted State, 
And frwze the bhx><l in every jwtriot's veins, — 
Let these old wwj<llands fair 
Grow blaxik with gl<x;m, and from its thunder- 
lair 
Ijtt lightning leap, and s';<jrch the accui-sfal air. 
Until the Buffering earth. 
Of treawjn sick, sliall sjniw the monst<;r fortli. 
And each regenerate soil 
lie consecrate anew Ui VvAvlom and to Coil ! 

Dhlia k. Cekuam. 



THE OLD SEKXJEANT. 

"CoMK a little nearer. Doctor, — tliank you — 
let me take the cup : 

Draw your chair up, — draw it closer, —just an- 
other little sup ! 

M«ylx; you may think I 'm liett^ir ; but I 'm 
pretty well uscl up, — 

Doctor, you've done all you could do, but I 'm 
just a-going up ! 



& 



[fi-^: 



42 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



-n 



h 



" Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't 
iiuicli use to try — " 

" Never say tlmt," saiil tlie surgi'Oii, as he smoth- 
ered down a sigh ; 

" It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to 
say die ! " 

What you say will make no difference, Doctor, 
when you come to die. 

"Doctor, what has been the matter?" "You 
were very faint, they say ; 

You must try to get to sleep now." " Doctor, 
have 1 been away ? " 

" Not that anybody knows of ! " " Doctor — Doc- 
tor, please to stay ! 

Tliore is something I must tell you, and you 
won't have long to stay ! 

" I have got my marching orders, and 1 'm 

ready now to go ; 
Doctor, did you say I fainted ? — but it could n't 

ha' been so, — 
Kor as sure as I 'm a Sergeant, and was wounded 

at Shiloh, 
I've this very night liecn back there, on llie old 

field of Sliiluh ! 

"Tliis is all that 1 rcnienil.er ; The last time 
the Lighter came. 

And the lights had all been lowered, and the 
noises much the same. 

He had not licen gone five minutes before some- 
thing called my name : 

'OiiiiERi.Y SunriEANT — KoiiEUT Burton!' — 
just that way it called my name. 

"And 1 wondered who could call me so dis- 
tinctly and so slow, 

Knew it couldn't bo the Lighter, — lie could 
not have spoken so ; 

And I tried toanswer, 'Here, sir !' but I cimldn't 
make it go ! 

For I could n't move a muscle, and I couhl n't 
make it go ! 

"Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a 

humbug, and a bore; 
Just another foolish (jrapc-vinc* — and it won't 

come any more ; 
liut it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same 

way as before : 
' OrjiKiu.Y Sekoeant — KoiiKiir Riikton ! ' even 

plainer than before. 

"That is all that I remember, till a sndden 

burst of light. 
And I stood beside the River, where wo stood 

that Sunday night, 



Waiting to be ferried over to tlie dark blulfs op- 

jiosite. 
When the river was perdition and all hell was 

opposite ! 

"And the same old palpitation came again in 

all its power. 
And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some 

celestial tower ; 
And the same mysterious voice said ; ' It is tiik 

eleventh iiouh ! 
Orderly Sekoeant — Robkkt Bi'rton — it 

is the eleventh uouu!' 

" Doctor Austin ! — what diii/ is this ? " " It is 

Wednesihiy night, you know." 
"Yes, — to-morrow will be New-Year's, and a 

right good time Iwlow 1 
What lime is it, Doctor Austin?" "Nearly 

twelve." "Then don't you go ! 
Can it be that all this happened — all this — not 

an hour ago ! 

"There was where the gun-boats opened on the 

dark, reliellions host ; 
And where Webster semicirclod liis last guns 

upon the coast ; 
There were .still the two log-houses, just the 

same, or else thidr ghost, — 
And the same old transport came and took mo 

over — or its ghost ! 

" And the old field lay befi>re me all deserted 

far and wide ; 
There was where they fell on Prentiss, — there 

McClernand met the tide ; 
There was where stern Sherman rallied, and 

where Hurlbut's heroes died, — 
Lower down, where Wallace charged tliem, and 

kejit charging till he died. 

"There was where Lew Wallace showed them 

he was of the canny kin, 
There was where old Nelson thundered, and 

where Rousseau waded in ; 
There iMcCook sent 'em to breakfast, ami we all 

began to win — 
There was where the grape-shot took me, just as 

we began to win. 

" Now, a shroud of snow and silence over 

everything was spread ; 
And but for this old lilue mantle and the ohl 

hat on my head, 
I should not have even doul)ted, to this moment, 

I was dead, — 
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow 

upon the dead ! 



--& 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



543 



ra 



43--- 



"Death and silence! — Death and silence! all 

around me as 1 sped ! 
And behold, a mighty Tower, as if builded to 

the dead, 
To the heaven of the heavens, lifted up its 

mighty head, 
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed 

waving from its liead ! 

"Round and mighty-based it towered — up 

into the infinite — 
And I knew no mortal mason could have built 

a shaft so bright ; 
For it shone like solid sunshine ; and a winding 

stair of Hglit, 
Wound around it and around it till it wound 

clear out of sight ! 

"And, behold, as I approached it — with a rapt 
and dazzled stare, — 

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascend- 
ing the great Stair, — 

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke, of — 
' Halt, and who goes there I ' 

'I'm a friend,' I said, 'if you are.' — 'Then 
advance, sir, to the Stair!' 

"I advanced ! — That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah 
Ballantyne ! — 

First of all to fall on Monday, after we had 
formed the line : 

' Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome ! Wel- 
come by that countersign ! ' 

And he pointed to the scar there, under tliis old 
cloak of mine ! 

"As he grasped my haiul, I shuddered, think- 
ing only of the grave ; 

But he smiled and pointed upward with a 
bright and bloodless glaive : 

' That 's the way, sir, to Headquarters.' ' What 
Headquarters ! ' 'Of the Brave.' 

'But the great Tower?' 'That,' he answered, 
' is the way, sir, of the Brave ! ' 

"Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uni- 
form of light ; 

At my own so old and tattered, and at his so 
new and bright ; 

'Ah!' .said he, 'you have forgotten the New 
Uniform to-night, — 

HuiTy back, for you mu.st be here at just twelve 
o'clock to-night ! ' 

"And the ne.vt thing I remember, you were 

sitting there, and I — 
Doctor — did you hear a footstep? Hark! — 

God bless you all ! Good by ! 



Doctor, please to give my musket and my knap- 
sack, when I die, 

To my Son, — my Son that 's coming, — he won't 
get here till I die ! 

"Tell him his old father blessed him as he 

never did before, — 
And to carry that old musket " — Hark ! a knock 

is at the door ! — 
"Till the Union' — See! it opens! — "Father! 

Father! speak once more!" — 
"Bless youl" — gasped the old, gray Sergeant, 

and he lay, and said no more, 

BVRON' FOkCEVTHE WILLSON. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 

Ui" from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn. 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
AVhen Lee marched over the mountain wall, — 

Over the mountains, winding down, 
Horse and foot into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic-window the staH' she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt !" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
"Fire!" — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 



-S 



[f3 — 

r>44 



rOKMS OF PATRrOTISM AND FKKKDim. 



--a 



& 



Quiok, US it I'l'U, I'lMni llui liivki'u stivIV 
Uaiuo UuiU'tm smiti-hoil llio silkoii si'iirl'; 

Sho loaiioil lav out on llu' wiiulowsill. 
Ami shook il forth witli a ii'val will. 

"Slioot. it' voii miisl, this oKl gia.v hoa.l, 
liut siKUV your oouiitrj's llaj;," shr sai.l. 

A shailo of Siulnoss, n hhisli of sliaiiu'. 
Over the fai-o ol' tho IciuU'r oimu' ; 

The nohlcr iiatuiv within him slinvil 
To lil'o at that wonian's ilooil ami woixl : 

" Who toiu'hos a hair of yon gray hoail 
Pics like a dog! ^ Maivli on!" ho said. 

All day long tlnviiKli Krtuloriok stroot. 
Soundinl tho tivail of niarohing foot ; 

All (lay long thai, fivi> Hag tost 
Over till' hoails of tho ivlud host. 

Kv(\r its torn folds wise anil I'l-U 

On tho loyal winds that lovod il woU ; 

And Ihivugh tho hiU-gaiis snnsot light 
Sliuno over it with a warm good-night. 

HarUu-a Krii'tehio's work is o'rr. 

And tho ivln'l ridos on his raids no nuuv. 

U.inor lohor! and let a l.'ar 

Kail, for hor sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Uarl«ira Krielehie's grsive, 
Flag of fivedom and union, wave ! 

Teaoe ai\d oixler and beanty draw 
Koiuid thy symlnd of light and law ; 

And over tho stai's above liKik down 
On thv stai-s below in Kivderiek town ! 



AS isv rill-. siionK .xr in;i'..\K oi' i>ay. 

As liy llie shore, at bivak of ilay, 
A vainiuished ehief expiring lay, 
rpon the sands, with hi\>ken swoM, 

lie trueed his faivwell to the five ; 
.•\nd there the last ni\Hnished word 

lie dying wrote, was " l.ibeiiy I" 

A{ night a sea-hiixl shrieked the knell 
Of him who thns for fiwdoni fell ; 
Tlio woixls he wrote, eiv evening eaum, 

Were covered by the son tiding sea ; — 
So i>ass away the cause and name 

Of him who dies for liliorty ! 

THOMAS M0OK>. 



ODK TO FaEBDOM, 



Who Cometh over the hills, 

ller garments with morning swoot, 

The dance of a thousand rills 

Making music bcfoiv her leel 1 

ller luv.seneo freshens the aiii, 

Sunshine steals light I'imiu her faci), 

The leaden footsteii of Caiti 

Leaps to the l\ine of lu'r (laco, 

Kairuess of all that is fair, 

O.raee at the h.'arl of .'dl gmco I 

Swei'tencr of hut and of hall, 

Ihingcr of life out of naught, 

Fivedom, O, faiivstofall 

The duugliters of Time aiul Tluniglil 1 

She comotll, eoiudh lo-d.iy : 
lliirk ! hear ye not her tiva.l. 
Sending a thrill thivngh your elav, 
I'lider'lhe sod theiv, ye d'ead. 
ller chiiiui'ioiis and chosen ones I 
Do ye not hear, as she comes, 
The Imy of the dee\i-mouthed guns 1 
The gathering buzz of the ilrums ( 
The bells thai called ye to luiiyer, 
How wildly they clamor on her, 
Oryiiig, "She Cometh! nivjuu'o 
ller to praise and her to honor, 
That a hundivd y<'ars ago 
Scatteivd here in blood and tears 
Foteiit seeds when>froin should grow 
(iladlicss for a liumlivd veal's" ( 

Tell me. young men, have ye seen 

Oivaluiv of diviner mien. 

For tine hearls to long ami cry for. 

Manly hearts to live and die for? 

What hath she that othei's want I 

lirows that nil endearments haunt, 

Fyes that make it sweet to daiv, 

Smiles that glad untimely death, 

l.o,.ks that fortify despair, 

Tones nioiv brave than trumpet's bit>nth ; 

Tell me, imiidens, have ye known 

Household charm more sweetly nu'e f 

Onice of woman ampler blow ii i 

Modesty moiv debonair ' 

Yonngt'r heart with wit full-giMwn f 

O for ail hour of my prime. 

The pulse of my hotter yeai's. 

That I might praise her ill rhyme 

Would tingle your eyelids to tears. 

Onr sweetness, our sln'iigth, and our star, 

("lur hope, our joy, and onr trust, 

Who lilted ns out of the dust 

And nuido us whntovor we aro ! 



-S 



e-- 



I'OF.MH OF I'ATiaoriHM ANJJ intKKDOM. 



54: 



-^ 



WhlU-r tliari mixmnhxiv iijkiii huuvi 

Her raiiri<,-iit h ; Imt. rodiiil tliB li'.-lii 

CriioeKjii-titoiJX!'! ; aiii|, ii« \^> ami Cro 

ll<;l' Kttfi'lulit flfwli, v/i; UfA: till t,)i<!lil, 

Aiul on licr iii«li!|< vciiiwl with IjIikj, 

Ifh'ckti of ci'iiiiioii, — 1)11 tli(»w! liiir fwst, 

lli;<li-«i(;l)(!<l, J>i«ii.-t-)ik«, ami fl«rjt, 

Kit fur HO urtmiv.r «t,aiii tliaii 'lew; 

0, i.ali Uieiij lattii;/' <;lili«iiiH Ijiai) nhium, 

H;vivt\ ami IVoiii liei-oic vciim ! 

Kor, ill 111': n\iity-n»siriM \>!im, 

War liauj^lily ati'l SM-MnUiu. I>''a<l 

Hli<: Ixjweil to uli/ive Lwijiiilan 

Willi lii» iiiijieriftluiljli! il(»iil ; 

Her, too, Morgui-Ujii naw, 

Wlieie llie Hwixit lion llenheil liix iey [/aw; 

Hlie tolloweil f-'roniweH'ti ((iienelileim lUir 

Wliere tlie grim piirilan tri;a<l 

Hliook MartiU/n, Naseliy, ami iJiintKir ; 

Yea, on lier IV*t are ilearer 'lyex 

Vet freoli, nor lookr^l on v/itli iintiarlul eyen, 

Oiir lalljeni l'oiin<l lier in the woo<l>i 

Where Nature nieditat/iH aii'l lirooilx 

Till: i«.'e<l» of unexani|il«l thin^it 

Wliii:li Time \Ai winKiininiation liiinx« 

Tlijoii^^li life anil 'leath anil nian'n iinntiihle 

They met her liere, not rwognizisil, 

A Kylvan hiiiitrexx elolli<;<l in luin, 

To wliow; ehiuiU; wunt» lier Ixiw Hulliwl, 

Nor ilreanieil wtiat deiititiieK were henc 

Hhfc taiighi them hee-like to ereaV! 

Their iiini|iler fornw of Chiireh aii'l St-it'; ; 

8he tiiMf^ht tlicni to eniliie 

'I'he Taut with other funelionn than it knew, 

Ami turn in ehannelx Htrarijje the iineeitain 

Ktreain of fal/; ; 
l',ett^rr than all, itlie fenwl them in their neeil 
With Iron-hanileil |JMty'n nVi-nn-M f.rfM, 
'Cainot He)r» lean wolf that ravena wonl an'l 

ilee.1. 

What marvelous ehanjje of thingd am! men f 
Khe, a worM-wamleiin;{ orphan then, 
So nii((hly now ! Thow; are her fttreamx 
That whirl the myria/1, inyria'l w)u«;U 
Of all that 'loex ami all that 'Ir'jatnd, 
Of all that thinks ami all that feelx 
Through h]i;u:i-n «tr<delii»l from ivm. Uj ic;a ; 
I'V i'lle lonj^uen ami huxy hrainn, 
lly who 'loth ri^^ht ami who refrainii, 
lI'^rK are our limivm ami our utiiim, 
Our maker an'l our vie-tim xlie. 



© 



Away, iinj^rat'ifiil iloulit, away! 
At l<ai>.t hIh: i«t our own to-'lay ; 
Break into rapture, my nong, 



VeiwM, leap I'ortii in the xiiii, 
IJ';arin(^ tli'; j'/yan'* along 
l,ik': a train of fici a^ ye run I 
I'auin; not foj- ehooising of wor'U, 
l,el them hut hloMnom aii'l sing, 
Ulilhe iu( the orijhar'lx and hir'U 
With tlie new eoniing of upring I 
Oanee in your jollity, liellx, 
Khoiit, i;annon ! '■eaic; n'lt, ye 'Iriiniii ! 
Answer, ye hillKi'liw an'l 'lellii ! 
How, all y; people ! Hlie '•omen, 
Hailianl, ':alin-front/"l an when 
Khe hall.,w'r«l that April 'lay: 
Ktjiy with UK ! Ve», thou »halt nlay, 
HofN;ner anil wtrengthemr of in':n, 
Kr':"f'loin, not won liy the vain, 
Not Ui In: fjiiirli'ii in Jilay, 
Not U) \)i: kept without pain ! 
Kljiy with un I Veil, tli'iu wilt HUiy, 
llau'lmai'l an'l nii>.li' "H ol all, 
Kin'ller '/f ile<-l an'l ',1 th-iiight. 
Thou, that t» hut ami to hall 
K<|ual 'leliveran'e hrought ! 
KouIh of li';r niartym ! 'Iraw near, 
Toiieh our 'lull li|m with your llr<:, 
That we may |iraiw without fear 
lier, our 'lelight, our 'leiiiie, 
Our laith'n inextinguit-.hahle utar. 
Our lio|«-, our r'-memhranie, oiii titnit, 
Our prewmt, our )>;i»t, our to Ije, 
Who will mingle her life with our 'liint 
Ami make u» 'lencrvc to Ik; friM; ! 

lAMi;i lii;^'^.r.i.r- I-z/wki-u 



ckntknnia;- mkwtation of <:(i\.vmma 

I)lilli(!'>lll«"l'^"l"l! '•'''": ll.lMn.ili/,it.li;«(/-illi™ll. l-l.ll»4el. 
(/hU, May I'/, t'K^*t I 

I'lioM thifi liiin'lre<l-t':rrii'"il height 
Might more large with noliler light ■ 
IJiing'« 'lown yon t/)Wering year» ; 
Hiimhler Kmiles an'l lor'llier lear» 
Khine an'l fall, i»liine an'l liill. 
While ol'l voi'ies-. rii«: anil ';all 
Von'ler where the fj-an'l-fio 
Well'^rliig of my l/jiig-Ago 
Movesi aljiyiit the movelexii tiiuf; 
far Iwlow my rcxling-plaee, 

Mayflower, Mayllower, slowly hither Hying, 
Tremhling wentwanl o'er yon talking wa, 
II<K>rt.(« within farewell 'I'-ar Kiiglao'l nighing, 
Wimlti without Hut 'l(«ir in vain re[ilying, 
Oray-lipi»cl waven atioiit tln-e nhoiitit'l, erying 
No ! It xliall not Ik; ! 

Jamedt'/wn, out of tlie<; - 
I'lymoiith, th«<;— lh<«, All/any — 



-ff 



e- 



546 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



"^ 



Winter cries, Ye fVeene : away ! 
Fever cries, Ye burn : away ! 
Hunger cries. Ye starve : away ! 
Vengeance cries. Your graves shall stay ! 

Then old Shapes and Masks of Things, 

Framed like Faiths or clothed like Kings, — 

Ghosts of Uoods once fleshed and fair. 

Grown foul Bads in alien air — 

War, and his most noisy lords, 

Tongued with lithe ;uul poisoned swords — 

Error, Terror, Kage, and Crime, 
All in a windy night of time 
Cried to me from land and sea, 
No ! thou shalt not be ! 
Hark ! 
Huguenots whis[)ering Yea in the dark, 
Puritans answering Yea in the dark ! 
Yea, like an arrow shot true to his mark, 
Darts through the tyrainious heart of Denial. 
Patience and Labor and solemu-souled Trial, 
Foiled, still beginning. 
Soiled, but not sinning. 
Toil through the stertorous death of the Night, 
Toil, when wild brother-wars new dark the Liglit, 
Toil, and forgive, and kiss o'er, and replight. 

Now Praise to God's oft-granted grace. 
Now Praise to Man's undaunted face. 
Despite the land, despite the sea, 
I was : I am : and I shall he — 

How long, (lood Angel, how long ? 

Sing nie from Heaven a man's own song ! 

" Long as thine Art shall love true love, 
Long as thy Science truth shall know, 
Long as thine Eagle harms no Dove, 
]>ong as thy Law by law shall grow, 
Ivong as thy God is God above. 
Thy brother every man below, — 
So long, dear Land of all my love, 
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow ! " 

Music, from this height of time my Word un- 
fold ; 

In thy large signals all men's hearts Man's Heart 
behold : 

Mid-heaven unroll thy chords as friendly flags 
unfurled. 

And wave the world's best lover's welcome to the 
world. 



CENTENNIAL HYMN. 

[Sun^at the npciiin^j of tlic Imernation.il tvp.isitinn in Fhilac 
piiia. May lo. t8;6.J 

OuK fathers' Goil ! from o>it whose hand 
The centuries fall like grains of sand. 



We meet to-day, united, free, 
And loyal to our land and thee, 
To thank thee for the era done. 
And trust thee for the opening one. 

Here, where of old, by thy design. 
The fathers spake that word of thine, 
Whose echo is the glad refrain 
Of rended bolt and falling chain, 
To grace our festal time, from all 
The zones of earth our guests we call. 

Be with us while the New World greets 
The Old World thronging all its streets. 
Unveiling all the triumphs won 
By art or toil beneath the sun ; 
And unto common good ordain 
This rivalship of hand and brain. 

Thou, who hast here in concord furled 
The \V iir-Ha gs of a gathered woihl, 
Beneath our Western skies fullill 
The Orient's mission of good-will, 
And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece, 
Send back the Argonauts of peace. 

For art and labor met in truce, 
For beauty made the bride of use, 
We thank thee, while, withal, we crave 
The austere virtues strong to save, 
The honor proof to place or gold, 
The manhood never bought or sold ! 

0, make thou us, through centuries long, 
In peace secure, injustice strong; 
Around our gift of freedom draw 
The safeguards of thy righteous law ; 
And, cast in some diviner mold, 
Let the new cycle shame the old ! 

JOHN G. WHIITIER. 



THE NATIONAL ODE. 



READ AT THE CE 



NDENCE HALL. 



L— 1. 

Sun of the stately Day, 
Let Asia into the shadow drift. 
Let Europe bask in thy ripened ray, 
And over the severing ocean lift 
A brow of broader splendor ! 
Give light to the eager eyes 
Of the Land that waits to behold thee rise : 
The gladness of morning lend her, 
With the triumph of noon attend her, 
And the peace of the vesper skies ! 
For lo ! she cometli now 
With hope on the lip and pride on the brow, 
Stronger, and dearer, and fairer, 



-4? 



^' 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



547 



-a 



To smile on the love we bear her, — 
To live, as we dreamed her and sought her. 

Liberty's latest daughter ! 
In the clefts of the rocks, in the secret places, 

We found her traces ; 
On the hills, in tlie crash of woods that fall, 
We hearil her call ; 
When the lines of battle broke. 
We saw her face in the fiery smoke ; 
Through toil, and anguish, and desolation, 

We followed, and found her 
With the grace of a virgin Nation 
As a siicred zone around her ! 
Who shall ivjdice 
With a ri^htuous voice, 
Far-heard through the ages, if not she ? 
For the menace is dumb that defied her, 

The doubt is dead that denied her, 
And she sta7ids acknowledged, and strong, and 
Iree ! 



II. 



■1. 



&^ 



Ah, hark ! the solemn undertone 
On every wind of human story blown. 

A large, divinely-molded Fate 
Questions the right and purpose of a State, 
And in its plan sublime 

Our eras are the dust of Time. 

The far-otf Yesterday of power 

Creeps back with stealthy feet, 

Invades the lordship of the lionr, 
And at our bancpiet takes the unbidden seat. 
From all unchronicled and silent ages 
Before the Future first begot the Past, 

Till History dared, at last, 
To write eternal words on granite pages ; 
From Egypt's tawny drift, and Assur's mound, 

And where, uplifted white and far, 

Earth highest yearns to meet a star, 
And Man his manhood by the Ganges found, — 
Imperial heads, of old millennial sway. 

And still by some pale splendor crowned, 
Chill as a corpse-light in our full-orbed day. 

In ghostly grandeur rise 
And say, through stony lips and vacant eyes : 
"Thou that a-ssertest freedom, power, and tame, 
Declare to us tliy claim ! " 

I. —2. 

On the shores of a Continent cast, 
She won the inviolate soil 
By loss of heirdom of all the Past, 
And faith in the royal right of Toil ! 
She planted homes on the savage sod : 
Into the wilderness lone 
She walked with fearless feet, 
111 her hand the divining-rod, 
Till the veins of the mountains beat 



With lire of metal and force of stone ! 
She set the speed of the river-head 

To turn the mills of her bread ; 
She drove her plowshare deep 
Through the piairie's thousand-centuried sleep ; 
To the South, and West, and North, 
She called Pathfinder forth. 
Her faithful and sole companion, 
Where the flushed Sierra, snowy-starred. 

Her way to the sunset barred. 
And the nameless rivers in thunder and foam 
Channeled the terrible canyon ! 
Nor paused, till her uttermost home 
Was built, in the smile of a softer sky 

And the glory of beauty still to be, 
Where the haunted waves of ;Vsia die 

On the strand of the world-wide sea ! 

II. — 2. 

The race, in conquering. 
Some fierce Titanic joy of comiuest knows : 

Whether in veins of serf or king, 
Our ancient blood beats restless in repose. 

Challenge of Nature unsubdued 
Awaits not Man's defiant answer long ; 

For hardship, even as wrong, 
Provokes the level-eyed, heroic mood. 
Tills for herself she did ; but that which lies. 

As over earth the skies. 
Blending all forms in one benignant glow, — 

Crowned conscience, tender care, 
Justice, that answers every bondman's prayer, 
Freedom where Faith may lead or Tliouglit may 
dare, 

The power of minds that know. 

Passion of hearts that feel, 

Purchased by blood and woe, 

Guarded by tire and steel, — 
Hath she secured ? What blazon on lier shield, 

In the clear Century's light 

Shines to the world revealed, 
Declaring nobler triumph, born of Right ? 

I. — 3. 

Foreseen in the vision of sages, 

Foretold when martyi-s bled, 
She was horn of the longing of ages, 
By the truth of the noble dead 
Anil the faith of the living fed ! 
No blood in her lightest veins 
Frets at remembered chains, 
Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head. 
In her form and features still 
The unblenching Puritan will, 
Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace. 
The Quaker truth and sweetness, 
And the strength of the danger-girdled race 
Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness. 



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548 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



-a 



y-- 



From the liomes of all, where her being began, 

She took what she gave to Man : 

Justice, tliat knew no station, 
Belief, as soul decreed, 

Free air for aspiration, 
Free force for independent deed ! 

She takes, but to give again, 
As the sea returns the rivers in rain ; 
And gathers the chosen of lier seed 
From the hunted of every crown and creed. 
Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine ; 
Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine ; 
Her France pursues some dream divine ; 
Her Norway keeps his mountain pine ; 
Her Italy waits by the western brine ; 

And, broad-based under all. 
Is [ilanted England's oaken-hearted mood. 

As rich in fortitude 
As e'er went worldward from tlie island-wall ! 

Fused in her candid liglit. 
To one strong race all races here unite : 
'roni;ucs melt in hers, hereditary foemen 
Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan ; 

'T was glory, once, to lie a Roman ; 
She makes it glory, now, to be a Man ! 

II. — 3. 

Bow down ! 
Dotf thine isonian crown ! 

One hour forget 
The glory, and recall the debt : 

Make expiation. 

Of humbler mood. 
For the pride of thine exultation 
O'er iieril couiiuereJ and strife .subdued ! 
But lialf the riglit i.s wrested 

When victory yields lier prize, 
And half the marrow tested 

When old endurance dies. 
In the sight of tliem that love thee. 
Bow to the Greater above thee ! 

He faileth not to smite 
The idle ownership of Right, 
Nor spares to sinews fresh from trial, 
And virtue schooled in long denial. 
The tests that wait for thee 
In larger perils of prosperity. 

Here, at the Century's awfnl shrine, 
Bow to thy Fatlier's God — and thine ] 

1. — 4. 

Behold ! she bendeth now. 
Humbling the chaplet of her hundred years : 
There is a solemn sweetness on her brow, 
And in her eyes are sacred tears. 
Can she forget, 
In present joy, the burden of her debt, 



When for a captive race 
She grandly staked and won 
The total pi'omise of her power begun, 
And bared her bosom's grace 
To tlie sharp wound that inly tortures yet ? 

Can she forget 
The million graves her young devotion set. 

The hands that clasp above 
From either side, in sad, returning love ? 
Can she forget. 
Here, where the Ruler of to-day, 
The Citizen of to-morrow. 
And equal thousands to rejoice and pray 

Beside these holy walls are met. 
Her birth-cry, mixed of keenest bliss and sorrow! 
Wliere, on July's immortal morn 
Held forth, the People saw her head 
And shouted to the world : "The King is dead. 

But lo ! the Heir is born ! " 
When lire of Youth, and sober trust of Age, 
In Farmer, Soldier, Priest, and Sage, 
Arose and cast upon her 
Baptismal gannents, — never robes so fair 
Clad prince in Old- World air, — 
Their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred 
honor I 



II. 



-4. 



Arise ! Recrown thy head. 
Radiant with blessing of the Dead ! 
Bear from this hallowed place 
The prayer that purifies thy lips. 
The light of courage that defies eclipse. 
The rose of Man's new morning on thy face ! 

Let no iconoclast 
Invade thy rising Pantheon of the Past, 

To make a blank where .\dani< stood, 
To touch the Father's sheatl... I ,,n>l saeivd lilade, 
Spoil crowns on Jeff'erson and Fiaiiklin laid, 
Or wash from Freedom's feet the stain of Lin- 
coln's blood ! 
Hearken, as from that haunted hall 
Their voices call : 
" We lived and died for thee : 
We greatly dared that thou might'st be ; 
So, from thy chililren still 
We claim denials which at last fulfill, 
And freeilom yielded to preserve tliee free ! 
Beside clear-hearted Eight 
That smiles at Power's uplifted rod. 
Plant Duties that reipiite, 
And Order that sustains, upon tliy sod. 
And stand in stainless might 
Above all self, and only less than God ! " 

III. — 1. 
Here may thy solemn challenge end. 
All-proving Past, and each discordance dii 



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POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



549 



t] 



U 



Of douljtful augury, 
Or in one choral with tliu Piesent WcmuI, 
And that luill'-heard, sweet harmony 
01" something noliler that our sons may see ! 

Thoiigli poignant memories burn 
Of days that were, and may again return, 
When thy fleet foot, Huntress of the Woods, 
The sli]i[]ory brinks of danger knew. 
And dim the eyesight grew 
That was so sure in thine old solitudes, — 

^'et stays some richer sense 
Won from the mixture of thine elements. 

To guidi; the vagiant scheme. 
And winnow truth from each conflicting dream ! 

Yet in thy blood shall live 

Some force unspiuit, some essence primitive, 

To seize the highest use of things ; 

For Fate, to mold thee to her plan. 

Denied thee food of kings, 

Withheld the udder and the orchard-fruits. 

Fed thee with savage roots. 
And forced thy liarsher milk from barren breasts 
of man ! 

III. — 2. 

sacretl Woman-Form, 
Of till' first People's need and passion wrought, — 

No thin, pale ghost of Tliought, 
Hut fair as Morning and aslieart'a-blood warm, — 
Wearing thy |iricstly liar on .ludah's liills ; 
Clear-eyed beneath Athene's lielni of gold ; 

Or from Home's central seat 
Hearing the pulses of the Continents beat 
In th\inder where her legions rolled ; 
Compac-t of high heroic hearts and wills. 

Whoso being circles all 
Tile selfless aims of men, and all fulfills ; 
Thyself not free, so long as one is thrall ; 
(loddcss, that as a Nation lives. 

And as a Nation dies, 
That for her children as a man defies, 
And to her children as a mother gives, — 

Take our fresh fealty now ! 
No more a Chicftainess, with wampum-zone 

And feather-cinctured brow, — 
No more a new Britannia, grown 
To s)ireacl an equal banner to the breeze, 
And lift thy trident o'er the double seas ; 

Rut with unborrowed crest, 
In thine own native beauty dressed, — 
The front of imrc roiiniiMiid, the unflinching eye, 
thine own ! 

III. —3. 
Look up, look forth, and on I 
There 's light in the dawning sky ; 
The clouds are parting, the night is gone : 



Prepare for the work of the day ! 
Fallow thy pastures lie 
Anil far thy shepherds stray. 

And the lields of thy vast domain 
Are waiting for pnrer seed 
Of knowledge, desire, and deed. 

For keener sunshine and mellower rain ! 
But keei> thy garments pure : 

Pluck them back, with the old disdain. 
From touch of the hands that stain ! 
So shall thy strength endure. 

Transmute into gooil tlie gold of Gain, 

Compel to beauty thy ruder powers, 
Till the bounty of coming hours 
Shall plant, on thy fields aiiart, 

With the oak of Toil, the rose of Art ! 
lie watchful, and keep us so : 
Be strong, and fear no foe : 
I>e just, and the world shall know ! 

With the sanK'. love love us, as we give ; 
And the day shall never come, 
That finds us weak or dumb 
To join and smite and cry 

In the great task, for thee to die. 

And the greater task, for thee to live ! 



THE PEOPLE'S SONG OF PEACE. 



The grass is green on Bunker Hill, 
The waters sweet in Brandywina ; 

The sword sleeps in the scabbard still, 
The farmer keeps his flock and vine ; 

Then, who would mar the .scene to-day 

With vaunt of battle-field or fray? 

Tlie brave corn lifts in regiments 
Ten thousand sabers in the sun ; 

The ricks replace the battle-tents, 
The bannered tassels toss and run. 

The neighing steed, the bugle's blast, 

These be but stories of the past. 

The earth has healed her wounded breast, 
The cannons plow the field no more ; 

The heroes rest ! 0, let them rest 
In peace along the peaceful shore ! 

They fought for peace, for peace they fell ; 

They sleep in peace, and all is well. 

Tlie fields forget the battles fought. 
The trenches wave in golden grain : 

Shall we neglect the lessons taught. 
And tear the wounds agape again ? 

Sweet Mothca' Nature, nurse the land. 

And heal her wounds with gentle liand. 



-^' 



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550 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



-^ 



Lo ! jioace on eni-th. Lo ! Hock iiiul I'olil, 
1.0 ! rifh nbuuilanee, fiit increase, 

Ami valleys clad in sheen of gold. 
0, rise and sing a song of pence ! 

For Theseus i-oiinis the land no more, 

And .Iiinus rests with rusted door. 

JOAyUlN MlLLliK. 



NOT KIPE FOR POLITICAL POWEK. 

The men wliose minds move faster than their age, 
Antl taster than society's dull llight, 

Must bear the rilwld railings and tlie rage 
Of those who lag \)ehind it. As the light 
Plays on the horizon's verge before its night 

(.'an penetrate life's dark and murky stage ; 

As the tired hadgi, on his |iilgrimage, 

Hears, ere he sees, the fountain bubl iling bright ; 

As the sweet smiles of infants promise youtli, 

And martyr sulferings herald sacred truth, — 
So Thought Hung forward is the prophecy 

Of Truth's nuijestic nuirch, and shows the way 

Where future time shall lead the proud array 
t)f peace, of jiower, and love of liberty. 

SIK JOH.N BOWRING. 



THE REFORMER. 

Ai.L grim and soiled and brown with tan, 

1 s!uv a Strong One, in his wrath, 
Snuting the godless shrini's of num 
Along his path. 

The Church beneath her trembling dome 

Essayed in vain her ghostly charm : 
Wealth shook within his gilded home 
With strange alarm. 

Fraud from his secret chambei'S fled 

Before the sunlight bursting in : 

Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head 

To ilrown the din. 



Vet lovuier rang the Strong One's stroke. 

Yet nearer Hashed his ax's gleam ; 
SluuUlering and sick of heart 1 woke. 
As from a dream. 

1 looked : aside the dust-cloud rolled, — 

The Waster .seemeil the Huilder too ; 
Upspringing from the ruined Old 
1 saw the Now. 

'T was but the ruin of the bad, — 

The wasting of the wrong and ill ; 
Whate'er of good the old time had 
Wiui living still. 

Calm grew the brows of him I feared ; 

The frown which awed me passed away. 
And left behind a .smile which cheered 
Like breaking day. 

The grain grew green on battle-plains, 

O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow ; 
The slave stood forging from his chains 
The spade and plow. 

Where frowned the f<u't, pavilions gay 

And collage windows, Howi'r-intwinod, 
Looked out upon the peaca'ful bay 
And hills behind. 

Through vine-wreatlicd cups with wine once red. 

The lights on brimming I'rystal fell, 
Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head 
And mossy well. 

Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope, 
Fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed, 
.■\nd with the idle gallows-rope 

The young child i)layed. 

Where the doomed victim in his cell 
Had counted o'er the weary hours, 
(Had school-girls, answering to the bell, 
Came crowned with flowers. 



" Spare," Art implored, "yon holy pile ; 
That grand old time-worn turret spare' 
Meek Ueverencc, kneeling in the aisle, 
Cried out, "Forbear !" 



I Grown wiser for the lesson given, 
1 1 fear no longer, for I know 
i That where the share is deepest driven 
The best IVuits grow. 



fe^- 



Ciray-boariled Use, who, deaf and blind, 
Gro[)ed for his old accustomed stone. 
Leaned on his staff, and wept to Hud 
His seat o'orthrown. 

Young Homance raised his dreamy eyes, 

O'erhung with paly locks of gold ; 

" Why smite," he asked in sad surprise, 

" The fair, the old ? " 



The outworn rite, the old abuse, 
! The pious fraud transparent grown, 
j The good held captive in the use 

Of wrong alone, — 
1 
These wait their doom, from that great law 
Which makes the past time serve to-day ; 
And fresher life the world shall draw 
From their decay. 



^ 



c§- 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



551 



-^ 



t&-- 



backwiiicl-looking sou of time ! 
The new is olil, tlie old is new, 
The cycle of a change sublime 

Still sweeiiing through. 

So wisely taught the Indian seer ; 

Destroying Seva, forming Bralira, 
Who wake ))y turn Earth's love and fear, 
Are one, the same. 

Idly as thou, in that old day 

Thou mournest, did thy sire repine ; 
So, in his time, tliy child grown gray 
Shall sigh for thine. 

Hut life shall on an<l upward go ; 

Th' etei'nal step of I'rogress beats 

To that great anthem, calm and slow. 

Which God re[)eats. 

Tak.- lieart '. — the Waster builds again, — 

A eharnieil life old Goodness hath ; 
The tares may perish, — but the grain 
Is not for death. 

God works in all things ; all obey 

His lirst propulsion from the night : 
Wake thou and watch 1 — the world is gray 
With morning light 1 

John Gkeenlhaf wmmER, 



WHAT CON.STITUTES A STATE? 

What constitutes a State ? 
Not high-raised battlement or labored mound. 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned ; 

Not biiys and broad-armed ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride ; 

Not staiTed and spangled courts. 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to 
pride. 

No : — men, high-minded men. 
With powers as far above dull bnites endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As bea-sts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, — 

Men who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare main- 
tain. 

Prevent the long-aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain ; 

These constitute a State ; 
And sovereign law, that State's collected will. 

O'er thiones and globes elate 
Sits emi)ress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

Smit bv her sacred frown. 



The fiend. Dissension, like a vapor sinks ; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
Hides his faint rays, and at her 1)iilding shrinks 

Such was this heaven-loved isle. 
Than l/cslios fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall freedom smile ? 
Shall Hritons languish, and be men no more ? 

Since all must life resign, 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'T is folly to decline, 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

SiK William Jones. 



CARACTACU.S. 

Befoi!E proud Home's imperial throne 

In mind's uncoufiuered mood. 
As if llie triumph were hLs own. 

The dauntless captive stood. 
None, to have seen Ids free-born air, 
Had fancied him a captive there. 

Though, through the crowded streets of Rome, 

With slow and stately tread, 
Far from his own loved island home, 

That day in trium|ili led, — 
Unliound his he.ad, unbent his knee, 
Undimmed his eye, his aspect free. 

A free and fearless glance lie cast 

On temple, arch, and tower, 
liy which the long pi-ocession passed 

Of Home's victorious power ; 
And somewhat of a scornful smile 
Upcurled his hauglity lip the while. 

And now he .stood, with brow serene. 
Where slaves might prostrate fall, 

Bearing a Briton's manly mien 
In Caesar's palace hall ; 

Claiming, witli kindled brow and cheek. 

The liberty e'en there to sjieak. 

Noi' could Home's haughty loid withstand 

The chain) that look prefr-ired. 
But motioned with ujilifted h.and 

The suppliant should be heard, — 
If he indeed a supjjliant were 
Whose glance demanded audience there. 

Deep stillness fell on all the crowd, 

From Claudius on his throne 
Down to the meanest slave that bowed 

At his imiierial throne ; 
Silent his fellow-captive's gi-ief 
As fearless spoke the Island Chief : 



-^ 



[fj- 



5r.2 



POIiMS OF JfATHJOTISM AND FRKKWM. 



-a 



i<T- 



•• 'I'liiiik not, tluui oajjlo l.oi\l nl' i;v>mo, 

Aiul miislor of tlio wiuM, 
'I'lioiijili vii'lovv's Iwumv o'l'i' tli_Y ilomo 

In Iiiimn'h now is rmlml. 
I woiiM !nl>ln-ss tlioo i\s tliv sliivo, 
r>ut i\s tho K>M siioiiia fiiv'i't tho buivo ! 

" 1 inij;lit, (H'lvliiuuo, couKl 1 Imvo iloijjnpd 

To lloUl ft VrtSSlll's thlXMIO, 

K'on now in liiiliiiu's islo Imvo ivi^iunl 

A kini; iu \i»mt> alone. 
Yet hoUlinj;, iis ihy in<n<k tiUy, 
A nionaivh's niiniio |mj;vi«uti'.v. 

"Thon tliiMnjjIi Homo's oi-owdod slnn'ts to-il»y 

1 niijjht hiivo null! with tlieo, 
Not in ft I'iiiitivo's Imso «nii_v, 

lint t'ottriK'ss iinil tivo, — 
It" I\v(hIoui lio oonlil liopo to tind, 
AVlioso lH>n(luj^> is of l>wiit iinil niinil. 

" Uut onu.it thon ninrvol Unit, IVot'lioin, 

Witli h«irt iinU soul nn>iuolKd, 
Tliivno, oivwn, lunl sioptor I sluniUl si'oru, 

liy tli.v (loi'mission lii'Kl I 
Or thftt 1 slioulil i\>t!un niv lijilit 
Till wuvstinl l>_v ft von<iin>»\>\'s \niglit ( 

" Homo, with hcv inilucos nml towors. 

My us luiwishrti, nnivll, 
lU'i- lionioly huts ami wootlliinil bowel's 

To liiilftin luiijht hiivo lol't ; 
Woithh'ss to you thoii' wwillh must bo, 
r>«t th'iiv ti> ns, I'ov thoy wciv I'lvo ! 

" 1 mijcht hftvo bowod bol'oiv, but whoiv 

Urtil boon thy li'iumi>h now ( 
To my ivsolvo no yoko to bom- 

'l'lio\i ow'st tliy ItinivltHl blow ; 
Ingloiious victory hud boon lliino, 
Auil moiv iuj;lorions bomhijji' niino. 

" Now I hftvo spokon, ilo thy will ; 

IW lilV or iloftth my lot, 
Siuoo Ihitiiin's thwuo no n\oio 1 till, 

'I'o u\o it nnittoi-s not. 
My fiuno is olonr ; but on my fftto 
Thy fjlory or thy shanio must w«it." 

Ilo oi'ftsnl : fivni uU aivnml ni>sin'unj; 

.\ murmur of ftinilanso. 
For woU hiiil truth and fivt'iloni's touj;ui' 

Miuutai\unl thoir holy oauso, 
Tho lonnuoivr was tho raiitivo thon, 
Ilo Ivnlo tho slftvo bo t\vo ajjain. 

UKRNAKO ttAKI'ON. 



■I'llf: l.ANlUNll Of I'lIK I'lUlUlIU KAniKUa 
IN NKW KNtn^V.NlV 

TnK bivftkinj; wavos ilashtxl hiijh 

On a storn ami iwk-bouml coast, 
An*l tlio wooils aj^aiust n stormy sK.V 

Their giant biiuu-hos tiwawl ; 

Ami the htwvy uijcht hunj; dark 

Tho hills and waters o'er, 
When ft IhuuI of exiles mooitnl tln>ir Ixuk 

On tJio wild Kew Kngland shiuv. 

Not tts tho eom|noiHir oonu>s, 

They, the true-hearted, eame ; 
Not with tho imU of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sinjp* of fame ; 

Not as the tlyiuj; eome, 

In silenee and in fear ; — 
They shook llie depths of the desert j;l»*'i» 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

.Vmidst the storm they s«nj<, 

.\ml the stai's heaixl, and the sen ; 
And the sonndiuj; aisles of the dim woods rang 

To tho anthem of tlio ftve. 

The oe«in eajjle souixhI 

KiMUi his nest by the white wave's foam, 
.\nd the meking pines of tlu' foivst iwuvd, — 

This was their weleonu' lunne, 

Tlu'iti weiv nnin with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrini-l«unl ; 
Why had they eoi\ie to wither thei-e, 

Away fr\>n> their eliildhood's laud I 

Theiv was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's trutli ; 
Theiv was manhood's brow seit>nely high, 

And the liery hwirt of youth. 

What sought they thus afar ' 

bright jewels of the mine ■ 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war f — 

They sought a faitli's puii' -shriue ! 

Ay, eall it holy ground, 

Tho soil wheiv lii'st they trod ; 
They haveleftunstainedwhattheh'they found, — 

Fivedoni to woi-sliip tnid, 

rt'.l.lClA III. MANS. 



TllK VKKKMAN, 



II K is tho hiHuuttU whom the truth makes tVew, 
And all aro slaves beside. There 's not a elmin 



-U 



C&-- 



POEMH OF PArnwriUM AND FREEDOM. 



553 



■a 



fg-- 



That hfillisli foes confederate for )ii« bann 
Can winil arouml liinfi, liiit lie ea«t(t it off 
With a» much ease a» Saijisoii \im j(iei;n withes. 
He looks abroad iuUj the varied field 
Of nature ; and though poor, perhaps, compared 
With tliose whose mansions glittiir in his sight, 
Calls the deliglitful Bwiieiy all his own. 
Hi« are the mountains, and the valley his, 
And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy 
With a propriety that none can feel 
Hut who, with filial confidence inspired, 
Call lift to heaven an un()resuni]ituou« eye. 
And smiling say, " My Katber made them all !" 
Arc they not his by a [leeuliiir right. 
And liy an emplia-sis of int(!rest Ins, 
Whose eyes they fill with Uti>i» of holy joy. 
Whose heart with piaiw;, and whose exalted 

mind 
With worthy thoughts of th.at unwearii'd love 
That planned and built, and still uijholds, a 

woild 
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 
Yes, ye may fill your ganiers, ye that reap 
The loaJiid soil, and ye may waste much good 
[n senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A liljerty like his, who, uninipea<;Iied 
Of iisiupatioii, and to no man's wrong. 
Appropriates nature as hi« father's work. 
And lias a lieher use of yours than you. 
He i» indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
Of no mi'an city, planned or e'er the hills 
Were built, the fountains o[>ened, or the sea 
With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
Hi« freedom i» the same in every state ; 
And no condition of this changeful life, 
So niaiiifold in cares, wliose every day 
Brings Its own evil with it, makes it less. 
For lie has wings that neither sickness, pain, 
Nor penury can crip|)le or confine ; 
No nook so narrow but he spreaxh* them there 
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
His tiody bound ; but knows not what a range 
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain ; 
And that to bind him is a vain attempt, 
Wlioiii Cod delights in, and in whom he dwells. 
William CowejiR. 



THE EVE OP ELECTION, 

FiioM gold to gray 

Our mild sweet day 
Of Indian summer fades too soon ; 

Hut tenderly 

Above the sea 
Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. 



In its pale fin;. 

The village spire 
Shows lik<! the zodia/;'B s[j«etral lanco : 

'I'he jiaintwl walls 

Whereon it falls 
'f'lansfigured stand in marble trance ! 

O'er fallen leaves 

The west-wind grieves. 
Yet comes a seed-time round again ; 

And morn shall see 

The State sown free 
With baleful tares or healthful grain. 

Along the street 

The shallows meet 
Of Destiny, whose hands conceal 

TIk' molds of late 

That shajift the State, 
And make or mar the i oiumon weal. 

Around I b<!'. 

The powers j/iat lie ; 
I stand by Kmpire's primal spiiiigs ; 

And jirinces m<:et 

In every street, 
And hear the trea<l of uncrowne<l kings ! 

Hark ! through the crow<l 

The laugh runs loud, 
I'eneath the sad, rebuking moon. 

Cod save the land 

A carrdess hand 
May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon ! 

No jest is this ; 

One east am ins 
May blast the hope of Freedom's year. 

O, take me where 

Are liearts of prayer, 
And foreheads bowed in reverent fear ! 

Not lightly fall 

Ueyond recall 
The written scrolls a bieatli can float ; 

The crowning fact 

The kingliest tu-X 
Of Freedom is the freeman's vote I 

For jwarls that gem 

A (U.-ulem 
The diver in the deep s<ia dies ; 

The regal right 

We boast to-night 
Is ours through costlier sa/;rific« ; 

The bloo<l of Vane, 
His prison pain 



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p 



554 



POEMS OF PATBIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



■a 



Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, 
And hers whose faith 
Drew strengtli from ileatli, 

And prayed her Russell up to God ! 

Our hearts grow cold, 

We lightly hold 
A right which bravo men died to gain ; 

The stake, the cord, 

Tl\e ax, the sword, 
Grim iinrsos at its birth of pain. 

The shadows rend. 

And o'er us bend, 
O martyrs, with your crowns and palms, — 

Breathe through these throngs 

Your battle-songs, 
Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms ! 

Look from the sky. 

Like God's great eye. 
Thou solemn moon, with searching beam ; 

Till in the sight 

Of thy pure light 
Our mean sclf-seekings meaner seem. 

Shame from our hearts 

Unworthy arts, 
The fraud desigiieil. the jnirpose dark ; 

And smite awav 

The hands we lay 
Profanely on the sacred ark. 

To party claims 

And private aims. 
Reveal that august face of Troth, 

Whereto are given 

The age of heaven. 
The beauty of immortal youth. 

So shall our voice 

Of sovereign choice 
Swell the deep bass of duty done. 

And strike the key 

Of time to be, 
AVhen God and man shall speak as one ! 

John C Whittier. 



High walls and huge the body may confine, 
And iron gates obstruct the jirisoner's gaze, 

Aiul massive bolts may baffle his design. 

And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways 

But scorns the immortal mind such base control 
No chains can bind it ami no cell enclose. 



Swifter than light it flies from pole to [Kile, 
And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes. 

It leaps from mount to mount ; from vale to vale 
Itwanders, plucking honeyed fruits nndflowers ; 

It visits homo to hear the fireside tale 

And in sweet converse pass the joyous hours ; 

'T is up before the sun, roaming afar. 

And in its watches wearies every star. 

William i.lovd Garrison. 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 

Heke are old trees, tall oaks and gnarlfed pines, 
That stream with gray -green mosses; here the 

ground 
Was never trenched by spade, ami flowers spring 

up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and 

winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragi-ance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful 

shades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, imraeasuralily old — 
My thoughts go up the long ilim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of liberty. 

FKEF.nOM ! thou art not, as jioets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs. 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
AVith which the Roman master crowned his slave 
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man. 
Armed to the teeth, art tlion ; one mailed hand 
Grasps the broail shield, and one the sword ; thy 

brow. 
Glorious in beauty tlunigh it be, is scarred 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has 

launched 
His bolts, and with liis lightnings smitten thee ; 
They could not quench the life thou hast from 

heaven. 
Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep. 
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires. 
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while lie deems thee 

bound. 
The links are shivered, and the prison walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou s|uingest forth. 
As sin-iugs the flame above a burning pile. 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Tliy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 

Thy birthright was not given by human 
hands : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In ideasant 
fields. 



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fl- 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



555 



:-a 



While yet our race was few, tliou sat'st with him, I 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars. 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf. 
His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 
The earliest furrow on the mountain-side, 
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself. 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look. 
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed. 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye 
The usurfier trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax strongc^r with the lapse of 

years. 
But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
Feebler, yet sulitler. He shall weave his snares, 
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 
His withered hands, and from their ambush call 
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 
Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms 
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 
To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, 
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread 

on thread 
That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 
With chains concealed in chaplets. O, no't yet 
Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by 
Thy sword ; nor yet, Freedom ! close thy lids 
In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
And thou must watch and combat till the day 
Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst 

thou rest 
Awhile from tumult and tlie frauds of men. 
These old and friendly solitudes invite 
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 
Were young upon the unviolatcd earth. 
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new. 
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoice4l. 

William cullen Bryant. 



LAUS DEOl 

[On he.lrmgr the bells ring on the passage of Uie Constitutional 
\mentlnicnt abolishing slavery.) 

It is done ! 

Clang of bell and roar of gun 
Send the tidings up and down. 

How the belfries rock and reel ! 

How the great guns, peal on peal. 
Fling the joy from town to town ! 



^^ 



Ring, bcdls ! 
Every stroke exulting tells 
Of the burial hour of crime. 



]jmA anil long, that all may hear. 
King for every listening car 
Of Kteniity and Time ! 

Let us kneel : 

God's own voice is in that peal, 
And this spot is holy ground. 

Lord, forgive us ! What are we, 

That our eyes this glory see. 
That our ears have heard the sound ! 

For the Lord 

On the whirlwind is abroad : 
In the earthquake lie has .spoken ; 

He has smitten with his thunder 

The iron waHs asunder. 
And the ^tes of brass are broken ! 

Loud and long 

Lift the old exulting song ; 
Sing with Miriam by the sea : 

He has cast the mighty down ; 

Horse and rider sink ami drown ; 
He has triumphed gloriously ! 

Did we tiare, 

In our agony of prayer. 
Ask for more than He has done ? 

Wlien was ever his right hand 

Over any time or land 
Stretched as now beneath the sun ? 

How they pale. 
Ancient mytli and .song and tale, 

In this wonder of our days. 
When the cruel rod of war 
Blossoms white with righteous law, 

And the wrath of man is jiraise ! 

Blotted out ! 

All within and all about 
Shall a fresher life begin ; 

Freer breathe the universe 

As it rolls its heavy curse 
On the dead and buried sin. 

It is done ! 
In the circuit of the sun 

Shall the sound thereof go forth. 
It shall bid the sad rejoice, 
It shall give the dumb a voice, 

It shall belt with joy the earth ! 

King and swing, 
Bells of joy ! On moniing's wing 

Send the song of praise abroad ! 
With a sound of broken chains, 
Tell the nations that He reigns. 

Who alone is Lord and God ! 

JuH.\ CKF.ENLEAF WHITTIE 



& 



556 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



U- 



BATTLK-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 

Mine eyes have seen the gloiy of the coming of 
the Lord ; 

Ho is trampling out tlie vintage where the grapes 
of wrath are stored ; 

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terri- 
ble swift sword : 
His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watch-lires of a hundred 

circling camps ; 
They have Iniilded him an altar in the evening 

dews and damps ; 
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps : 
His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows 

of steel : 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you 

my grace shall deal ; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the seri)ent 

with his heel, 
Since Ciud is marching on." 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall 

never call retreat ; 
He is sifting out tlie hearts of men Ix^foro his 

judgment-scat : 
0, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, 

my feet ! 
Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across 

the sea, 
With a glory in lus bosom that transfigures you 

and me ; 
As ho died to make men holy, let us die to make 
men free. 
While (iod is marching on. 

Ji'LiA Ward Howe. 



O For. a lodge in some vast wilderness. 
Some boundless contiguity of shade. 
Where rumor of oppression and deceit. 
Of unsuccessful or successful war. 
Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained. 
My soul is sick, with every day's report 
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. 
There is no llesh in man's obdurate heart ; 
It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 
• )f brotherhood is severed as the fla.x, 
Tlmt falls asunder at the touch of fire, 
lie finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
Kn\ colored like liis own, and, having power 



To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 
Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations, who had else 
Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 
And, woree than all, and most to be deplored 
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
Chains him, and tasks liim, and exacts his sweat 
With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart, 
Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast. 
Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, 
And having human feelings, does not blush, 
And liang his head, to think himself a man ' 
I would not have a slave to till my ground. 
To cany me, to fan me while I sleep. 
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. 
No ; dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
Just estimation prized above all price, 
I luid nnich rather bo myself the slave. 
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
We have no slaves at home. — Then why abroad? 
And they themselves once ferried o'er tho wave 
That parts us are emancipate and loosed. 
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free ; 
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then. 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 

William Cowplr, 



BOSTON HYMN. 

READ IN MUSIC HALL. JANUARY I, 1863, 

The word of the Lord by night 
To the watching Pilgrims came, 
As they sat by the seasiile, 
And filled their hearts with flame. 

Ood said, I am tired of kings, 
I sufl'er them no more ; 
Up to my ear the morning brings 
The outrage of the poor. 

Think ye I made this ball 

A field of havoc and war. 

Where tyrants great and tyrants small 

Might harry the weak and poor ? 

My angel, — his name is Freedom, — 
Choose him to be your king ; 
He shall cut pathways east and west, 
And fend you witli his wing. 



-S 



a- 



POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. 



557 T 



ffe- 



Lo ! I micover the land 
Wliich 1 l.id of old tiiiii; ill the West, 
As tlie seulptor uncovers the statue 
When ho has wrought liis best ; 

I show Columbia, of the rocks 
Wliicli (lip their foot in the seas. 
And soar to the air-borne Hocks 
Of clouds, and the boreal fleece. 

I will divide my goods ; 
Call in the wretch and slave : 
None shall rule but the humble. 
And nunc but Toil shall have. 

I will have never a noble, 
No lineage counted great ; 
Fishers and choppers and plowmen 
.Shall constitute a state. 

CJo, rut d(jwn trees in the forest. 
And trim the straightest boughs ; 
(-'ut down trees in the forest, 
And build lue a wooden house. 

Call the pi.'ople together, 
The young men and the sires. 
The digger in the harvest-field. 
Hireling, and him that hires ; 

And here in a pine state-house 
They shall choose men to rule 
In every needful faculty, 
In church and state and school. 

Lo, now ! if these poor men 
Can govern the land and sea. 
And make just laws below the sun. 
As planets faithful be. 

And ye shall succor men ; 

'T is nobleness to serve ; 

Help them who cannot helji again : 

Beware from right to swerve. 

I break your bonds and mastershi]is. 
And I uni-hain the slave : 
Free be his heart and hand lienceforth 
As wind and wandering wave. 

I cause from every creature 
His proper good to flow ; 
As much as he is and doeth. 
So much he shall bestow. 

But, laying hands on another 
To coin his labor and sweat, 
He goes in pawn to his victim 
For eternal years in debt. 



To-day unbind the captive, 
So only are ye unbound ; 
Lift up a people from the dust, 
Trump of their rescue, sound I 

Pay ransom to the owner. 

And fdl the bag to the brim. 

Who is the owner ? The slave is owner, 

And ever was. l"ay liim. 

North ! give him beauty for rags, 
And honor, South ! for his shume ; 
Neva<la ! coin thy golden crags 
With Freedom's image and"name. 

Up ! and the dusky race 
That sat in darkness long. 
Be swift their feet as antelopes, 
And as behemotli strong. 

Come, East and West and North, 
By races, ;i,s snow-flakes. 
And carry my purpose forth. 
Which neither halts nor shakes. 

My will fulliUed shall be, 
For, in daylight or in dark, 
My thunderbolt has eyes to see 
His way home to the mark. 



SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMEN. 

0, PRAISE an' tanks ! De Lord he come 

To .set de people free ; 
An' massa tink it day ob doom, 

An' we ob jubilee. 
De Lord dat h('ap de Red Sea waves 

He jus' as 'trong as den ; 
He say de word : we las' night slaves ; 
To-day, de Lord's freemen. 

De yam will grow, de cotton blow, 

We '11 hab de rice an' corn ; 
nebber you fear, if nebber you hear 
De driver blow his horn ! 

Ole massa on he trablxds gone ; 

He le.af de land behind : 
De Lord's breff blow him furder on, 

Like coni-shuck in de wind. 
We own de hoe, we own de plow, 

We own de hands dat hold ; 
We sell de pig, we -sell de cow, 

But nebber chile be sold. 

De yam will gi'ow, de cotton blow. 
We '11 hab de rice an' corn : 



-^ 



[fi- 



i)Ob 



POEMS OF PATlUOnSM AXD FliEKDOM. 



■a 



uoWhjt.vou fear, if iiobbw you liwir 
Do driver blow his lioiii ! 

Wo i>ray ilo l.iuxl : ho gib us signs 

Dat some day wo bo I'lvo ; 
Pe uorlwiud toll it to do piuos, 

Po wiUl-duok to do sea ; 
Wo tiiik it when do olmivh-boU riug, 

Wo droaiu it in do divani ; 
Ho lioo-bii-d mean it when he sing, 
Pe oaglo when ho soivam. 

Do yam will grow, de Ok)tton blow, 

Wo '11 liab de riee an' eorn : 
noblx'r you fear, if nebber you hear 
Po driver blow his horn ! 

We know do iiromise nebber fail, 

An' neblx'r lie de woixl ; 
So like de '[uistU's in do jail, 

We waited for do l^ord : 
An" now he open obery door, 

An' trow away do key ; 
He tink we lub him so beforo, 
^\■o lub him better free. 
Pe yam will gix>w, do eotton blow, 

lie 11 gib de riee an' eorn : 
nebber you fear, if nebber you hear 
Do drivoi' blow bis horn ! 

John OKi:r..NLUAi-' wiuitikk. 



NOW OR NEVER. 

LlsrEX, young heroes ! your eountry is ealling ! 

Time strikes the hour for the bmvo and the 
true ! 
Now, while the foremost are lighting and falling. 

Fill up the ranks Uiat have opened for you I 

You whom the fathei-s made free and defendevl, 
Stain not the seroU that emblazons their lame I 

You whoso fair heritage spotless deseended, 
Leave not your ohildren a birthright of shanu' I 

Stay not for questions while Fivedom stands 

gasping ! 

Wait not till Honor lies wnipped in his p.dl I 

Brief the lips' mooting be, swift the hands' elusp- 

ing. — 

" Oil' for the wars " is enough for them all I 

Break from the anus that wouhl fouvUy earess you ! 

Hark ! 't is the bugle-blast ! sabers are dnnvn ! 
Motliei's shall prayforyou, fathe\-s shall bless you. 

Maidens shiUl weep for you when you are gime I 

Never or now I eries the blood of a nation 
Toured on the turf where the rod rose should 
bloon\ ; 

Now is the day and the hour of salvation ; 
Never or now ! peals the trum[iet of doom ! 

OLl\'l'.R WilNOHLL lioLMliS, 



fr.- 



» \ __ >i 



er- 



-^ 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



h 



FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." 

There is a pleasure in tlie patliless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not man the less, but nature nioi'e, 
From these our interviews, in which 1 steal 
From all I may be, or have lieeu before. 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, — roll I 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
JIau marks the earth with ruiu, — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — ujion the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage save his own. 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, uuknellcd, uncoffined, and un- 
known. 

His steps are not upon tliy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee ; the vile strength 

he wields 
For earth's destraction thou dost all dcsjiise. 
Spuming him from thy bosom to the skies. 
And scnd'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
And liowling, to his gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay. 
And dashest him again to earth ; — there let him 

ky. 

Tlie armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 



Thy shores are empires, changed in all save 

thee ; 
Assyi-ia, Greece, liome, Carthage, what are 

they ? 
Thy waters washed them power wliile they 

were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou; 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, 
Time writes no wriukles on thine azure brow ; 
Such as creation's dawn belield, thou roUcst now. 

Thou gloiious mirror, where the Ahuighty's 

form 
f!la,s.ses itself in tempests ; in all tiiue. 
Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or 

storm. 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and sub- 
lime, 
The image of Eternity, — the throne 
Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are maile ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathoudcss, 
alone. 

And 1 have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Bonic, like thy bubbles, onw'ard ; from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers, — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror, 't was a pleasing fear ; 
For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And tnisted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane, — as I do 
here. 



Beautiful, subliuic, and glorious ; 

Mild, majestic, foaming, free, — 
Over time itself victorious, 

Image of eternity ! 



--ff 



©- 



560 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



"-Qi 



Sun anil moon ami stai's sliine o'er tliee, 
See tliy surface ebb and How, 

Yet attomiit not to exploi'o tlieo 
In thy soundless dejiths below. 

Whether morning's splendors steep thee 
With the rainbow's glowing grace, 

Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee, 
'T is but for a moment's space. 

Earth, — her valleys and her mountains. 

Mortal man's liehests obey ; 
The unfathomable fountains 

Scotf his search and scorn his sway. 

Such art thou, stupendous ocean ! 

I'lUt, if overwhelmed by thee, 
Can we think, without emotion, 

What must thv Creator be ; 



THE OCEAN. 

I at Scarborough, in the Slimmer of ifxts] 



t 



All liail to the ruins, the rocks, and the sliores ! 

Thou wide-rolling Ocean, all hail ! 

Kow brilliant with sunbeams and dimpled with 

oat's. 
Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale, 
While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, 
And the silver-winged sea-fowl on high, 
Like meteoi's bespangle the sky, 
Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride, 
Like foam on the surges, tlie swans of the tide. 

From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, 
With eager and awful delight, 
From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee, 
I gaze, — and am changed at the sight ; 
For mine eye is illumined, my genius takes flight. 
My soul, like the sun, with a glance 
Embi'aces the boundless expanse. 
And moves on thy watere, wherever they roll, 
From the day-darting zone to the night-shadowed 
pole. 

My spirit descends where the dayspring is born. 

Where the billows are rubies on fii'e, 

And the breezes that rock the light cradle of 

morn 
Are sweet as the Pha'nix's pyre. 
regions of beauty, of love and desire ! 
gardens of Eden ! in vain 
Placed far on the fathomless main, 
WhereNature with Innocencedwelt in her youth. 
When pure was her heart and unbroken lier truth. 



But now the fair rivers of rai-aiUso w ind 
Through countries and kingiloms o'erthrown ; 
^\'here the giant of tyranny crushes mankind, 
Where he reigns, — and will soon reign alone ; 
For wide and more wide, o'ei' the sun-beaming 

zone 
He stretches his hundred-l'old arms, 
Despoiling, destroying its charms ; 
r>eneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry, 
Antl the mountains recoil from the flash of his 



Thus the pestilent I'pas, the demon of trees, 

Its boughs o'er the wilderness spreads, 

.And with livid contagion iioUuting the breeze, 

Its mildewing influence sheds ; 

The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their 

licds. 
Are slain by its venomous breath. 
That darkens the noonday with tleath, 
And pale ghosts of travelei's wander around, 
While thek moKlering skeletons whiten the 

ground. 

Ah ! why hath Jehovah, in forming the world, 

With the waters divided the land, " 

His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurled, 

And cradled the deep in his hand. 

If man nniy transgress his eternal comnnxnd, 

And leap o'er the bounds of his birth. 

To ravage the uttermost earth. 

And violate nations anil realms that should be 

Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea ? 

There are, gloomy Ocean, a brotherless clan, 

Who travei'se thy banishing waves. 

The poor disinherited outcasts of man, 

Whom Avarice coins into slaves. 

From the homes of their kimlred, their fore- 
fathers' graves, 

Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss. 

They are dragged on the hoary abyss ; 

The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending 
to-day. 

Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey. 

Then joy to the tenii)est that whelms them be- 
neath. 

And makes their destruction its sport ; 

But woe to the winds that propitiously breathe, 

.■\nd waft them in safety to ])ort. 

Where the vultures and vamjiires of Manunon 
resort ; 

Where Europe exultingly drains 

The life-blood from .Africa's veins ; 

Where man rules o'er man with a merciless lod, 

And spurns at his I'ootstool the inuige of God ! 



^ 



a- 



POEMS OF TEE SEA. 



561 



a 



The liour is approaching, — a terrible hour ! 
And Vengeance is bending her bow ; 
Already the clouds of the hurricane lower, 
And the rock-iending whirlwinds blow ; 
Back rolls the huge Ocean, hell opens below ; 
The floods return headlong, — tliey sweep 
The slave-cultured lands to the deep. 
In a moment entombed in the horrible void, 
By their Maker himself in his anger destroyed. 

Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles, 

More lovely than clouds in the west. 

When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smUes, 

Sinks softly and sweetly to rest ? 

No ! — Father of mercy ! befriend the opprest ; 

At the voice of thy gospel of peace 

May the soiTows of Africa cease ; 

And slave and his master devoutly imite 

To walk in tliy freedom and dwell in thy light ! 

As homeward my weaiy-winged Fancy extends 

Her star-lighted course througli the skies, 

High over the mighty Athintic ascends, 

And tui-ns upon Europe her eyes : 

Ah me ! what new jn'ospects, new liorrors, arise ! 

I see the war-tempested flood 

All foaming, and panting with blood ; 

The panic-struck Ocean in agony roars, 

Rebounds from the battle, and flies to his shores. 

For Britannia is wielding the trident to-day, 

Consuming her foes in her ire. 

And Imrling her tliunder with absolute sway 

From her wave-ruling chariots of the. 

She triumphs ; the winds and the waters conspire 

To spread her invincible name ; 

The universe rings with her fame ; 

But the cries of the fatherless mix with Iier 

praise, 
And the tears of the widow are shed on her l)ays. 

Britain, dear Britain ! the land of my birtli ; 
O Isle most enchantingly fair ! 
Thou Pearl of the Ocean ! thou Gem of the Earth ! 
my Mother, my Mother, beware. 
For wealth is a phantom, and empire a snare ! 
0, let not thy birthright be sold 
For reprobate glory and gold ! 
Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot. 
They weigh down thy trunk, they will tear up 
thy root, — 

The root of thine oak, my countrj* ! that stands 

Rock-planted and flourishing free ; 

Its branches are stretched o'ertheuttermost lands. 

And its shadow eclipses the sea. 

The blood of our ancestors nourished the tree ; 



From their tombs, from their ashes, it sprung ; 
Its boughs with their trophies are hung ; 
Their spirit dwells in it, and — hark! foritsiwke, 
The voice of our fathers ascends from their oak ; 

"Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquered of 

old, 
Who inherit our battle-field graves ; 
Though poor were your fathere, — gigantic and 

bold. 
We were not, we could not be, slaves ; 
But finn as our rocks, and as free as our waves, 
The spears of the Romans we broke, 
We never stooped under their yoke. 
In tlie shipwreck of nations we stood up alone, — 
The world was great Caisar's, but Britain our 

own." 

James Montgomery 



U-- 



HAMPTON BEACH. 

The sunlight glitters keen and bright. 

Where, miles away. 
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
A luminous belt, a misty light. 
Beyond the dark pine blufis and wastes of sandy 
gray. 

The tremulous shadow of the sea ! 

Against its ground 
Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, 
Still as a picture, clear and free. 
With varj'ing outline mark the coast for miles 
around. 

On — on — we tread with loose-flung rein 

Our seaward way, 
Through dark-green fields and blossoming 

grain, 
Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. 
And bends above our heads the flowering locust 
Sjiray. 

Ila ! like a kind hand on my brow 

Comes this fresh breeze, 
Cooling its dull an<l feverish glow. 
While through my being seems to flow 
The breath of a new life, — the healing of the 
seas ! 

Now rest we, where this grassy mound 

His feet hath set 
In the great waters, which have bound 
His granite ankles greenly round 
With long and tangled moss, and wi<eds with 
cool spray wet. 



^^ 



& 



562 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



■a 



e- 



t^nl by t« jwh\ »uil iww ! 1 take 

Miup east! t»>-iiay ; 
Hert\ wluMV tlio sunny waters ln\>iik, 
Auil rii>i>U\s this kivn l>\V(>i<\ I sliako 
AU l>m\l<'ns llvui tin- lu-siii, all wi-iuy tliouj;lils 
away. 

1 vlraw a fhi*i- brxiatli — 1 s«ni> 

Liko all 1 st><' — 
Wavt-s in tl\o sun - tUc whitt'-wiujj^vl j»l<xm\ 
Of sva-biixls in tin- slanting Wani — 
A«>1 ra\--i>ll' ssiils which Hit KiUnv tho south-w intl 

So whon 'Huxo's vvil shall tall asumlor, 
Tho s\>ul may know 
No fearlul chauj;^, nor suU>it>n womU'i', 
Ji or sink tht> woij;ht of mystovy umlov. 
But with tht> ui>w»i\l riso, lUid wilh tho vastnoss 
givw. 

Ami all wo shrink flvni viow n>ay swut 
No i\i>w ivvcalinj;, — 
Familiar as onr oliiUUiooirs stixNtm, 
(■•r \iloas<vnt momorv of « ih\>am, 
Thi> lovovl anvl olu'rishinl Vast uiwn the new life 
sttvalinj;. 

Seivue anil niihl, the untriiil lij;lit 

May have its ilawiiinj; ; 
And, as in summer's northern nij;ht 
The evening anvi the dawn unite, 
The snnset hiu>s of Time blend with the soul's 
new nu>rning, 

1 sit alone ; in fiwni auil simiy 

Wave after wave 
Breiiks on the roeks whieh, stern ami gray. 
Shoulder the bmken tide away, 
Or murn\m's luvti-se and st\\>ng thivugh mossy 
cleft and cave. 

What htH-tl 1 of the dusty land 

And noisy town ' 
1 see the mighty tleep e.\l>and 
Fivm its white line of glimmering sand 
To wher«> the blue of li«»veu ou bluer waves 
shuts down I 

In listless nuietude of mind, 

1 yield to all 
Tlu> ehangi- of cloud and wave and wind ; 
And |wssive on the Hood reclined, 
I wander with the wa\'<'s, and with them rise 
and fall. 

But look, thou divamer ! — wave and slioiv 
In shadow lie ; 



The ni^ht-wiml warns m« l>«ok ouo» mow 
To wheiv, my native hill-toivs o'er, 
l<euds like an aivh of fu\' the gl,>\ving sunaet 
*ky ! 

So then, Iwach, blnll', and wave, fai-i'wcll ! 

1 Kiar with n\e 
No token stone nor glittering .■>hell, 
Uut long and oft shall M.'UUMv tell 
iM" this l>rief thouj;htl\il hovir v>f musing by the 
sea. 

lOnN \;KltKMKAF WHITTIHK. 



t")KR.\'r Oc<>au ! strongi'st of eiwvtioti's sons, 

Unconijuerjible, nu\x<]>iv!tHl, nntiivd. 

That ivlle\l the wild, )>i\ifound, eternal Ivtss 

In uatuiv's antl\et\i, and made nnisic such 

.\s iilw\sed the «ir of t!od ! original, 

rnmariiHl, unfadtnl work of Ueity ! 

A\>d uuburlesiiutHl by mortal's unuy skill; 

W>m agt> to age enduring, and nnchai\ge<l, 

Miyestical, inimitable, vast, 

l.oud \itteriug satiiv, day and night, on each 

Succeeding i-.u-e, and little i>onnu>us work 

llf n>nn ; \mfallen, ivligious, holy sea ! 

Thou K«vedst thy glorious head to none, fi'aretlst 

none, 
HwHvlst none, to i\one didst honor, but to (!od 
Thy Maker, only worthy to iveeive 
Thy great olnnstuu-e. 



r>Kttoi.i> the Sea, 
The oiwline, the iilentif\il and strong. 
Yet K»autifl\l as is the ivse in ,lui\e, 
Fiwh as the trickling raii\bow of ,luly : 
Sea t\>ll of food, the nourisher of kinds, 
l>irger of earth, and medicine of men ; 
l^witing a sweet climate by niy iM-eath, 
Washing out harms ami griefs IVom memory, 
And, in n\y matheniatic ebb and How, 
(iiving a hint of that whieh changt'S not, 
Ivich are the sen-gods ; — whogive-sgiftsbnt theyl 
They grv>i>e the soft for (wavls, but more than pwirls : 
They plnek Fon-e thence, and giv<[ it to the wise. 
For every wave is wealth to Oanlalus, 
Wealth to the cui\i\itig artist who can work 
This matchless stivnglh. Whciv shall he lind, 

O waves ! 
A lo!ul your .-\th\s shoulders cannot lift ( 
1 witli my hammer (wundiug evermore 
The rocky ciwst, smite Andes into dust. 
Strewing my Kxl, and, in another «g», 
KobniUi a continent of hotter mou. 



4 



[fl- 



POEMH OF THE HKA. 



5C3 "-^ 



Tlien I un>iar Ux: 'loorx ; i/iy jatiu) )';a/J out 

'ITie exwiij* of riationo ; I limii'trif. 

Men t>i all «l)or<« tliat front tlie h'ary main. 

KAfXl V/AL.M/ hUl'.iatJH. 



DOVKIi BBAOH, 

'I'llK !c?a ui ';alm to-ni«l/t, 

'I'li'j ti'l'i i« fiill, tliC mw^n li<s» fair 

L' jwn tl«) Straitx ; — on tlie Fniii'-.U lytwt, tlic Ii({ht 

(iUatum and i* gone ; the elilfu of Knglan-I rAAu<\, 

<i\\muii;rUm null va«t, out in tlin tian-jiiil t/ay. 

','o/ni; Ui thu window ; nwiivt ix tli<; night air ! 

f)nly, from th<j long line of ttjiray 

Wh';r<; the ebh rneetx the (nwnljlanche'l fsand, 

\akUm ! you h<;ar tJie grating roar 

f)f j;ehhl(«) which the wave* nu'.k l«<:k, ami fling, 

At their return, op tlje high >itran<l. 

Kegin and ccaoc, and then again Urgin, 

With tremulou)) ea/Ien';/; ojow, and hring 

'I'he etenial not<; of mulmtmi in. 

MAttHliW AUNOI.ri 



HEA-MT7EMTJE«. 
TiiKKK 'h a tone in the de/jp 
Like the niunnuring hreatli of a lion a«lwp. 

OUTWAKD BOTTND. 
fJ-MT. more ujKjn the wninn '. yet once more ! 
And the waveit lx<und ixiw'siith m/; a» a stee/I 
'I'hat known hi/s Hder. Weliyjme Vi their r';ar I 
Swift l)e their gijidan'*, whereioe'er it lca/1 ! 
Though thentrainclmaxtHhould'iuiverajsareed, 
And the r^mt canvax, fluttiiring, (strew the gale, 
Ktill miuit I <m ; for I am a« a weifl, 
Flung from the ro<;k, on ocean's foam to Bail 
Where'er the (surge may fswe^jp, the teini>e(st'») 
breath prevail. 



y-«- 



T ilK niglit ijs ma<le for wxJing (sha<le. 

For (sihaic*;, and for (slefip ; 
And whsm I wsb a chihl, I laid 
My han'iis ujon my br'sust, and prayed, 

And (sank to (slumljens de<;p : 
Childlike an then J lie t//-night. 
And watch my lonely cabin-light. 

Ea<;h movement of the iswaying lamp 

Showti how the vi.isisel reehs : 
A» o'ct her dcik the hillow(s tramp, 
And all her tirnl»cr(s (strain ami cramp 

With every (shock (she feeU, 
It (startis and (shuddens, while it bunus. 
And in it(s hingW (socket tum(s. 



Sow ((Winging »l<w and »Uuting low, 

It alm'«t level li<« ; 
And yet I know, while t/j a(»d fro 
I wafih the iK^;ining (xjndiile go 

With r<fl)tlews fall and riw-,, 
The nUsniiy (shaft ijs (still upright, 
l'oi»ing it's little glol*<! of light, 

hand of (i<A ! lan(p of ixai«<; ! 
O \itiim'w. of my is<>ul : 

Though w<aik, and Umiifji, mid ill at <:»»:, 
Amid the r</ar of isndting (i<«oi. 

The ohip'(S wnvul/sive roll, 
J own with love and t/:n"lcr awe 
yon jciife'.-t tyi* of faith and hiw. 

A heav. :. ;.irit calnw, 

Jly •,'. li;^l(t : 

TheO":j .^ \'\uu ^nmhiin, 

The W'lld wiieU eiiaiil : I i-.tum n(y J»alm», 

Hapjjy a» if t'>-night 
Un'Jer the cottage r'xjf again 

1 heard the «o<Ahing (summer rain, 

;o(IH ToWWbKKD TtoWJJ(iIL*GK, 



THK LAUNCH. 

FkOM "THK Isi;iL(>I»0 OC THE »HIF." 

Aw, ix finiJihe'l ! and at length 

Hajs (^/me the bridal 'Jay 

Of Ijeaiity and of (strength. 

To,<lay tiie vei>>i';l »liaU U; launche<l ! 

With (tc^y clou'bs the (sky id blanched 

And o'er the Uiy, 

Slowly, in all hiis xplendons diglit 

Tlie gr<at (sut( riaeis to )x;hold the sight. 

Tlie fx^ain old, 

f>;nturie(( old. 

Strong aii youth, and as un'y>n trolled. 

Pa-:** re«tlei«s t/. and fro, 

Up and down the (saichs of gold. 

Hi* Ix^jting h'^rt i» not at re(st ; 

And far and wide, 

With i^swd'^is flow, 

Hi» Ixard of (snow 

Heave(s with the heaving of hits brea«t. 

He wait* irni»atient for hijs bride. 

Tliere (she »itan<hs, 

Witl( her f'Xrt ujion the (sandji, 

iJeckcl with flagis and (strc-amert) gay 

In honor of her marriage day, 

Her (snow-white (signalis fluttering, blending, 

li/jund her like a veil descending, 

Iiea<ly to be 

The bride of the gray old (sea. 

H. w. ly^K'-.v 



-^ 



a- 



564 



POEMS OF THE iiEA. 



-a 



ADDKKSS TO THK OCKAN, 



THOl' vast Ooean ! evpr-souiiiUng Sea ! 
Tln>>» s_vmK>l of a lUvai' immouiiitY ! 

Tliou Uiiiig that wimlfst ivuud the »>Uil wovUl 
Like a hiij;o animal, whioh, downwaivl huvlevl 
tVui the bliU'k elouils, litw weUeiiiij; ami alone, 
l„Hsliii>j; ami writhing till its stivngth If gvine ! 
'lliy vovee is like the tluuulev, luul thy sloeji 
Is as a giant's slaniK'v, hmvl a>nl ilicii. 
Tlion sjn^akest in the twst ami in the wt'st 
Ai oncf. anU on tliy heavily laden hi\>i»st 
Fleets eonie and go, ami shajws that have no life 
Ov (notion, yet aiv moved and meet in strife. 
The earth has nanght of this ; no ehanee or ehang»> 
Untiles its surfaee, and no spirits daiv 
llive answer to the tem)>«st-\vakenevl air ; 
Uut o"er its wastes the w«»kly tenants >--.uig»> 
At will, and woun\l its Ihvsoi\> as they g^> ; 
Kver the sjuue, it hath no el>l>, no How ; 
r>nt in their stated ivuuds the seasons eomo. 
And jviss like visiotis to their wonted home ; 
Ami eoine agsiin, and vanisli ; the young Spring 
Looks ever hriglit with leaves and Mossoming ; 
And Winter always winds his sullen horn, 
When the wild Antnu\n, with a look forlorn. 
Pies in his stormy msitihood ; and the skies 
\V(H>i>, and (lowers sieken, when the snmn\er llies. 
0, wonderful thou art, givat element. 
And fearful in thy spletmy humors l>ent. 
And lovely in ivjivse ! thy snmnwn- form 
Is iH'auiiful, and when thy silver waves 
Make ntusie in earth's dark and winding eavi>s, 

1 love to wander on thy ix'hWed heaeh. 
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour. 
And heiirken to the thoughts thy watei-s teaeh, — 
Kteruitv — Kternitv - and Vower. 



^- 



ON THK LOSS OF THE ROYAL OSOROS. 

WKirVKN WHHN VHP SBWS AKKU'He; »7^ 

Toi L for the brave, — 

The hravo that aiv no more ! 

All sunk Knieath the wave. 
Fast l>y tlioir native slioiv. 

V^iglit hundred of the hrave. 
Whose eourago well was tried, 

Had made the vessel lu-el. 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-hreeze shook tlie sliivnds, 

.\nd she was overset ; 
Pown went the Koyal Heorg»<, 

With all hor er-ew complete. 



Toll for the Ixrave ! 

Brave Kemjienfelt is gon# ; 
Hi« last sea-li^ht is fought. 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the little ; 

No tennwst gave the slnwk ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no reek. 

His swo>\l was iu its sheath. 

His lingei-s hi>ld the pen. 
When Kempenl'elt went ilowu 

With twice fonr hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel ni>, 

thiee dr<«ded l>y our foes ! 

.-\nd mingle with our eup 
The tear that Knglaud owes. 

Her timK>rs yet are .sonvul. 

And she may tliwt agjiin. 
Full ehargnl with Kiigland's thunder, 

And plow the distant main. 

15nt Kempenl'elt is gvme ; 

His vietories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hnnvlred 

Shall (Jow the wave no i\iore. 



THK SlIIirWT5K0K. 

Ix vain the eoi\ls and axes were prei>ared. 
For now the amlaeious swis insnlt tln> yaixl ; 
High o'er the ship they threw a horrid shade, 
.\nd o'er her Inu-st in terrible ea.seade. 
Uplifte*! on the surg»\ to heaven slie Hies, 
Her -•diatteuHl top half buried in the skiiv-i. 
Then headlong plunging thuudei-soi\ thegreimd ; 
Karth giwins ! air trembles ! and tlu< deejvs re- 
sound I 
Her giant-bnlk the dr«ul eoneussion fet^ls, 
.\nd ((uivering with the wound in torment reels. 
So iwls, eonvulseil with agonizing threes. 
The bletxling bull Kuieath the n>ui\leivr's blows. 
Ag!Un slie plungx's ! hark ! a second sluu-k 
Tears her streng Kittom on the inarWe reck : 
Pown on the vale of death, with dismal cries. 
The fatwl victims, shuddering, rell their eyes 
In wild desjwir ; while yet another streke. 
With deep convnlsion, rends the solid oak ; 
'IHll like the n>ine, in wluise infernal cell 
The lurking denwns of d(^struction dwell, 
.\t length asunder torn her fi'sune divides. 
And, crasliing, spiwids in ruin o'er the tides. 

0, were it mine with tuneful Mare's art 
To wake to symi«thy the feeling heart ; 



^ 



[& 



POEMU OF THE HE A. 



1^:^ 



e- 



Like him the smooth and mouroful verse to <lr««> 

In all t)ie jxjwp of erquuiite <li»tr«»», 

'rh*n too wveiely taught by '.-ruel fate, 

To share in all the jjerU* I relate, 

Then migtit 1, with uurivale'l strains deplore 

The injjxjrvious horroi* of a leeward «h<^re 1 

Aa o'er the surge the stoopinjj uminniaiit hung, 
Still on the rigf^g thirty hkhuimi elung ; 
Some, struggling, on a broken erag were ca*t, 
And tliere by oozy tangles grapple'l last. 
Awhile they F^^re the o'erwhelrning billows' rage, 
UiKj'jual I'jtiii^M with their fate t/> wage ; 
Till, all l*enunib<!'l and fe«Ue, they forego 
Tlieir »lipix.-ry hold, and sink Xi> slxa/Jes Ijelow, 
(iouie, ffouj the niain-yard-arrn injjjetuous thrown 
On inarble li'lges, di<; without a S(r'/im. 
Three with I'alernon ou their skill <lepend, 
And from the »Te<;k on oars and rafts de»e«nd. 
Now on tlie mountain wave on high they ri<le, 
Then downward plunge ljen<aith the involving 

tide, 
Till one, who seems in agony U> strive. 
The whirling breakers heave on shore alive ; 
The rest a si>eo<lier end of anguish knew. 
And pre»8':d the stony beach, a lifeless crew '. 

WJU.IAM FAUyjttESL 



WRECK OF THE "GEACE OF SUJ.DEELAKT>." 

"Hk 's a rare man. 
Our lamm ; half a head above us all." 

"That 's a great gift, and notable," said I. 

" Ay, sir ; and when he was a younger man 
He went out in tlu; life-boat very oft. 
Before tlie ' Gra/;e of Sunderland ' was wre<;kiedL 
He 's never l*en his own roan Bin';e tjjat hour ; 
For there were thirty men alx«rd of her, 
Anigh a* close as you are now to me, 
And ne'er a one was saved. 

They 're lying now, 
With two small children, in a row : the church 
And yard are full of seamen's graves, and few 
Have any names. 

"She Vjumi>e'l upon the p^f; 
Our i«ir»<^n, my young son, and several more 
Were lashed t'^ether with a two-inch miih, 
And crept along to her ; their mates ashore 
Kta/ly Ui liaul them in. The gale was high. 
The sea was all a UAlui^ tnn^hing froth, 

/'Anil G<yi Almigbt/s guns wer* going ofli V I 

^And the land trembled, 

" When she to<jk the ground, 
She went to pieces like a lock of hay 
To«s©d from a pitchfork. Ere it came to that. 



Til* ';ajrtain re«le<l on deck with two suiail things. 
One in each arm, — bis little la/i and lass. 
Thfcir hair was long and blew before his law. 
Or else we thought he ha<l Wn saved ; he Jell, 
liut li*ld them £a*t. 'I'he crew, j^x/r luckless 

souls '. 
'I'he breakers licked them off; and some were 

crusliu'l, 
iyjtat: swallowed in the yeast, soiu« flung up dead. 
The dear breath beaten out of th-xi • not one 
Jumi>e'l lioui the wjc.k '.: ' 
Tlie han'ls that strain'?'! t/j 
With eyes wide ojxm, 1'/ 

Ajid clung — theoniy man i,,.!;. X;i';> pianj.! -- 
' for God's sake, caj/tain, thiow the chihireu 
i here ! ' 
'Throw them '. ' our i/nnun criwl ; and then she 

struck : 
And he threw one, a pretty two years' child. 
But t!ie gale dashci him on the slipi;<:ry vergi-, 
And down he went, Th«y say they heard liim 

cry. 

"Then he rose up and Uyjic tJie '/ther one, 
And all our uien reachfed out their hungry arm«, 
And crieil out, ' Throw her, throw her : ' and he 

dii 
He threw her right against the {/artmn's l^rwust. 
And all at on'>; a sea broke over tb<-ni, 
.And they '• ... _^. j 

It strjck ■ '■! it, 

-Just as a V. 

That 'twiit iu.j i^ik'hi iuUj the kijmiuiii^iAU 
She breaks and crumbles on her rising bread, 

" We hauled our men in : two of tfa«m were 

dead — 
The sea had beaten them, their heads hung 

down ; 
Our J«rson'^: zrrri". ■wrrr- prr.pt-,-. for *v r. wave 
Ha/1 torn ;;■. 
We often ■ 
But t wa« :. 

THE BEA FIGHT. 

Ab 70U> fcy A!i A^C:^:^■T KAAJ.'VEK. 

Ah, yes, — the fight ! Well, messoiatfes, well, 
I served on V/ard that N'inety-<;ight ; 

■ifet what I saw I loathe to telL 
To-night be sure a crushing weight 

Ujwn my sleeping breast, a hell 
Of dread, will sit. At any rate, 

Tliough laud -locked here, a watch I '11 keep, — 

Grog cheers us stilL Who cares for sleep ? 



That Ninety-tight I sajlcl on board ; 
Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ; 






f 



566 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



-^ 



43- 



Eight aft the rising tempest roared ; 

A noble first-rate liuve in view ; 
And soon high in the gule there soared 

Her streamed-out bunting, — red, white, blue 
We cleared for fight, and landward bore, 
To got between the chase and shore. 

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn 

Twice laid with words of silken stuff. 

A fact 's a fact ; and ye may larn 

The rights o' this, though wild and rough 

My words may loom. 'T is your consarn. 
Not mine, to understand. Enough ; — 

We neared the Frenchman where he lay, 

And as we neared, he blazed away. 

We tacked, hove to ; we filled, we wore ; 

Did all that seamanship could do 
To rake him aft, or by the fore, — 

Now rounded off, and now broached to ; 
And now our starboard broads»;,e bore, 

And showers of iron thro'.^'di and through 
His vast huU hissed ; our larboard then 
Swept from his threefold decks his men. 

As we, like a huge serpent, toiled. 

And wound about, through that wild sea, 

The Frenchman each maneuver foiled, — 
'Vantage to neither there could be. 

Whilst thus the waves between us boiled. 
We both resolved right manfully 

To fight it side by side ; — began 

Then the fierce strife of man to man. 

Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain 
Rings out her wild, delirious scream ! 

Redoubling thunders shake the main ; 
Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam. 

The timbers with the broadsides strain; 
The slippery decks send up a steam 

From hot and living blood, and high 

And shrill is heard the death-pang cry. 

The shredded limb, the splintered bone. 
The unstitfened corpse, now block the way ! 

Who now can hear the dying groan ? 
The trumpet of the judgment-day. 

Had it pealed forth its mighty tone. 

We should not then have heard, — to say 

AVouId be rank sin ; but this 1 teU, 

That could alone our madness quell. 

Upon the forecastle I fought 

As captain of the for'ad gun. 
A scattering shot the carriage caught ! 

What mother then had known her son 
Of those who stood around ? — distraught, 

And smeared with gore, about thcv run, 



Then fall, and wi'ithe, and howling die ! 
But one escaped, — that one was 1 ! 

Night darkened round, and the storm pealed ; 

To windward of us lay the foe. 
As he to leeward over keeled. 

He could not fight his guns below ; 
So just was going to strike, — when reeled 

Our vessel, as if some vast blow 
From an Almighty hand had rent 
The huge ship from her element. 

Then howled the thunder. Tumult then 
Had stunned herself to sUence. Round 

Were scattered lightning-blasted men ! 

Our mainmast went. All stifled, drowned. 

Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again 
The bolt burst on us, and we found 

Our masts all gone, — our decks all riven : 

Man's war mocks faintly that of heaven ! 

.Just then, — nay, messmates, laugh not now, 

As I, amazed, one minute stood 
Amidst that rout, — I know not how, — 

'T was silence all, — the raving Hood, 
The guns that pealed from stem to bow, 

And God's owii thunder, — nothing could 
1 tlieu of all that tumult hear. 
Or see aught of that scene of fear, — 

My aged mother at her door 

Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel ; 

The cottage, orchard, ami the moor, — 
I saw them plainly all. 1 '11 kneel, 

And swear 1 saw them ! 0, they wore 
A look all peace ! Could 1 but feel 

Again that bliss that then I felt. 

That made my heart, like childhood's, melt ! 

The blessM tear was on my cheek. 

She smiled with that old smUe I know : 

"Turn to me, mother, turn and speak," 
Was on my quivering lips, — when lo ! 

All vanished, and a dark, red streak 
Glared wild and vivid from the foe, 

That flashed upon the blood-stained water, — 

For fore and aft the flames had caught her. 

She struck and hailed us. On us fast 
All burning; helplessly, she came, — 

Near, and more near ; and not a mast 
Had we to help us from that flame. 

'T was then the bravest stood aghast, — 
'T was then the wicked on the name 

(With danger and with guilt appalled) 

Of God, too long neglected, called. 

The eddying flames with ravening tongue 
Now on our ship's dark Imlwarks dash, ■ 



-^ 



i 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



56'; 



-a 



We almost touched, — when ocean rung 
Down to its depths with one loud crash ! 

In heaven's top vault one instant hung 
The vast, intense, and blinding ilasU ! 

Then all was darkness, stillness, dread, — 

The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead. 

She 's gone ! blown up ! that gallant foe ! 

And though she left us in a plight, 
We floated still ; long were, I know, 

And hard, the labors of that night 
To clear the wreck. At length in tow 

A frigate took us, when 't was light ; 
And soon an English port we gained, — 
A hulk all battered and blood-stained. 

So many slain, — so many drowned ! 

1 like not of that light to tfU. 
Come, let the cheerful grog go round ! 

JIussmates, 1 've done. A spell, ho ! .spell, — 
Though a pressed man, 1 '11 still be found 

To do a seaman's duty well. 
I wish our brother landsmen knew 
One half we jolly tars go through. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE MARINER'S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor-hoy lay ; 

His liammock swung loose at the sport of the 
wind ; 
I'ut watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away. 

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry mom ; 

While memory stood sideways, half covered with 
flowers. 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; 

Now far, far beliind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, 
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in 
the wall ; 

All trembling with transport he raises the latch. 
And the voices of loved ones rejily to his call. 

.V father bends o'er him with looks of delight ; 
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm 
tear ; 
And the lips of the hoy in a love-kiss unite 
Witli the lips of the maid whom his bosom 
': bU dear. 



u 



I The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ; 
I Joy quickens his pulse, all his hardships seem 

o'er ; 
And a murmur of happiness steals through his 
rest, — 
"0 God! thou hast blest me, — I a.sk for no 
more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now liursts on 
his eye ? 
Ah ! what is that sound which now larums 
his ear ? 
'T is tlie lightning's red glare, iiainting hell on 
the sky ! 
'T is the crash of the thunder, the groan of the 
sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the 
deck ; 
Amazement confronts him with images dire ; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive tlie vessel a 
wreck ; 
The masts fly in splinters ; the shrouds are on 
fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swidl ; 

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell. 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing 
o'er the wave ! 

sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of 
bliss. 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched 
bright, — 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed 
kiss ? 

sailor-boy ! sailor-boy I never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes roiray ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep iu the 
main, 
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall ilccay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for 
thee. 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless 
surge ; 
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding- 
sheet be, , 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy 
dirge ! 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be 

laid, — 
Around tliy white hones the red coral shall 

gi-ow ; 



-& 



e-:- 



5G8 



roKMS OF THE SEA. 



■a 



Of thy fair yoUow locks tliroivils of amlior bo 
miulo, 
Ami I'vory part suit to tliy iiiiiimiiui l>olcuv. 

Diiys, uiontlis, yours, and njjos slmll circlo rtwny, 
And still tlio VMstwntors iiliovo tlioo slmll roll; 

Earlli liisivs lliy jiaUoni Ibrovor ami uye, — 
O siiilur-liciy ! sailor-lioy ! [loaco to tliy soul I 



HERVf; RIEL. 

On \\w sen ami at tlio lloguo, sixlocii liundrod 

niui'ly-lwo, 
Did tlir Ku-lisli (ij,dil Uic Krciirli, - woo to 

Krauoo ! 
Ami, tlui lliirly -lirstof May, liultor-slvollortlirougli 

llio l)luo. 
Like a crowd of frightoued porpoises a shoal of 

sharks pursue, 
Camu crovvdiuj; ship on ship to St.. Malo on 

I ho Kanoo, 
Willi Uio Knglisli Hoot in view. 

"I'was tho s(iuadron that escaped, with the vic- 
tor in full chase, 
First and foremost of tho drove, in his great 
ship, |)aud'revillo ; 
Close on him lied, great and small. 
Twenty-two good ships in all ; 
And they signaled to tho plnco, 
" Help tlie winiu'rs of a race ! 
Get us guidance, give us harhor, take us quick, 

— or, i|uieker still, 
Hero's tlie Kngllsh can and will ! " 

Tlien llie pilols of the place put out brisk and 
l.aped MX lioard. 
"\Vliy, what liO])e or chance have shijis like 
these to imss!" lauglicd tlicy ; 
"Hocks to starboard, ro.'ks to port, all the pas- 
sago searr<Hl and scored. 
Shall the Kormidalilc here, witli her twelve and 
eighty guns. 
Think to make tlu< rivcr-moulli by the single 
narrow way. 
Trust to cuter wlJcrc 'l is ticklish for a craft of 
twenty tons, 
Ami with (low at full beside? 
Now 't is slackest ebb of tide, 
lieach the nuioring ? Hather say. 
While rock stamls or water runs. 
Not a ship will leave the bay ! " 

Then was called a council straight ; 
Brief and bitter the debate ; 
li I . . 



"Hero's tho Knglish at our heols; would you 

have them lake in tow 
All that's left us of tho lleet, linked together 

stern and bow, 
Kor a prize to I'lymouth Souml / 
IJottor run the ships aground ! " 

(Knded Daml'reville his speech.) 
" Not a minute nuire to wait 1 
Let tho captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow n|i, burn tlu^ vc.s.scls 
on the beach I 
France must undergo her fati'. " 

"Give the word ! " I'mt no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck 
amid all these, 
A captain / A lieutenant ? A mate, — first, 
socoiul, third f 
No such man ol mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete ! 
liut tt simpli^ liretou sailor pressed by Tour- 
villo for the Meet, — 
A poor coasting-pilot he, lli'rve Kiel tlu> Croi- 
sickoso. 

And " What mockery or nudice have wo hero !" 

cries Herve liicl ; 
" Aro you imul, you Malouins ? Aro you cow- 
ards, fools, or rogues ? 
Talk to nio of rocks and shoals, nu- who took the 

soundings, tell 
On my lingers every bank, every shallow, every 
swell 
'Twixt the ofhng here and Grcvi', where tho 
river disembogues t 
Aro you Ixuight by English gold ? Is it love tho 
lying's for ? 
Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloteil your bay, 
Knterod free ami anchored fast at the foot of 
Solidor. 
Burn the tleet, and ruin Franco? That were 
wcuse than fifty lloguos I 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, 
believe uu', there 's a way ! 
Only let mo lead tho line, 

Have tho biggest ship to steer, 
Gel this Formidable clear, 
Make the others follow mim\ 
And 1 lead them most and Iciust by a pnasag* 1 
know well, 
Kighl to Solidor, past Grove, 

And lliero lay them safe and sound ; 
And if one ship misbehave, — 

ICcel so much as grate the ground, — 
Why, I 've nothing but my life ; here 's my 
hoiul ! " cries Herve Heil. 



ff 



©- 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



5G9 



-a 



Not a uiiuutc more to wail. 
"Steer us in, then, small and ^reat I 
Take tlie helm, lead the line, »avc the squad- 
ron ! " el-ied its idiief. 
Captains, give the sailor place ! 

lie is Adnjiral, in brief. 
Still the north-wind, by God's grace. 
See tlie noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound, 
Clears the cntiy like a hound, 
Keeps tlio passage as its inrh of way were the 
wide .sea's profounrl I 
See, safe through shoal an'l rock. 
How they follow in a Hock. 
N'ot a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that 
grates the ground. 
Not a spar that comes to grief ! 
The peril, see, is [last, 
All are harbored to tlie last ; 
And just as Herv(i Kiel halloos "Anchor!" — 

sure as fate, 
(Tp th<; Knglish come, too late. 

So the storm subsides to calm ; 

They see the greifii trees wave 

On th(5 heights o'erlooking Greve : 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
".Just our laptui'e to enhance, 

Let the English rake the bay. 
Gnash their teeth and ghire askance 

As they cannouiiile away ! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the 

liance ! " 
How Iiope sueceeils despair on each captain's 

countenance I 
Outburst all with one accord, 

"This is Paradise for Hell ! 
Let France, let France's King 
Thank the man that did the thing ! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 

"Herv(! Kiel," 
As he stepped in front once more, 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Ureton eyes. 
Just the sanii: )nan as before. 



Then said Daml'n-ville, " My friend, 
1 must speak out at the end, 

Though I find the speaking hard : 
I'laisi' is di-cper than the lips ; 
Voii havr' saved I lie king his ships, 

Vrju must name your own reward. 
Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
Demand whate'er you will. 
Franco remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's contt^nt, and have ! or my name 
not Damfreville." 



Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On tlie bearded mouth that sjiokc. 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes ol' Ureton blue : 
" Since 1 needs must say my say. 

Since on board the duty 'h done. 

And from Malo ItoaJls to Croisic Point, what 
is it but a run ? 
.Since 't is ask and have I may, — 

Since the others go ashore, — 
Come I A good whole holiday ! 

Leave to go and see my wife, wliom I call the 
Belle Aurore ! " 

Thatheaskeil, and that he got, — nothing njore. 

Name and deed alike are lost ; 
Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive tlie feat aa it befell ; 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone 
to wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence 
England bore the l»dl. 
Go to Paris ; rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung ]iell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and (lank ; 

You shall look long enougli ere you come to 
Herve Kiel. 
So, for better and for worse, 
Hervi'! I{iel, ai.'cept my vei-se ! 
In my verse, Herve Kiel, do thou once more 
Save the squmlron, honor Fiance, lore thy wife 
the Belle Aurore. 



NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. 

I J.ovK contemplating — ajBirt 

From all his homicirlal glory — 
The traits that soften Vd our heart 
Napoleon's glory ! 

'T was when his banners at Boulogne 
Armed in our island every freeman, 
His navy chanced to capture one 
Poor British seaman. 

They suffered him — I know not how — 

Unprisoned on the .shore to roam ; 
And aye was bent his longing brow 
On f^nglaiid's home. 

His eye, ni'-tliinks 1 pursued the flight 

Of birds to Britain half-way ovi;r ; 
With envy lluy eoulil reach the white 
Dear cliffs of Dover. 



©-.- 



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[&-■ 



570 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



--a 
i 



A stormy miduight watch, he tliought, 

Than this sojoui'ii wouKl have been dearer, 
ir but the storm his vessel brought 
To EngUmd nearer. 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 

He saw one morning, dreaming, doting, 
An empty hogshead from llie deep 
Come shoreward floating ; 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 

The livelong day laborious ; lurking 
Until lie launched a tiny boat 
liy mighty working. 

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
1 lescription wretched ; such a wherry 
Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond. 
Or crossed a ferry. 

For plowing in the salt-sea field, 

It would have made the boldest shudder ; 
Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, — 
Ko sail, no rudder. 

From neighboring woods he interlaced 

His sorry skill' with wattled willows ; 
And thus eiiuipi>ed he would have passed 
The foaming billows, — 

But Frenchmen cauf,'bt him on the beach. 

His little Argo sorely jeering ; 
Till tidings of him chanced to reach 
Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Najioleon stood. 

Serene alike in peace and danger ; 
And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger : — 

"Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass 

On twigs and staves .so rndely fashioned, 
Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
Must be impassioned." 

"I have no sweetheart," .said the lad ; 

" But — absent long from one another — 
Great wa.s the longing that 1 had 
To see my mother." 

"And so thou shalt," Xapoleon said, 
" Ye ' ve both my favor fairly won ; 
A noble mother must have bred 
So brave a son." 

He gave the tar a jiieee of gold, 

And, with a flag of truce, commanded 
He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 



Oui- sailor oft could seautly shift 

To find a dinner, plain and hearty, 
But ni-vm- changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonaparte. 



THOMAS CAMPBELU 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

" Ho, sailor of the sea ! 

How 's my boy — my boy ? " 

" What's your boy's name, good wife. 

And in what ship sailed he ! " 

" My boy John — 

He that went to sea — 

What care I for the ship, sailor ? 

My boy 's my boy to nie. 

" Yon I'ome back from sea. 

Anil not know my John ? 

I niiijlit as well have asked some landsman, 

Yimder down in the town. 

There 's not an ass in all the parish 

But knows my John. 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 

And unless you let me know, 

I '11 swear you are no sailor, 

Blue jacket or no, — 

Brass buttons or no, sailor, 

Anchor and crown or no, — 

Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton' — " 

"Speak low, woman, speak low ! " 

"And why should I speak low, sailor. 
About my own boy John .' 
If 1 was loud as 1 am proud 
I 'd sing him over the town ! 
Why should 1 speak low, sailor ? " 
"That good ship went down." 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 

What care I for the ship, sailor ? 

I was never aboard her. 

Be she afloat or be she aground, 

Sinking or swimming, 1 '11 be bound 

Her owners can afford her ! 

I say, how 's my John ? " 

' ' Every man on board went down, 

Every man aboard her." 

" How's my boy — my boy ? 
What care 1 for the men, sailor ? 
I 'm not their mother — 
How 's my boy — my boy ? 
Tell me of him and no other ! 
How 's my boy — my boy ? " 



6-- 



-^ 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



57 



r^ 



B-^ 



MAKING PORT. 

All day long till the WKSt was red, 

Over and under the white-Heuked blue ; 

" Now lay her into the wind," he said ; 
And south the liai'bor drew. 

And tacking west and tacking east, 

Spray -showers upward going, 
Hi:r wake one zigzag trail of yeast, 

llcr gunwale I'airly flowing ; 

All lluttcrous clamor overhead, 
Lee scuppers white and spouting, 

Upon the deck a stamping tread, 
And windy voices shouting ; 

Her wenthcr shrouds as viol-strings. 

And leeward all a-clatter, — 
The long, lithe schooner dips and springs ; 

The waters cleave and scatter. 

Shoul.lcr to shouhlrr, l.rcast to breast. 
Arms locked, hand over hand : 

Bracing to leewavd, lips compressed, 
Eyes forward to the land ; 

Diiving the wheel to wind, to lee. 

The two mi'n work as one ; 
Out of the southwest sweeps the sea ; 

Low slants the summer sun. 

The harbor opens wide and wide, 

Draws up on either ([uarter ; 
The Vineyard's* low hills backward slide ; 

The keel finds smoother water. 

And tacking starboard, tacking port, 
Hows hissing, heeled to leeward, 

Through craft of many a size and sort. 
She trails tlie long bay seaward. 

Ilall'-way, slic jibes to come about, — 
Till' hurling wind drives at her ; 

The louil sails flap and flutter out. 
The sheet-blocks rasp and clatter. 

A lumberman lies full abeam, — 
The flow sets scpiarely toward her ; 

We lose our headway in the stream 
And drift broadside aboard her. 

A sudden Hurry fore and aft. 

Shout, trample, strain, wind howling ; 
A ponderous jar of craft on craft, 

A boom that threatens fouling ; 

• Martha's Vincyatd 



A jarring slide of hull on hull, — 
Her bowsprit sweeps our ipiarter ; 

Clang go the sheets ; the jib draws full ; 
Once more we cleave the water. 

The anchor rattles from the bow. 
The jib comes wrapping downward ; 

And (|uiet rides the dripping prow, 
Wave-Iappc'd and pointing townward. 

0, gracious is the arching sky. 
The south-wind blowing lilandly ; 

The rippling white-caps Heck and ily ; 
The sunset flushes grandly. 

And all the grace of sea and land, 
And splendor of the painted skies. 

And more 1 M give to hold her hand, 
And look into her eyes ! 



A.NONVMOUS. 



TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. 

The weather leach of the topsail shivers, 

The bowlinesstrain and thelee shrouds slacken, 

The braces are taut and the lithe boom quivers. 
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud 
blacken. 

Open one point on the weather bow 

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island head ; 

There 's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow, 
And the pilot watches the heaving lead. 

I stand at the wheel and with eager eye 
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze. 

Till the muttered order of " Full and by ! " 
Is suddenly changed to " Full fob stays ! " 

The ship bends lower before the breeze. 

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays ; 

And she swifter springs to the rising seas 
As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays !" 

It is silence all, as each in his place. 

With the gathered coils in his hardened hands. 

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace. 
Waiting the watchword impatient stands. 

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near. 
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout 

From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear. 
With the welcome call of " Ready ! about ! " 

No time to .spare ! it is touch and go. 
And the captain growls, "Down helm ! hai'.d 
DO'WN ! " 



f 



572 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



-a 



& 



As my we.iglit on the whirling spokes I throw, 
While heaven grows black with the storm- 
cloud's IVown. 

High oV-r till- knight-heails flies the spray, 
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea ; 

And my shoulder stiff to the wheel 1 lay,- 
As 1 answer, -'Ay, AY, sill ! hard a lee !" 

With the swerving leap of a startled steed 
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind. 

The dangerous shoals on the lee recede. 

And the headland white we have left behind. 

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse 

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats ; 

The spanker slaps and the mainsail flaps, 

Andthunderstheorder, "Tacks and sheets!" 

Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the 
crew 
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall ; 
The sails are aback from clew to clew, 

And now is the miiment for " iMai.nsail, 
HAUL !" 

And the heavy yards like (i baby's toy 
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung ; 

She holds lier way, and I look with joy 

For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks 
flung. 

" Let go, and iiaitl ! " 't is the last command, 
And the head-sails fill to the blast once more ; 

Astern and to leeward lies the land. 

With its breakers white on the shingly shore. 

What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall ? 

I steady the helm for the open sea ; 
The first-mate clamors, " Belay there, all !" 

And the captain's breath once more comes free. 

And so off shore let the good ship fly ; 

Little care 1 how the gusts may blow. 
In my fo' castle-bunk in a jacket dry, — 

Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below. 

WALTER F. MITCHELL. 



THE DEEP. 

Tmekk's beauty in the deep : — 
The wave is bluer than the sky ; 
And, though the light shine bright on high, 
Jlore softly do the sea-gems glow 
That sparkle in the depths below ; 
The rainbow's tints are only made 
Wh"n on the waters they are laid, 



And sun and moon most sweetly shine 
Upon the ocean's level brine. 

There 's beauty in the deep. 

There's music in the deep : — 
It is not in the surf's rough roar. 
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore — 
They are but earthly sounds, that tell 
How little of the sea-nymph's shell. 
That sends its loud, clear note abroad. 
Or winds its softness through the flood, 
Kchoes through groves with coral gay. 
And dies, on spongy banks, away. 
There 's niusie in the ileep. 

There 's quiet in the ilee]i : — 
Above, let tides and tempests rMve, 
And earth-born whirlwinds wake tlie wi 
Above, let care and fear contend. 
With sin and sorrow to the end : 
Here, far beneath the tainted foam. 
That frets above our peaceful luiine, 
We dream in joy, ami wake in love, 
Nor know the rage that yells above. 

There 's (piiet in the deep. 



THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 

What- hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and 
cells ! 
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ! — 
Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells. 
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in 
vain ! — 
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea ! 
We ask not such from thee. 

Yet more, the .lejitlis have more I — what wealth 
untold. 
Far down, and .shining through their stillness 
lies ! 
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold. 
Won from ten thousand royal argosies ! — 
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful 
main ! 
Earth claims not tktsc again. 

Yet more, the depths have more ! — thy waves 
have rolled 
Above the cities of a world gone by ! 
Sand liath filled up the palaces of old. 

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. 

Dash o'er them. Ocean, in thy scornful i)lay ! 

Man yields them to decay. 

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more ! 
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy 
breast ! 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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573 



^- 



They hear not now the booming waters roar. 

The battle-thuuders will not break their rest. — 

Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! 

Give back the true and brave ! 

Give hack the lost and lovely ! — those for whom 
The place was kept at board and hearth so long ! 
Tlie prayer went up through midnight's breath- 
less gloom, 
And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! 
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'er- 
thrown, — 
But all is not thine own. 

To thee the love of woman hath gone down, 

Dark How tliy tides o'er manhood's noble head, 
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's llowery 
crown ; 
Yet must thou hear a voice, — Restore the 
dead ! 
Earth shall reclaim her precious tilings from 
thee ! — 
Restore the di.'ad, tliou sea ! 

TELICIA Hf.mans. 



THE BURIAL OF THE DANE. 

Blue gulf all around us. 

Blue sky ovei'head ; 
Muster all on the ijuarter, 

'We must bury the dead ! 

It is but a Danish sailor, 
Rugged of front and form, — 

A common son of the forecastle, 
Grizzled w;ith sun and storm. 

His name and the strand he hailed from 
We know ; and there 's nothing more ! 

But iierhaps his mother is waiting 
On tlie lonely Island of Fohr. 

Still, as he lay there dying, 

Reason drifting awreck, 
" 'T is my watch," lie would mutter, 

" 1 must go upon deck ! " 

Ay, on deck — by the foremast ! — 
But watch and look-out are done ; 

The Union -Jack laid o'er him, 
How quiet he lies in the sun ! 

Slow the ponderous engine. 

Stay the huiTying shaft ! 
Let the roll of the ocean 

Cradle our giant craft ; 
Gather around the grating, 

Carry your messmate aft ! 



Stand in order, and listen 

To the holiest pages of prayer ; 

Let every foot be ipiiet, 
Every liead be bare : 

The soft trade-wind is lifting 
A lumdred locks of hair. 

Our captain reads the ser\'iee, 
(A little spray on his cheeks,) 

Tlie grand old words of burial. 

And tlie trust a true heart seeks, — 

"We tliereforo commit liis body 
To the deei)," — and, as he speaks, 

Launched from tlie weather railing, 

Swift as the eye can mark, 
Till! ghastly, shotteil liammock, 

Rlunges, away from the shark, 
Down, a thousand fatlioms, — 

Down into the dark. 

A thousand summers and winters 

Tlie stormy gulf sliall ndl 
High o'er his canvas coffin : 

But silence to doubt and dole ! 
Tliero 's a quiet harbor somewliere 

For the poor a-weary soul. 

Free the fettered engine, 

Speed the tireless shaft ! 
Loose to'gallant and topsail, 

The breeze is fair abaft ! 

Blue is all around us. 

Blue sky bright overhead : 
Every man to his duty ! 

We have buried tlie dead. 

Hf.nrv Howard brownel 



THE SEA-BOY'S FAREWELL. 

Wait, wait, ye winds ! till I repeat 
A parting signal to the fleet 

Whose station is at home ; 
Then waft the sea-boy's simple prayer, 
And let it oft be wliis]>ered there, 

Wliile in far climes 1 roam. 

Farewell to father ! reverend hulk, 
In spite of metal, spite of bulk, 

Soon may his cable slip ; 
But while the parting tear is moist, 
Tlie flag of gratitude I '11 hoist. 

In duty to the ship. 

Farewell to mother, " first-class " she ! 
Who launched me on life's stormy sea. 
And rigged me fore and aft : 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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u 



May ProvicU'iice lier timbers spare, 
Ami keej) her hull in good repair, 
To tow the smaller craft. 

Farewell to sister ! lovely yacht ! 

But whether she '11 be " manned" or not, 

I cannot now foresee ! 
May some good ship a tender prove. 
Well found in stores of truth and love. 

And take her imder lea. 

Fai'ewell to George ! the jollyboat ! 
And all the little craft afloat. 

In home's delightful bay ; 
When they arrive at sailing age. 
May wisdom give the weather gage, 

And guide them on tlieir way. 

Farewell to all ! on life's rude main 
Perhaps we ne'er shall meet again, 

Through stress of stormy weather ; 
But summoned by the Board above, 
We 'U luirbor in the [lort of love, 

And all be moored together I 

ANONYMOUS. 



JAMIE'S ON THE STORMY SEA. 

Ere the twilight bat was Hitting, 
In the sunset, at her knitting. 
Sang a lonely maiden, sitting 

Underneath the threshold tree ; 
And as daylight died before us, 
And the evening star shone o'er us, 
Fitful rose her gentle chorus, — 

"Jamie 's on the stormy sea." 

Curfew-bells remotely ringing, 
Mingled with her sweet voice singing, 
And the last red ray seemed clinging 

Lingeringly to tower and tree ; 
And her evening song ascending. 
With the scene and season blending. 
Ever had the same low ending, — 

"Jamie's on the stormy sea," 

' ' Blow, thou west-wind, blandly hover 
Round the bark that bears my lover ; 
Blow, and waft him safely over 

To his own dear home and me ; 
For when night-winds rend the willow, 
Sleep forsakes my lonely pillow. 
Thinking on the raging billow, — 

Jamie's on the stormy sea." 

How eoidd 1 but list, but linger 
To the song, and near the singer, 
Sweetly wooing heaven to bring her 
Jamie from the stormv sea ? 



And while yet her voice did name me, 
Forth I sprang, — my heart o'ercamo me, — 
"Grieve no more, sweet ; I au\ Jamie, 
Home returned to love and thee." 

t>AViD Macbeth Moir. 



TWILIGHT AT SEA. 

The twilight hours, like birds, tlew by, 

As lightly and as free. 
Ten thousand stars were in the sky. 

Ten thousand on the sea ; 
For every wave, with dimpled face. 

That leaped upon the air. 
Had caught a star in its embrace. 

And held it trembling there. 

AMtLU B. WELBY. 



FLOTSAM AND JETSAM. 

The sea crashed over the grim gray rocks. 

It thundered beneath the height. 
It swept by reef and sandy dune. 
It glittered beneath the harvest moon, 
That bathed it in yellow light. 

Shell, and sea-weed, and sparkling stone. 

It flung on the golden sand. 
Strange relics torn from its deepest caves. 
Sad trophies of wild victorious waves. 

It scattered upon the straiul. 

Spars that had looked so strong and true. 

At many a gallant launch. 
Shattered and broken, flung to the shore, 
Wlule the tide in its wild triumphant roiir 

Rang a dirge for the vessel stanch. 

Petty trifles that lovers liad brought 

From many a foreign clime, 
Snatchcil by the storm from the clinging clasp 
Of hands that the lonely will never grasp. 

While the world yet measures time. 

Back, back to its depths went tlie eVibing tid^ 

Leaving its stores to rest, 
Unsought and unseen in the silent bay. 
To be gathered again, ere close of day. 

To the ocean's mightj' breast. 

Kinder than man art thou, sea ; 

Frankly we give our best. 
Truth, and hope, and love, and faith, 
Devotion that challenges time and death 

Its sterling worth to test. 

We fling them down at our darling's feet, 
Indifference leaves them there. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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& 



The careless footstep tm-ns aside, 
Weariness, chaiigefulness, scorn, or pride. 
Bring little of thought or care. 

No tide of human feeling turns ; 

Once ebbed, love never flows ; 
The pitiful wreckage of time and strife, 
Tlie flotsam and jetsam of human life. 

No saving reflux knows. 



THE BEACON. 

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, 
Than if day in its pride had arrayed it ; 

Tin- land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched 
sky 
Looked pure as the Spirit that made it. 

The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 
On the shadowy wave's playful motion. 

From the dim distant isle till the beacon-fire 
blazed. 
Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast 
Was heard in his wildly breathed numbers ; 

The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest. 
And the fisherman sunk to his slumbers. 

I sighed as 1 looked from the hill's gentle slope. 
All hushed was the billow's commotion ; 

And 1 thought that the beacon looked lovely as 
Hope, 
That star of life's tremulous ocean. 

The time is long past and the scene is afar ; 

Yet, when ray head rests on its pillow, 
Will memory often rekindle the star 

That Ijlazed on the breast of the billow. 

And in life's closing hour, when the trembling 
soul flies. 
And death stills the heart's la,st emotion, 
then may the Seraph of mercy arise, 
Like a star on eternity's ocean ! 

p.\uL MOON James. 



AN OLD SEAPORT. 

EVENING SKETCH. 

NooKED underneath steep sterile hills that rise 

Tier upon tier, receding far away. 

The quaint old port, wharf-flanked to seaward, 

lies, 
A dingy crescent round the curving bay. 
Small cruising craft about the harbor glide. 



Mere chips of boats, each with its one bright 

wing — 
Bright in the golden glow of eventide — 
Wooing the faint land-wind. A wee white thing 
Shows on the south sea-line, and grows and 

grows. 
Slow shadowing ship-shape ; whUo to westward 

far. 
Outlined in the low-lying amber bar, 
A .sail sinks with the day. The sweet repose 
Procured of peace prevails ; and, folding all 
In one wide zone of rest, glooms the gi'ay even- 
fall. 



THE HIGH SEAS. 

The host moved like the deep-sea wave, 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave. 
High-swelling, dark, and slow. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



THE^ NIGHT-SEA. 

In the summer even. 
While yet tlie dew was hoar, 
I went plucking purple pan.sies. 
Till my love should come to shore. 

Tlie fishing lights their dances 
Were keeping out at sea. 
And "Come," I sung, "my true-love. 
Come hasten home to me." 

But the sea it fell a-moaning. 

And the white gulls rocked thereon, 

.\nd the young moon dropped from heaven. 

And the lights hid one by one. 

.All silently their glances 

Slipped down tlie cruel sea, 

.\nd " Wait,"criedtheni.ght,and^Tind, andstorm, 

" Wait till I come to thee ' " 

Harriet prescott spofford. 



'OLD IRONSIDES.' 



At, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar : 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 



& 



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576 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er tlie Hood 

And waves were white below, 
Ko more shall feel the victor's tread. 

Or know the conquered knee : 
The har[iies of the shore shall pluck 

Tlie eagle of the sea ! 

better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ! 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 

And there should be her grave ; 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail. 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale ! 

OLIVER Wendell Holmes, 



THE ESrCHCAPE ROCK. 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, — 
The ship was as still as she could be ; 
Her sails from heaven received no motion ; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock. 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape rock ; 
So little they rose, so little they fell. 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. 

The holy Abbot of Aberbrothok 
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape rock ; 
On a buoy in tlie storm it floated and swung. 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the surges' swell. 
The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed tlie Abbot of Aberbrothok. 

The sun in heaven was shining gay, — 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around. 

And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph, the rover, walked his deck. 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring, — 
1 1 made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
His heart was mirthful to excess ; 
Hut the rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the bell and float : 
Quoth he, " My men, put out the boat ; 



And row me to the Inchcape rock. 

And I 'U plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row. 
And to the Inchcape rock they go ; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. 
And cut the warning bell from the float. 

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound ; 
The bubbles rose, and burst around. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock 
Will not bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph, the rover, sailed away, — 
He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now, gi-own rich with jilundered store. 
He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky 
They cannot see the sun on high ; 
The wind hath blown a gale all day ; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the rover takes his stand ; 
So dark it is they see no land. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon. 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

"Canst hear," said one, "tlie breakers roar ! 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell." 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along ; 
Till the vessel sti-ikes with a shivering shock, — 
Christ ! it is the Inchcape rock ! 

Sir Ralph, the rover, tore his hair ; 
He cursed himself in his despair. 
The waves rash in on every side ; 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 

But ever in his dying fear 
One dreadful sound he seemed to hear, — 
A sound as if with the Inchcape bell 
The Devil below was ringing his knell. 



THE THREE FISHERS. 

Three fishers went sailing out into the west, — 

Out into the west as the sun went down ; 
Each thought of the woman who loved him the 
best. 
And the children stood watching them out of 
the town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep ; 
And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar Ix- mo.ining. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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a 



Three wives sat up in tlie liglithouse tower, 

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 
And they looked at the squall, and they looked 
at the shower, 
And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and 
brown ; 
But men must work, and women must weep. 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 
Aud the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 

In the ujoriiiug gleam as the tide went down. 

And the women are watching and wringing their 

hands, 

For those who will never come back to the town ; 

For men must work, and women must weep, — 

And the sooner it 's over, the sooner to sleep, — 

And good by to the bar and its moaning. 

Charles K] 



B-^- 



THE SANDS 0' DEE. 

"0 Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
Ac ross the sands o' Dee ! " 
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam. 
And all alone went she. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand. 
And round and round the sand, 
As far as eye could see ; 
The blimling mist came down and hid the land : 
And never home came she. 

"0, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, — 
A tress o' golden hair, 
0' drownM maiden's hair, — 
Above the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 
Among the stakes on Dee." 

They rowed lier in across the rolling foam, — 
The cruel, crawling foam. 
The cruel, hungrj' foam, — ■ 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
Across the sands o' Dee. 

Charles Kingsley. 



THE POOR FISHER FOLK. 

'T IS night ; within the close-shut cabin-door 
The room is wrapped in shade, save where there fall 
Some twilight rays that creep along the floor, 
And show the fisher's nets upon the wall. 



1 In the dim comer, from the oaken chest 
I A few white dishes glimmer ; through the shada 
Stands a tall bed with dusky curtains dressed, 
Aud a rough mattress at its side is laid. 

Five children on the long low mattress lie, — 
A nest of little souls, it lieaves with dreams ; 
In the high chimney the last embers die, 
And redden the dark roof with crimson gleams. 

The mother kneels and tliiiiks, and, pale with fear. 
She prays alone, hearing the billows shout ; 
While to wild winds, to rocks, to midnight drear, 
The ominous old ocean sobs without. 

Poor wives of fishers ! Ah, 't is .sad to say. 
Our sons, our husbands, all that we love best. 
Our liearts, our souls, are on those waves away, — 
Those ravening wolves that know nor ruth norrest. 

Think how they sport with those beloved forms. 
And how the clarion-blowing wind unties 
Above their heads the tresses of the storms : 
Perchance even now the child, the husband, dies I 

For we can never tell where they may be 
Who, to make head against the tide and gale, 
Between them and the starless, soundless sea. 
Have but one bit of plank, with one poor sail. 

Terrilile fear I We seek the peblily shore, 
Cry to the rising billows, " Bring them home !" 
Alas ! what answer gives tlieir troubled roar 
To the dark thought that haunts us as we roam? 

Janet is sad : her husband is alone, 

Wrapped in the black shroud of this bitter night : 

His chihlren are so little, there is none 

To give him aid. "Were they but old, they 

might." 
Ah, mother, when they too are on the main. 
How wilt thou weep, "Would they were young 

again ! " 

She takes her lantern, — 't is his hour at last ; 
She will go forth, and see if the day breaks. 
And if his signal-fire be at the mast ; 
Ah no, — not yet I — no breath of morning wakes. 

No line of light o'er the dark waters lies ; 

It rains, it rains, — how bla(;k is rain at morn ! 

The day comes trembling, and the yoimg dawn 

cries, — 
Cries like a baby fearing to be bom. 

Sudden her human eyes, that peer and watch 
Through the deep shade, a moldering dwelling 
find. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



n 



No light within, — the thiu door shsJces, — the 

thutch 
O'er the greoii wjills is twisted of the wind, 

Yellow and dirty as a swollen rill. 

' ' Ah me, " she saith, ' ' here doth that widow dwell ; 

Few days ago my good man left her ill ; 

1 will go iu, and see if all be well." 

She iitrikes the door, she listens ; none replies, 
And Janet shuddei's. " Husbandless, alone. 
And with two children, — they have scant sup- 
plies, — 
Good neighbor ! She sleeps heavy as a stone." 

She calls again, site knocks ; 't is silence still, — 
No sound, no answer ; suddenly the door. 
As if the senseless ci-eature felt some thrill 
Of pity, turned, and open lay before. 

She entered, and her lantern lighted all 
The house — so still , but for the rudo waves' din. 
Through the thin ivof the plashing niin-drops fall. 
But something terrible is couched within. 

Half-clothed, dark-featui-ed, motionless lay she. 
The once strong mother, now devoid of life ; 
Disheveled specter of dead miseiT, — 
All that the poor leaves after his long strife. 

The cold and livid arm, already stiff. 

Hung o'er the soaked straw of her «Tetched bed. 

The mouth lay open horribly, as if 

The parting soul with a gi-eat cry had fled, — 

That cry of death which startles the dim ear 
Of vast eternity. And all the while 
Tw o little ehildven, in one cradle near, 
Slept face to face, on each sweet face a smile. 

The dying mother o'er them, as they lay. 
Had cast hergown, andwmpped her mantle'sfold ; 
Feeling chill death creep up, she willed that they 
Should yet be warm while she was lying cold. 

Rocked by their own weight, sweetly sleep the 

twain, 
With even breath, and foreheads calm and clear ; 
So sound that the last trump might call in vain. 
For, being innocent, they have no fear. 

Still howls the wind, and ever a drop slides 
Through the old rafters, whei-e the thatch is weak. 
On the dead woman's face it falls, and glides 
Like living tears along her hollow cheek. 



And the dull wave sounds ever like a bell. 
The dead lies still, and listens to the strain ; 



For when the radiant spirit leaves its shell. 
The poor corpse seems to call it back again. 

It seeks the soul through the air's dim expanse, 
And the juile lip saith to the sunken eye, 
" Where is the beauty of thy kiiulling ghime '" 
" And wheiv thy lialmy breath ' " it makes reply. 

Alas ! live, love, find primroses in spring, 
Fate hath one end for festival and tear. 
Bid your hearts vibrate, let your gla.sses ring ; 
But as dark ocean drinks each stii^amlet clear, 

So for the kisses that ilelight the flesh. 
For mother's worship, and for children's bloom. 
For song, for smile, for love so fair and fresh, 
For laugh, fordance, there is one goal, — thetomb. 

And why does Janet pass so fast away ? 
What hath she done within that house of dread ? 
What foldeth she beneath her mantle gray ? 
And hurries home, and hides it in her lied ! 
AVith half-averted face, and nervous tread, 
What hath she stolen from the awful dead ? 

The dawn was whitening over the sea's verge 

As she sat pensive, touching broken chords 

Of half-remorseful thought, while the hoarse 

surge 
Howled a sad concert to her broken words. 

"Ah, my poor husband ! we had five before ; 
Already so much care, so much to find, 
For he must work for all. 1 give him more. 
What was that noise ? His step ! Ah, no, the 
wind. 

" That I should be afraid of him 1 love ! 
1 have done ill. If he should beat me now, 
I would not blame him. Did not the door move ? 
Not yet, i-xior man." She sits with careful brow, 
Wmpped in her inward grief ; nor heare the roar 
Of winds and waves that dash against his prow, 
Nor the black connorant shrieking on the shore. 

Sudden the door flies open wide, and lets 
Noisily in the dawn-light scarcely clear, 
And the good fisher diiigging his damp nets 
Stands on the threshold witli a joyous cheer. 

" 'T is thou ! " she cries, and eager as a lover 
Leaps up, and holds her husliand to her breast ; 
Her greeting kisses all his vesture cover. 
"'T is I, good wife I" and his broad face ex- 
pressed 

How g!ty his heart that Janet's love made light. 
"What weather was it?" "Hard." "Your 
fishing ? " " Bad. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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579 



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The sea was like a uest of thieves to-night ; 
But I embrace thee, and my heart is glad. 

" There was a devil in the wind that blew ; 
I tore my net, caught nothing, broke my line, 
And once 1 thought the bark was broken too ; 
What did you all the night long, Janet mine ? " 

She, trembling in the darkness, answered, " I, 
0, naught ! 1 sewed, 1 watched, I was afraid ; 
The waves were loud as thunders from the sky : 
but it is over." Shyly then she said : 

" Our neighbor died last night ; it must have 

Wn 
When you were gone. She left two little ones, 
So small, so frail, — William and Madeline ; 
The one just lisps, the other scarcely runs." 

The man looked grave, and in the comer cast 
His old fur bonnet, wet with rain and sea ; 
Muttered awhile, and scratched his head, — at 

last, 
" We have five children, this makes seven," said 

he. 

" Already in bad weather we must sleep 
Sometimes without our supper. Now — Ah, 

well, 
'T is not my fault. These accidents are deep ; 
It was the good God's will. I cannot tell. 

" Why did he take the mother from those scraps. 
No bigger than my fist ? T is hard to read ; 
A learned man might understand perhaps, — 
So little, they can neither work nor need. 

' ' Go fetch them, wife ; they will be frightened 

sore. 
If with the dead alone they waken thus ; 
That was the mother knocking at our door. 
And we must take the children home to us. 

" Brother and sister shall they be to ours. 
And they shall learn to climb my knee at even. 
When he shall see these strangers in our bowers, 
More fish, more food, will give the God of heaven. 

" 1 wiU work harder ; I will drink no wine, — 
Go fetch them. Wherefore dost thou Unger, 

dear '< 
Not thus were wont to move those feet of thine." 
She drew the curtain, saj-ing, " They are here." 

From the French of VICTOR HCCO, 
by H. w, Alexander. 



THE FTKE BY THE SEA. 

TuEKE were seven fishers with nets in their 

hands. 
And they walked and talked by the seaside 
sands ; 
Yet sweet as the sweet dew-fall 
The words they spake, though they sj^ake so low, 
Across the long, dim ceutuiies flow. 

And we know them, one and all, — 
Ay 1 know them and love them all 

Seven sad men in the days of old. 
And one was gentle, and one was )x)ld. 

And they walked with downcast eyes ; 
The bold was Peter, the gentle was .John, 
And they all were sad, for the Lord was gone. 
And they knew not if he would rise, — 
Knew not if the dead would lise. 

The livelong night, till the moon went out. 
In the drowning waters they beat about : 

Beat slow tlirough the fogs their way ; 
And the sails dropficd down with ringing wet, 
And no man drew but an empty net : 

And now 't was the break of the day, — 
The great glad break of the day. 

" Cast your nets on the other side " — 
('T was Jesus speaking across the tide) 

And they cast and were dragging hard ; 
But that disciple whom Jesus loved 
Cried straightway out, for his heart was moved 

" It is our risen Lord, — 

Our Mast<!r, and our Lord 1 " 

Then Simon, girding his fisher's coat, 
Went over the nets out of the boat, — 

Ay ! first of them all was he ; 
Repenting sore the dismal past, 
He feared no longer his heart to cast 
Like an anchor into the sea, — 
Down deep in the hungrj- sea. 

And the others, through the mists so dim. 
In a little ship came after him. 

Dragging their nets through the tide ; 
And when they had gotten close to the land 
They saw a fire of coals in the sand. 

And, with arms of love so wide, 

Jesus, the crucified ! 

'T is long, and long, and long ago, 

.Since the rosy lights began to flow 
O'er tile hilLs of Galilee ; 

And with eager eyes and liftcii hands 

The seven fishers saw on the sands 

The fire of coals by the sea, — 
On the wet, wild sands by the sea. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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'T is long ago, yet faith in our souls 

Is kindled just by that tire of coals 

That streamed o'er the mists of the sea ; 

Where Peter, girding his fisher's coat. 

Went over the net and out of the boat, 
To answer, " Lovest thou me >. " 
Thrice over, " Lovest thou me ?" 

ALICE Gary. 



: PELICAN ISLAND." 



Light as a flake of foam upon the wind 
Keel-upward from the deep emerged a shell, 
Shaped like the moon ere half her horn is tilled ; 
Fraught with young life, it righted as it rose. 
And moved at wUl along the yielding water. 
The native pilot of this little bark 
Put out a tier of oars on either side, 
Spread to the wafting breeze a twofold sail. 
And mounted up and glided down the billow 
In happy freedom, pleased to feel the air. 
And wander in the luxury of light. 
Worth all the dead creation, in that hour. 
To me appeared this lonely Nautilus, 
My fellow-being, like myself, alive. 
Entranced in contemplation, vague yet sweet, 
I watched its vagrant course and rippling wake. 
Till I forgot the sun amidst the heavens. 

It closed, sunk, dwindled to a point, then 
nothing ; 
While the last bubble crowned the dimpling 

eddy. 
Through which mine eyes still giddily pursued it, 
A joyous creature vaulted through the air, — 
The aspiring fish that fain would be a bird. 
On long, light wings, that flung a diamond- 
shower 
Of dew-drops round its evanescent form. 
Sprang into light, and instantly descended. 
Ere I could greet the stranger as a friend. 
Or mourn his quick departure on the surge, 
A shoal of dolphins tumbling in wild glee. 
Glowed with such orient tints, they might have 

been 
The rainbow's offspring, when it met the ocean 
In that resplendent vision I had seen. 
While yet in ecstasy I hung o'er these, 
With every motion pouring out fresh beauties, 
As though the conscious colors came and went 
At pleasure, glorying in their subtle changes, — 
Enormous o'er the flood, Leviathan 
Looked forth, and from his roaring nostrils sent 
Two fountains to the sky, then plunged amain 
In headlong pastime through the closing gulf. 

These were but preludes to the revelry 
That reigned at sunset : then the deep let loose 



Its blithe adventurers to sport at large. 

As kindly instinct taught them ; buoyant shells. 

On stormless voyages, in fleets or single, 

Wherried their tiny mariners ; aloof. 

On wing-like tins, in bow-and-aiTow figures, 

The llying-Hshcs darted to and fro ; 

While spouting whales projected watery columns, 

That turned to arches at their height, and seemed 

The skeletons of crystal palaces 

Built on the blue expanse, then perishing, 

FraU as the element which they were made of ; 

Dolphins, in gambols, lent the lucid brine 

Hues richer than the canopy of eve. 

That overhung the scene with gorgeous clouds. 

Decaying into gloom more beautiful 

Than the sun's golden liveries which they lost : 

TiU light that hides, and darkness that reveals 

The stars, — exchanging guard, like sentinels 

Of day and night, — transformed the face of 

nature : 
Above was wakefulness, silence around. 
Beneath, repose, — repose that reached even me. 
Power, will, sensation, memorj', failed in turn ; 
My very essence seemed to pass away, 
Like a thin cloud that melts across the moon. 
Lost in the blue immensity of heaven. 

James .Montgomery. 



THE CORAL INSECT. 

Toil on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral ti-ain. 
Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; 
Toil on ! for the wisdom of man ye mock, 
With your sand-based structures and domes of 

rock. 
Your columns the fathomless fountains' cave. 
And your arches spring up to the crested wave ; 
Ye 're a puny race thus to boldly rear 
A fabric so vast in a realm so drear. 

Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, — 
The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ; 
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring. 
Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king ; 
The turf looks green where the breakers rolled ; 
O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ; 
The sea-snatched isle is the home of men. 
And mountains exult where the wave hath been. 

But why do ye plant, 'neath the billows dark. 
The wi-ecking reef for the gallant bark ? 
There are snares enough on the tented field. 
Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield ; 
There are serpents to coil ere the flowers are up. 
There 's a poison drop in man's purest cup. 
There are foes that watch for his cradle ! rcath, 
And why need ye sow the floods with d"Tlh ' 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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With moklering bones the deeps are white, 
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ; 
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold 
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold. 
And the gods of the ocean have frowned to see 
The mariner's bed in their halls of glee ; 
Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread 
The boundless sea for the thronging dead ? 

Ye build — ye build — but ye enter not in, 
Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in 

their sin ; 
From the land of promise ye fade and die 
Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye : 
As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid, 
Their noiseless bones in oblivion liid. 
Ye slumber unmarked mid the desolate main, 
While the wonder and pride of your works re- 
main. 

LVDIA n. SICOURNEY. 



THE CORAL INSECT. 



Every one, 
By instinct taught, performcil its liiili- t:i,sk, — 
To hiiild its dwelling and it- Nr|,iii. Ii. ,. 
From its own essence exc^uisiii ly uhhI. Inl ; 
There breed, and die, and leave a progeny, 
Still multiplied beyond the reach of numbers, 
To frame new cells and tombs ; then breed and 

die 
.\s all their ancestors had done, — and rest. 
Hermetically sealed, each in its shrine, 
A statue in this temple of oblivion 1 
Millions of mUlions thus, from age to age, 
M'ith simplest skill and toil unweariable, 
N'o moment and no movement unimproved, 
Laid line on line, on terrace terrace spread, 
To swell the heightening, brightening, gradual 

mound, 
By marvelous structure climbing towards the 

day. 

. A point at first 
It peered above those waves ; a point so small 
1 just perceived it, fixed where all was floating ; 
And when a bubble ero.ssed it, the blue film 
Exfianded like a sky above the speck ; 
That speck became a hand-breadth ; day and 

night 
It spread, accumulated, and ere long 
Presented to my view a dazzling plain. 
White as the moon amid the sapphire sea ; 
Bare at low water, and as still as death. 
But when the tide came gurgling o'er the surface 
'T was like a resuiTection of the dead : 
From graves innumerable, punctures fine 



In the close coral, capillary swarin.s 
Of i-eptUes, horrent as Medusa's snakes, 
Covered the bald-pate reef ; 

Ere long the reef o'ertopt the spring-flood's height. 
And mocked the billows w'hen they leapt upon it, 
Unable to maintain their slippery hold, 
And falling down in foam-wreaths round its 

verge. 
Steep were the flanks, with precipices sliarp. 
Descending to their base in ocean gloom. 
Chasms few and narrow and irregular 
Formed harbors, safe at once and perilous, — 
Safe for defense, but perilous to enter. 
A sea-lake shone amidst the fossil isle, 
Reflecting in a ring its clilfs and caverns. 
With heaven itself seen like a lake below. 

Compared with this amazing edifice, 
Raised by the weakest creatures in existence, 
What are the works of intellectual man ? 
Towers, temples, palaces, and sepulchers ; 
Ideal images in sculptured forms. 
Thoughts hewn in columns, or in domes ex- 
panded. 
Fancies through every maze of beauty shown ; 
Pride, giutitude, alfection turned to marble, 
In honor of tlie living or tlie dead ; 
What are they ?— fine-wrought miniatures of art, 
Too exipiisite to bear tlie weight of dew 
Which every morn lets fall in pearls upon them, 
TUl all their pomp sinks down in moldering 

relics, 
Yet in their ruin lovelier than theii- jirime ! — 
Dust in the balance, atoms in tlie gale. 
Compared with these achievements in the deep, 
Were all the monuments of olden time, 
In days when there were giants on the earth. — 
Babel's stupendous folly, though it aimed 
To scale heaven's battlements, was but a toy. 
The plaything of the world in infancy ; 
The ramparts, towers, and gates of Babylon, 
Built for eternity, — though, where they stood, 
Ruin itself stands still for lack of work. 
And Desolation keeps unbroken Sabbath ; 
Great Babylon, in its full moon of emjiire. 
Even when its "head of gold" was smitten off 
And from a monarch changed into a brute, — 
Great Babylon was like a WTcath of sand, 
Left by one tide and canceled by the next ; 
Egj'jit's dread wonders, still defying Time, 
Wliere cities have been cnmibled into sand, 
Scattered by winds beyond the Libyan desert. 
Or melted down into the mud of Nile, 
And cast in tillage o'er the corn-sown fields. 
Where Memphis flourished, and tlie Pharaohs 

reigned ; 
Egypt's gray piles of hieroglyphic grandeur, 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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That have survived the language which they 

speak, 
Preserving its dead emblems to the eye, 
Yet hiding from the mind what these reveal ; — 
Her pyramids would be mere pinnacles. 
Her giiint statues, wrought from rocks of granite, 
But puny ornaments for such a pile 
As tliis stupendous mound of catacombs, 
Filled with dry mummies of the builder-worms. 

JAMI^S MONTGOMERY. 



THE CORAL GRO\rE. 

Deep in tlie wave is a coral grove. 
Where the purjile mullet and gold-fish rove ; 
Where the sea-Hower spreads its leaves of blue 
That never are wet with falling dew. 
But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift. 
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks tire sea-plants lift 
Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow : 
The water is calm and still below. 
For the winds and waves are absent there. 
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 
In the motionless fields of upper air. 
There, with its waving blade of gi-een. 
The sea-flag streams through the silent water. 
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter. 
There, with a light and easy motion. 
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
Are bending like corn on the upland lea : 
And life, in rare and beautiful fomis, 
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone. 
And is safe when the wrathful Spirit of storms 
Has made tlie toji of the wave his own. 
And when the ship from his fury flies. 
Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar ; 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies. 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 
AVhere tlie waters murmur tranijuilly. 
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 
lAMES Gates percival. 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign. 
Sails the unshadowed main. — 
The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, whore the Siren sings, 



And coral reels lie bale, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their stream- 
ing hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell, 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless ci-yjit unsealed ! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new. 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through. 

Built up its idle door. 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew tlio 
old no moi'e. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought Ijy thee. 

Child of the wandering sea. 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy deail lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

Wliilo on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of tliought I hear a voice 
that sings : — 

Build thee more stately mansions, my soul. 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 

Till thou at length art free. 

Leaving thine outgrown shell by lil'o's unresting 

sea ' 

oli\-er we£.\de!.l holmes. 



SEA-WEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox. 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with sea-weed from the rocks : 

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges, 
1 n some far-off", bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing. 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 

From the tumbling surf that buries 
The Orkney an sken'ies. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



583 



ra 



AiiswciJug Uii; hoarse Hebrides ; 

And f'loin wrecks of ships, and drifting 

.Sj;ars, uplifting 
Oil the desolate, rainy seas ; — 

Ever drifting, diifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaxihes, 
All liave found repose again. 

So when stoiTus of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, ere long. 
From each cave and rocky fastness 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

K) oni the far-off isles enchanted 

Heaven has planted 
With tlie golden fruit of Truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vi«on 

Gleams Klysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong Will, and the Endeavor 

That forever 
Wrestles with the tides of Fate ; 
Fiom the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, 

Tenipest-sliattei'cd, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded. 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 

IliiNKy V.'ADSVVOKTH LONGFELLOW. 



^- 



GULF-WKED. 

A wicAiiY wee'i, toss(;d to and fro, 

IJieaiily drenched in the ocean brine, 
.Soai-iiig high and sinking low, 

Lashed along without will of mine ; 
.Sport of Die spume of the surging sea ; 

Flung on the foam, afar and auear, 
Maik my manifold mystery, — 

Growth and grace in tlieir place apjjear. 

1 bear round berries, gray and red, 
llootless and rover though I I.ie ; 

.My si>angled leaves, when nicely spread, 
Arborescc as a tninklcss tree ; 



Corals curious coat me o'er, 

White an<l hard in apt array ; 
Mid the wild waves' lude uproar 

Gracefully grow i, night and day. 

Hearts there are on the sounding shore, 

Something whis|j>!rs soft to me, 
Ik-stless and loaming foreveiiuore. 

Like thijs weary weed of the sea ; 
Hear tliey yet on each beating hi east 

The etiriuil tyjw of the wondrous whole, 
Growth unfolding amidst unrest, 

GiTK-e informing with silent soul. 

CoK.NELH,'S GfcORCE FENKEK. 



The sea, the sea, the open sea, 

The blue, the fiesli, the evci' free ; 

Without a mark, without a bound, 

It runneth the earth's wide legions round ; 

It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies, 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I 'm on the sea, I 'm on the sea, 

I am wheie I would ever he, 

With the blue above and the blue l>elow, 

And silence wheresoe'er I go. 

If a storm should come and awake the deep, 

Wliat matter ! I sliall ride and sleep. 

I love, 0, how I love to ride 
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 
Where every mad wave drowns the moon. 
And whistles aloft its tempest tune. 
And t<;lls how goeth the world Ijelow, 
And why the sou'we-st wind doth blow ! 
I never was on the dull, tame shore 
But I loved the great sea moie and more. 
And backward flew to her billowy l/reast. 
Like a bird that s<!cketh her mother's nest, — 
And a mother she was and is to me. 
For r was boin on the oj»en sea. 

The waves were white, and red the morn, 

In the noisy hour when I was bom ; 

The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, 

And the dol))hins Ijared their l>a(;ks of gold ; 

And never wa.s heard such an out-.-ry wild, 

As welcomed to life the ocean child. 

1 liavc lived since then, in calm and strife, 

Full fifty summers a rover's life. 

With wealth to spend, and a power to range, 

But never have sought or sighed for diange : 

And death, whenever he comes to me. 

Shall come on the wide, unlwunded sea ! 



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PUEMS OF THE SEA. 



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SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA. 

■yVHERE the remote Benniidas ride 
In the ocean's bosom unespied, 
From a small boat that rowed along 
The listening winds received this song : 
" What should we do but sing His praise 
That led us through the watery maze 
Where he the huge sea monsters wracks, 
That lift the deep upon their backs, 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
He lands us on a grassy stage. 
Safe from the storms' and j)relates' rage ; 
He gave us this eternal spring 
Which here enamels everything, 
And sends the fowls to us in care 
On daily visits through the air. 
He hangs in shades the orange bright 
Like golden lamps in a green night. 
And does in the pomegranates close 
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 
He makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
And throws the melons at our feet ; 
But apples plants of such a price. 
No tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars chosen by his hand 
From Lebanon lie stores the land ; 
And makes the hollow seas that roar 
Proclaim tlio ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which wo rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple where to sound his name. 
O, let our voice his praise e.\alt 
Till it arrive at heaven's vault, 
Which then perhaps rebounding may 
Echo beyond the Me.\u|ue bay !" — 
Thus sung tliey in the English boat 
A holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to guide their chime, 
^\'ith falling ours they kept the time. 



A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 

A WET sheet and a flowing sea, — 

A wind that follows fast. 
And fdls the white and rustling sail. 

And Tiends the gallant mast, — 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While, like the eagle free, 
Away the good ship tlics, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 



But give to me the snoring breeze 
And white waves heaving high, — 

And white waves heaving high, my boys, 
The good ship tight and free ; 

The world of waters is our home. 
And merry men are we. 

There 's tempest in yon hornkl moon. 

And lightning in yon cloud ; 
And hark the music, mariners ! 

The wind is piping loud, — 
The wind is piping loud, my boys. 

The lightning flashing free ; 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

Allan Cunningham. 



SONG OF THE ROVER. 



■THE CORSAIl 



for a soft and gentle wind ! 
I heard a fair one cry ; 



O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea. 
Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free, 
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam. 
Survey our empire, and behold our home ! 
These are our realms, no limits to their sway, — 
Our flag the scepter all who meet obey. 
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range 
From toil to rest, and joy in every change. 
0, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave ! 
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave ; 
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease ! 
Whom slumber soothes not, — pleasure cannot 

please. — 
0, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried. 
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, 
The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play. 
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way ? 
That for itself can woo the approaching fight, 
And turn what some deem danger to delight ; 
Thatseekswhat cravens shun with more than zeal, 
And where the feebler faint can only feel — 
Feel to the rising bosom's inmost core. 
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ? 
No dread of death — if with us die our foes — 
Save that it seems even duller than repose : 
Come when it will — we snatch the life of life — 
When lost — what recks it — by disease or strife ? 
Let him who crawls enamored of decay 
Cling to his couch and sicken years away ; 
Heavehisthick breath, and shakehis palsied head : 
Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. 
While gasp liy gasp he falters forth his soul. 
Ours with one pang — one bound — escapes con- 

ti-ol. 
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave. 
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave : 
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed. 
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchei-s our dead. 



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For us, even baiinuets I'ouJ i egiuts supply 
In the red cup that crowns our memory ; 
And the brief epitaph in danger's day, 
When those who win at length divide the prey. 
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, 
How had the brave who fell exulted nowl 

LORD BYRON. 



MY BRIGANTINE. 

Just in thy mold and beauteous in thy form, 
Gentle in roll and buoyant on the surge. 
Light as the sea-fowl rocking in the storm, 
In breeze and gale thy onward course we urge, 

My water-queen ! 

Lady of mine, 
More light and swift than thou none thread the 

sea 
With surer keel or steadier on its path. 
We brave each waste of ocean-mystery 
And laugh to hear the howling tempest's wrath. 

For we are thine. 

My brigantine ! 
Trust to the mystic power that points thy way. 
Trust to the eye that pierces from afar ; 
Trust the red meteors that around thee play. 
And, fearless, trust the Sea-Green Lady's star, 

Thou bark divine ! 

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 



THE HEAVING OF THE LEAD. 

For England when with favoring gale 
Our gallant ship up channel steered. 

And, scudding under easy sail. 

The high blue western land appeared ; 

To heave the lead the seaman spiung. 

And to the pilot cheerly sung, 

" By the deep — nine ! " 

And bearing up to gain the port. 

Some well-known object kept in view. 

An abbey-tower, a harbor-fort, 
Or beacon to the vessel truei} 

While oft the lead the seaman iiung. 

And to the pilot cheerly sung, 

" By the mark — seven ! 

And as the much-loved shore we near. 
With tran.sport we behold the roof 

Wliere dwelt a friend or partner dear. 
Of faith and love a matchless proof. 

The lead once more the seaman flung. 

And to the watchful pilot sung, 

' ' Quarter less — five I " 



Now to her 'oerth the ship draws nigh : 
We shorten sail, — she feels the tide, — 

" Stand clear the cable " is the cry, — 
The anchor 's gone ; we safely ride. 

The watch is set, and through the night 

We hear the seamen with delight 

Proclaim, — ' ' All 's well ! " 

I'EARCE- 



ALL'S WELL. 



, BRITISH FLEET." 



Deserted by the waning moon. 
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon. 
On tower, or fort, or tented ground 
The sentry walks his lonely round ; 
And should a footstep hajily stray 
Where caution marks the guarded way, 
" Who goes there ! Stranger, quickly tell ! " 
" A friend ! " " The word .' " " Good night " 
all 's well. 

Or sailing on the midnight deep, 
When weary messmates soundly sleep, 
The careful watch jiatrols the deck. 
To guard the ship from foes or wreck ; 
And while his thoughts oft homewards veer, 
Some friendly voice salutes his ear, — 
" What cheer ? brother, quickly tell ; 
Above, — below." Good night ; all 's well. 

THOMAS DIBDIN. 



THE TEMPEST. 

We were crowded in the cabin, 
Kot a soul would dare to sleep, — 

It was midnight on the waters 
And a storm was on the deep. 

'T is a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered by the t>last, 

And to hear the rattling trumjict 
Thunder, " Cut away the mast ! " 

So we shuddered there in silence, — 
For the stoutest held his breath. 

While the hungry sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked with Death. 

As thus we sat in darkness. 
Each one busy in his prayers, 

"We are lost ! " the captain shouted 
As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered. 

As she took his icy hand, 
" Is n't God upon the ocean 

Just the same as on the land ? " 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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Then wo kissed the little miiidou. 
And we sjioke in hottor ohoor. 

And we anohoiwl safe in harbor 
When the mora was sliining clear. 

JAMliS T. FIKLPS. 

—* — 

THE MINUTE-GUN. 

When in the storm on Albion's coast, 
The night-watch guards his weary post, 

Fixnn thoughts of diuiger free, 
He marks some vessel's dusky form. 
And heare, amid the howling storm. 

The miuute-guii at sea. 

Swift on the shoiv a haiily few 

The life-boi>t man with a giilhuit cix'w 

And dare the dangerous wave : 
Through the wild smf they cleave their- way, 
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay, 

For they go the crew to save. 

But, 0, what rapture fills each breast 
Of the hojieless crew of the ship distressed ! 
Then, landed sjife, what joy to tell 
Of all the dangers that befell ! 
Then is heaiil no wore. 
By the watch on shore, 
The minute-gun at sea. 

R. S, SHARPE. 



L 



THE BAY OF BISCAY. 

Loud roared the dreadful thunder, 
The niin a deluge showcre, 

The clouds were rent asunder 
By lightning's vivid powei-s ; 

The night Iwth dn>ar ajid dark, 

Our poor devoted Iwrk, 

Till next day, there slie lay, 

In the Bay of Biscay, ! 

Now dashed upon tlie billow. 
Her opening timbei's creak. 

Each fears a watery pillow, 
Xone stops the dreadful leak ; 

To ding to slippery shrouds 

Each breathless seaman crowds, 

As she lay, till the day. 

In the Bay of Biscay, ! 

At length the wished-for morrow 
Broke through the hazy sky, 

Al>sorliod in silent sorrow, 
Rich heaved a bitter sigh ; 

The dismal wreck to view 

Stnick horror to the crew. 

As she lay, on that day, 

In the Bay of Biscay, ! 



Her yielding timWi's sever. 

Her pitchy seams are rent. 
When Heaven, sill bounteous over. 

Its Iwundless merey sent, — 
A sail in sight appeai-s ! 
We hail her with thre'e cheere ; 
Now wo sail, with the gsile. 
From the Bay of liiscay, ! 

ANDKliW CmiRRV. 



IJOCKED IN THE CRADIJ; OF TJIE KKEP. 

KoCKK.o in the cnidle of the deep, 
I lay me down iu peace to sleep ; 
Secure I rest upon the wave. 
For thou, Loul ! hast power to save. 

1 know thou wilt not slight my call. 
For thou dost mark the sptxrrow's fall ; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Kocked in the cradle of the deep. 

And such the trust that still were mine. 
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine, 
Or though the temiicst's liery breath 
Koused me from sleep to wreck and death ! 

In ocean's caves still s!\fc with thee. 
The germ of immortality ; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Eocked in the cradle of the deep. 



THE STORM. 

Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer ! 

List, ye landsmen all, to me ; 
Messmates, hear a brother sjiilor 

Sing the dangers of the sea ; 

From bounding billows, lirst in motion, 
Wlieu the distant whirlwinds rise. 

To the tempest-troubled ocean, 
Wherei the seas contend with skies. 

Hark ! the boatswain hoarsely Imwling, 
By tojisail sheets and halyni-ds stand ! 

Down top4?»ll'"'ts <inick be hauling ! 

Down your stsiy-sails, — hand, boys, hivnd .' 

Now it fresliens, set the braces, 

l)uick the tojisail sheets let go ; 
LutT, Kn-s, lutf ! don't make wry faces. 

Up your topsails nimbly clew. 

Round us roars the tempest louder, 
Think what fear our minds inthralls) 

Harder yet it blows, still harder. 
Now iisprin the boatswain calk. 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



587 



n 



The topsail yard point to the wind, boys, 
See all clear to reef each course ; 

Let the foresheet go, — don't mind, boys. 
Though the weather should be woree. 

Kore and aft the spritsail-yard get. 

Reef the mizzen, see all clear ; 
Hand up, each preventer-brace set I 

Man the foreyards, — cheer, lads, cheer ! 

Now the dreadful thunder 's roaring. 

Peal on peal contending ulasli, 
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring. 

In our eyes blue lightnings Hash. 

One wide water all around u». 

All alx)ve us one black sky ; 
Dilferent deaths at once surround us : 

Hark I wliat means that dreadful cry ? 

Tlie foremast 's gone ! cries every tongue out, 
O'er the lee twelve feet 'bove deck ; 

A leak beneath the chest-tree 's sprung out. 
Call all hands to clear the wreck. 

Quick the lanyards cut to pieces ; 

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold ; 
I'himl) the well, — the leak increases. 

Four feet water in the hold I 

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating. 
We our wives and children mourn , 

Alas ! from hence there 's no retreating, 
Alas ! to them there 's no return ! 

Still the leak is gaining on us ! 

Both cliain-pumps are choked below : 
Heaven have mercy here ufjon us ! 

For only that can save us now. 

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys, 
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown ; 

To the pumps call every hand, lioys. 
See ! our mizzen-mast is gone. 

The leak wa 've found, it cannot pour fast ; 

We 've lightened her a foot or more ; 
Up and rig a jury foremast, 

She rights ! she rights, boys ! wear off shore. 

GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS. 



h 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 

Ye mariners of England, 

That guard our native seas ; 

Whose ilag has braved, a thousand years. 

The Ixittle and the breeze ! 



Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe ! 
And sweep llirougli the deep, 
While tiie stormy winds do blow ; 
While the battle ragi.'s loud and long, 
And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

.Sliall start from every wave ; 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And ocean was their grave. 

Wlierc Blake and miglity Xelson fell. 

Your manly hearts shall glow. 

As ye sweep through the deep. 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwarks. 

No towers along the steep ; 

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves. 

Her home is on the ilccp. 

With thunders from her native oak, 

Slie ijuells the floods t«;low, — 

An they roar on the shore. 

When the stormy winds do blow ; 

When the battle rages loud and long 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

Tlie meteor flag of England 

Sliall yet terrific burn ; 

Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To tlie fame of your name, 

Wlien the stonn has ceased to blow ; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 



TOM BOWLING. 

Heue, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 

The darling of our crew ; 
No more he '11 hear the tempest howling, 

For death has broached him to. 
His form was of the manliest beautj'. 

His heart was kind and soft ; 
Faithful, below, he did his duty ; 

But now he 's gone aloft. 

Tom never from his word departed. 

His virtues were so rare. 
His friends were many ancl true-hearted. 

His Poll was kind and fair: 
And then he 'd sing, so blithe and jolly, 

.\h, many 's the time and oft ! 



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PUEMS OF THE SEA. 



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But mirth is turned to melancholy, 
For Tom is gone aloft. 

Yet shall jiooi- Tom find pleasant weather, 

When He who all commands 
Shall give, to call life's crew together. 

The word to "pipe all hands." 
Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, 

In vain Tom's life has dolled : 
For though his body 's umler hatches, 

His soul has gone aloft. 

CHARLES DIBDIN. 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 

The sea was bright, and the bark rode well ; 
The breeze bore the tone of the vesper boll ; 
'T was a gallant bark with a crew as brave 
As ever launched on the heaving wave. 
She shone in the light of decliinng day. 
And each sail was set, and each lieart was gay. 

They neared the land wlicre in licauty smiles 
The .sunny shore of the Creciari Isles"; 
All thought of home, of that welcome dear 
Which soon should greet each wanderer's ear ; 
Aiul in fancy joined the social throng 
In the festive dance and the joyous song. 

A white cloud glides through the azure sky, — 
What means that wild despairing cry? 
Farewell the visioned scenes of home ! 
That cry is "Help," where no help can come; 
For the White Si|uall rides on the surging wave, 
And the liark is 'gulfed in an ocean grave. 



THE WHITE SQUALL, 



t^- 



On deck, beneath the awning, 
I dozing lay and yawning ; 
It was the gray of dawning, 

Ere yet the sun arose : 
And above the funnel's roaring, 
And the fitful wind's deploring, 
1 heard the cabin snoring 

Witli universal nose. 
1 could hear the passengers snorting, 
I envied their disporting, — 
Vainly I was courting 

The pleasure of a doze. 

So I lay, and wondered why light 
Came not, and watched the twilight, 
And the glimmer of the skylight. 
That shot across the deck ; 



And the binnacle pale and steady. 
And the dull gliuipse of the dead-eye, 
And the sparks in liery eddy 

That whirletl from the chimney neck. 
In our jovial lloating prison 
There was sleep from fore to mizzeu, 
And never a star had risen 

The hazy sky to speck. 
Strange company we harbored : 
We d a hundred Jews to larboard. 
Unwashed, uneomlied, unbarbered, — 

Jews black and brown and gray. 

With terror it would seize ye. 
And make your soids uneasy. 
To see those Kaliliis greasy. 

Who did naught but .scratch and pray. 
Their dirty cluldreu puking, — 
Their dirty saucepans cooking, — 
Their dirty fingers hooking 

Their swarnung lleas away. 

To starboard Turks and f! reeks were, — 
Whiskered and browu their cheeks were, 
Enormous wide their breeks were, — 

Their pipes did pulf away ; 
Each on his mat allotted 
In silence smoked and .squatted, 
Whilst round their children trotted 

In pretty, pleasant play. 
He can't but smile who traces 
The smiles on those brown faces, 
And the pretty, prattling graces 

Of those small heathens gay. 

And so the liours kept tolling; 

And through the ocean rolling 

Went the brave Iberia bowling, 

Before the break of day, — 

When a sciuall, U]>ou a sudilen, 
Came o'er the waters scudding ; 
And the clouds began to gather, 
.\nil the sea was lashed to lather, 
.Villi the lowering thunder grumbled, 
.\nd the lightning jumped and tumbled. 
Anil the ship, and all the ocean. 
Woke up in wild commotion. 
Then the wind set up a howling, 
And the poodle-dog a yowling, 
An<l the cocks began a crowing. 
Anil the old cow raised a lowing. 
As she heard the tempest blowing ; 
And fowls and geese did cackle, 
And the cordage and the tackle 
Began to shriek and crackle ; 
And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, 
And down the deck in runnels ; 



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POEMS OF THE SEA. 



589 



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& 



And tlie msliing water soaks all, 
Ffoin tlie seamen in the fo'ksal 
To the stokers, whose black faces 
Peer out of their bed-places ; 
And the captain he was bawling, 
And the sailors pulling, hauling. 
And the quarter-deck tarpauling 
Was shivered in the squalling ; 
And the passengers awaken, 
Most pitifully shaken ; 
And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
For the necessary basins. 

Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered. 

And they knelt and moaned and shivered. 

As the plunging waters met them, 

And splashed and overset them ; 

And they called in their emergence 

Upon countless saints and virgins ; 

And their maiTOwbones are bended, 

And they think the world is ended. 

And the Turkish women for'ard 

Were frightened and behorrored ; 

And, shrieking and bewildering, 

The mothers clutched their children ; 

The men sang " Allah ! Illah ! 

Ihishallah Bismillah ! " 

As the warring waters doused them. 

And splashed them and soused them ; 

And they called upon the Prophet, 

Who thought but little of it. 

Then all the fleas in Jewiy 

Jumped up and bit like fury ; 

And the progeny of Jacob 

Did on the main-deck wake up, 

(1 wot those greasy Rabbins 

Would never pay for rabins ;) 

And cai'h man moaned .ind jabbered in 

His filthy Jewish gabardine, 

In woe and lamentation, 

And howling consternation. 

And the splashing water drenches 

Their dirty brats and wenches ; 

And they crawl from bales and benches. 

In a hundred thousand stenches. 

This was the white squall famous. 

Which latterly o'ercame us. 

And which all will well remember. 

On the 28th September ; 

Wlien a Prussian captain of Lancers 

(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) 

l-'ame on tlie deck astonished. 

By that wild squall admonished, 

And wondering cried, ' ' Potz tausend, 

Wie ist der Stiirm jetzt brausend ? " 

And looked at Captain Lewis, 



Who calmly stood and blew his 

Cigar in all the bustle. 

And scorned the tempest's tussle. 

And oft we 've thought hereafter 

How he beat the storm to laughter ; 

For well he knew his vessel 

With that vain wind could wrestle ; 

And wlien a wrecli we thought her. 

Ami doomed oureelves to slaughter, 

How gayly he fought her, 

And througli the hubbub brought her. 

And as the tempest caught her, 

Cried, "George, some brandy and water ! ' 

And when, its force c.\[iended. 
The harmless storm Wiis ended, 
And as the sunrise sjilendid 

Came blushing o'er the sea, — 
I thought, as day was breaking, 
My little girls were waking, 
And smiling, and making 

A prayer at liome for me. 

WlLLlA.M MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 



OTJR BOAT TO THE WAVES. 

Our boat to the waves go free. 

By the bending tide, where the curled wave 

breaks. 
Like the track of the wind on the wldte snow- 
flakes ; 
Away, away ! 'T is a path o'er the soa. 

Blasts may rave, — spread the sail. 

For our spirits can wrest the power from the 
wind, 

And the gray clouds yield to the sunny mind. 
Fear not we the whirl of the g.ale. 

WILLIAM HI.LERY CHANNING. 



To sea ! to sea ! the calm is o'er, 

The wanton water leaps in sport. 
And rattles down the pebbly shore. 

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, 
And unseen mermaid's pearly song 
Comes bulibling up, the weeds among. 
Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar : 
To sea ! to sea ! the calm is o'er. 

To sea ! to sea ! our white-winged bark 
Shall billowing cleave its watery way. 

And with its shadow, fleet and dark. 
Break the caved Triton's azure day, 



'-S 



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590 



POEMS OF THE SEA. 



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Like mountain eagle soai'ing light 

O'er antelopes on Alpine height. 

The anchor heaves ! The sliip swings fi-ee ! 

Our sails swell full ! To sea ! to sea ! 

THOMAS UOVELL B£01>0ES. 



THE SAILOKS CONSOLATION. 

One night came on a hurricane. 

The sea was niountains Killing, 
When Biuuey Buntlinc turned his nuiil, 

And said to ISiUy Bowling : 
"A strong nor'wester 's blowing. Bill ; 

Hark ! don't ye hear it roar now ? 
Lord help "em, how 1 pities all 

Unhappy folks on sJioiv now ! 

Koolhaixly chai>s who live in towns, 
What danger they are all in, 

And now lie quaking in their beds, 
For fear the roof shall fall in ; 



Poor civatui-es ! how they envies ns. 

And wishes, I 've a notion. 
For our gooii luck, in such a storm, 

To be upon the ocean ! 

And as for them who "re out all day 

On business from their houses. 
And late at night are coming home. 

To cheer their babes and sixnises, — 
While you and 1, Bill, on the deck 

Are comfortably lying. 
My eyes ! what tiles and chimney-pots 

About their heads aie flying ! 

And vei-y often have we heai-d 

How men are killed and undone 
By overturns of carriages. 

By thieves and fires in London. 
We know what risks all landsmen run. 

From noblemen to tailors ; 
Then, Bill, let us thank 1^'ovideuce 

That you and I are sailoi-s." 

TltO.MAS Hoou* 



«sly anribme\i lo Charles Dibdin. 



U- 



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yPc/^ "c^m^TTZa^/UM^ /^CI- JlVtcj^ 

^n) 97021// t~ (/en. /XT' cu^a^^^ i^i-e^ /^sA^ i-^h^ j 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL 
SPORTS. 



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CHEVT-CHASE. 

[Percy. Earl of Northumberland, had vowed to hunt for three 
days in the Scottish border, without condescending to asic leave 
from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of the soil or lord warden 
of the Marches. This provoked the conflict which was celebrated 
in the old ballad of the " Hunting o" the Cheviot." The circum- 
stances of the battle of Otterboume (A. D. rjSSl are woven into the 
ballad, and the affairs of the two events are confounded The bal- 
lad preserved in the Percy Reliques is probably as old as 15; 
The one following is a modernized form, of the time of James I.] 

God prosper long our noble king, 

Our lives and safeties all ; 
A woful hunting once there did 

In C'hevy-t'hase befall. 

To drive the deer with hound and horn 

Earl Percy took his way ; 
The child may rue that is unborn 

The hunting of that day. 

The stout Earl of Northumberland 

A vow to God did make. 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 

Three summer days to take, — 

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase 

To kill and bear away. 
These tidings to Earl Douglas came, 

In Scotland where he lay ; 

Who sent Earl Percy present word 

He would prevent his sport. 
The English earl, not fearing that. 

Did to the woods resort. 

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold. 

All chosen men of might. 
Who knew full well in time of need 

To aim their shafts aright. 

The gallant gi-eyhounds swiftly ran 

To chase the fallow deer ; 
On Monday they began to hunt. 

When daylight did appear ; 

And long before high noon they had 
A hundred fat bucks slain : 



Then, having dined, the drovers went 
To rouse the deer again. 

The bowmen mustered on the hills. 

Well able to endure ; 
And all their rear, with special care, 

That day was guarded sure. 

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods 

The nimble deer to take. 
That witli their cries the hills and dales 

An echo shrill did make. 

Lord Percy to the quarry went. 
To view the slaughtered deer ; 

Quoth he, "Earl Douglas promised 
This day to meet me here ; 

" But if I tliought he would not come. 

No longer would I stay" ; 
AVith that a brave young gentleman 

Thus to the earl did say : — 

' ' Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, — 

His men in ai-mor bright ; 
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears 

AH marching in our sight ; 

" All men of pleasant Teviotdale, 

Fast by the river Tweed " ; 
"Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said, 

' ' And take your bows with speed ; 

" And now with me, my countrymen, 

Your courage forth advance ; 
For never was there champion yet, 

In Scotland or in France, 

' ' That ever did on horseback come. 

But if my hap it were, 
1 durst encounter man for man, 

AVith him to break a spear." 

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed. 

Most like a baron bold, 
Rode foremost of his company, 

AA'^hose armor shone like gold. 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



h 



"Slunv me," said he, "whose men you be 

That hunt so boldly here, 
That, witliout my cousent, do chase 

Aiid kill my fallow-deer." 

The first man that did answer make. 

Was noble I'ercy ho — 
AVlio said, "We list not to declare. 

Nor show whose men we be : 

" Yet will we spend our dearest blood 

Thy chiefest harts to slay." 
Then IVniglas swore u solemn oath. 

And thus in ras^e did say : 

" Ere thus 1 will out-brartd be. 

One of US two shall die ; 
I know thee well, an earl thou art, — 

LokI Percy, so am 1. 

' ' But trust me, Percy, pity it were, 

And gi-eat offense, to kill 
Any of these our guiltless men. 

For they have done no ill. 

"Let you and me the battle try. 

And set our men aside." 
"Accursed be he," Earl Percy said, 

" By whom this is denied." 

Then stepped a gallant sipiirc forth, 

Witheriugton was his name, 
AVho said, " 1 would not have it told 

To Henry, our king, for shame, 

"That e'er my captain fought on foot. 

And I stood looking on. 
You two be earls," said Withcrington, 

' ' And I a sqtiire alone ; 

" I '11 do the best that do I may. 
While I have power to stand ; 

While I have power to wield my sword 
I '11 figlit with heart and hand." 

Our English archers bent their bows, — 
Their hearts were good and true ; 

At the first flight of arrows sent. 
Full fourscore Scots they slew. 

Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent, 

.\s chieftain stout and good ; 
As valiant captain, all unmoved. 

The shock he firmly stood. 

His host ho parted had in three. 

As leader ware and tried ; 
And soon his spearmen on their foes 

Bore down on every side. 



Throughout the Euglish archery 
They dealt full many a wound ; 

But still our valiant Englishmen 
AU firmly kept their ground. 

And throwing straight their bows away, 
They gra.sped their swords so bright ; 

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, 
On shields and helmets light. 

They closed full fast on every side, — 
No slackness there was found ; 

And many a gallant gentleman 
Lay gasping on the ground. 

In troth, it was a grief to see 
How each one chose liis spear. 

And how the blood out of their breasts 
Did gush like water clear. 

At last these two stout earls did meet ; 

Like captains of great might. 
Like lions wode, they laid on lode. 

And made a cruel fight. 

They fought until they both did sweat, 
With swords of tempered steel, 

Until the blood, like drops of rain, 
They trickling down did feel. 

"Yield thee, Loixl Percy," Douglas said, 

"In faith I will thee bring 
"Wliere thou shalt high advancW be 

By James, our Scottish king. 

"Thy ransom I will freely give. 

And this report of thee, — 
Thou art the most courageous knight 

That ever I did see." 

"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then, 

' ' Thy proffer I do scorn ; 
I will not yield to any Scot 

That ever yet was bora." 

With that there eanie an arrow keen 

Out of an English bow. 
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, ■ 

A deep and deadly blow ; 

AVho never spake more words than these : 
" Fight on, my merry men all ; 

For why, my life is at an end ; 
Lord Percy sees my fall." 

Then leaving life. Earl Percy took 

The dead man by the hand ; 
And said, "Earl Douglas, fur thy life 

Would I had lost my land. 



POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



593 



tD 



" In truth, my very heart doth bleed 

With soriow for thy sake ; 
For sure a more redoubted knight 

Mischance did never take." 

A knight amongst the Scots there was 

Wlio saw Earl Douglas die, 
Wlio straight in wrath did vow revenge 

Upon the Earl Percy. 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery wa.s he called, 
Who, with a spear full bright, 

Well mounted on a gallant steed, 
Ran fiercely through the fight ; 

And past the English archers all, 

Witliout a dread or fear ; 
And through Earl Percy's body then 

He thrust his hateful spear. 

With such vehement force and might 

He did his body gore. 
The staff ran through the other side 

A large cloth-yard and more. 

So llius did both these nobles die. 
Whose courage none could stain. 

An lOnglish archer then perceived 
Tlie noble earl was slain. 

He had a bow bent in his hand. 

Made of a trusty ti'ee ; 
An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

To tlie hard head haled he. 

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery 

So right the shaft he set, 
Tlie gray goose wing that was thereon 

In his heart's blood was wet. 

This fight did last from break of day 

Till setting of the sun ; 
For when they rung the evening-bell 

The battle scarce was done. 

With stout Earl Percy there were slain 

Sir John of Egerton, 
Sir Robert RatcIiH', and Sir John, 

Sir James, that bold baron. 

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 
Both knights of good account. 

Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, 
Wliose prowess did surmount. 

For Witherington my heart is woe 

That ever he slain should be. 
For when his legs were hewn in two. 

He knelt and fought on his knee. 



And with Earl Douglas there were slain 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery, 
Sir Charles Murray, that I'rom the field 

One foot would never Uec ; 

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, — 

His sister's son was he ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, 

liut saved he could not be. 

And the Lord Maxwell in like case 

Did with Earl Douglas die : 
Of twenty hundred .Scottish spears. 

Scarce fifty-five did fly. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 

Went home but fifty-three ; 
The rest in Chevy-C'liase were slain. 

Under the greenwood tree. 

Ne.xt day did many widows come. 

Their husbands to bewail ; 
They washed tlieir wounds in brinish tears. 

Hut all would not prevail. 

Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, 

Tlicy bore with them away ; 
They kissed tliem dead a thou.sand times. 

Ere they were clad in clay. 

The news was brought to Edinburgh, 
Wliere Scotland's king did reign. 

That brave Earl Douglas suddenly 
Was with an arrow slain : 

" heavy news," King James did say ; 

".Scotland can witness be 
I have not any captain more 

Of such account as he." 

Like tidings to King Henry came 

Within as short a space, 
That Percy of Northuml>erland 

Was slain in Chevy-Chase : 

" Now God be 'with him," said our King, 

" Since 't will no better be ; 
I trust I have within my realm 

Five hundred as good as he : 

" Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say 

But 1 will vengeance take ; 
I '11 be revengtd on them all 

For brave Earl Percy's .'sake." 

This vow full wei! the King performed 

After at Humbledown ; 
In one day fifty knights were slain 

With lords of high renown ; 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



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And of the rest, of small account, 

Dill many hundreds die ; 
Thus endeth the liunting of Chevy-Chose, 

Made by the Earl I'ercy. 

God save the king, and bless this land. 

With plenty, joy, and peace ; 
And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 

'Twixt noblemen may cease. 

RICHARD SHEALH. 



ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. 

[Of Robin HooJ. the f.uiunis outliiw of ShcrwooJ Forest, and Ills 
merry men, there are many ballads i but the limits of this volimic 
forbid onr giving more than a single selection. 

Various periods, ranging from the time of Richard 1. to the end 
of the reign of Edward II,. have been assigned as the age in which 
Robin Hood lived. He is usually described as a yeom,-tn, abiding 
in Sherwood Forest, in Nottinghamshire, His most noted followers, 
generally mentioned in the ballads, are Little John, Friar Tuck, 
his chaplain, and his maid Marian. Nearly all the legends extol his 
courage, his generosity, his humanity, and his skill as an archer. 
He robbed the rich only, who could afford to lose, and gave Jreely 
til th.' iK'iT. He protected the needy, was a champion of the fair 
sc\, .iiul took great delight in plundering prelates. The following 
ballad exhibits the outlaw in one of his most attractive aspects. — 
affording assistance to a distressed lover.] 



Come, listen to me, you gaUants so free, 
All you that love mirth for to hear, 

And I will tell you of a bolil outlaw, 
That lived in Nottinghamshire. 

As liobin Hood in the forest stood. 

All under the greenwood tree. 
There he was aware of a brave young man. 

As fine as tine might be. 

The youngster was clad in scarlet red, 

In scarlet fine and gay ; 
Ami lie did frisk it over the plain, 

And chanted a roundelay. 

As Kobin Hood next morning stood 

Amongst the leaves so gay. 
There ditl he espy the same young man 

Come drooping along the way. 

The scarlet he wore the day before 

It was clean cast away ; 
And at every step he fetched a sigh, 

" Alack and well-a-tlay ! " 

Then steppJ'il forth brave Little John, 

And llidge, the miller's son ; 
"Which made the young man bend his bow, 

Wheiias he see them come. 

"Stand oft'! stand oil"!" the young man said, 
" What is your will with me ? " 

' ' You must come before our master sti'a (ght, 
Under yon greenwood tree." 



And when he came bold Eobin before, 

Kobin asked him courteously, 
" 0, hiist thou any money to .spare. 

For my merry men and me ? " 

" I have no money," the young man said, 

" But five shillings and a ring ; 
And that I have kept these seven long years. 

To have at my wedding. 

" Yesterday 1 should have married a maid. 

But she was from me ta'en. 
And chosen to be an old knight's delight. 

Whereby my poor heart is slain." 

" What is thy name ? " then said Robin Hood, 

" Come tell me without any fail." 
" By the faith of my body," then said the young 
man, 

" My name it is AUen-a-Dale." 

" Wliat wilt thou give mo," said Kobin Hooil, 

" In ready gokl or fee, 
To help thee to thy true-love again, 

And deliver her luito thee ? " 

" I have no money," then ijuoth the young man, 

" No ready gold nor fee. 
But I will swear upon a book 

Thy true servant for to be." 

" How many miles is it to thy true-love ? 

Come tell me without guile. " 
" By the faith of my body," then said the young 
man, 

" It is but five little mile." 

Then Kobin he hasted over the plain. 

He did neither stint nor liu,* 
Until he came unto tht^ church 

AVhere Allen should keep his weilding." 

" What hast thou here ? " the bishop then said, 

" 1 prithee now tell unto me." 
" I am a bold harper," ijuoth Kobin Hood, 

" And the best in the north country." 

"0, welcome, 0, welcome," the bishop he said, 

"That music best pleaseth me." 
"You shall have no music," quoth Kobin Hood, 

" Till the bride and bridegroom 1 see." 

With that came in a wealthy knight, 

Which was both gi-ave and oltl ; 
And after him a finikin lass, 

Did shine like the glistering gold. 



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" This is not a tit iiiatcli," rjuoth Robin Hood, 
' ' That you do seem to make here ; 

For since we are come into the church, 
The bride shall chuse her own dear." 

Tlien Itobin Hood put his horn to his mouth, 

And blew blasts two and three ; 
When four-and-twi'iity yeomen bold 

Came leaping over the lea. 

And when they came into the churchyard, 

Marching all in a row, 
The very first man was AUen-a-Dale, 

To give bold Kobiu his bow. 

"This is thy true-love," Robin he said, 

" Young Allen, as I hear say ; 
Ami you shall be married at this same time, 

Lietbre wo depart away." 

" That shall not be," the bishop he ciied, 

" For thy word shall not stand ; 
They shall be three times asked in the church. 

As the law is of our land." 

Roljin Hood ]julled off the bishop's coat. 

Anil put it u]ion Little John ; 
" By the faith of my body," then Robin said, 

" This cloth doth make thee a man." 

When Little .John went into the (juire. 

The people began to laugh ; 
He asked them seven times in the church 

Lest three times should not be enough. 

" Who gives me this maid ? " said Little John, 
Quoth Robin Hood, " That do I ; 

Ami he that takes her from AUen-a-Dale, 
Full dearly he shall her buy." 

And then, having ended this merry wedding, 

The bride looked like a queen ; 
And so they returned to the meiry greenwood, 

.'Vmongst the leaves so green. 

Anonymous. 



JOCK JOHNSTONE, THE TINKLER. 

"0, CAME ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford, 
Or down the King's Road of the cleuch ? * 

Or saw ye a knight and a lady bright, 

Wlia ha'e gane the gate they baith shall rue ? ' 

" I saw a knight and a lady bright 
Ride up the cleuch at the break of day ; 

The knight upon a coal-black steed. 
And the dame on one of a silver-gi'ay. 



" And the lady's palfrey flew the first, 
With many a clang of silver bell : 

Swift as the raven's morning flight 
The two went scouring ower the fell. 

" liy this time they are man and wife. 
And standing in St. Mary's fane ; 

And the lady in the grass-green silk 
A maid you will never see again." 

" Hut I can tell thee, saucy wight, — 
And that the runaway shall prove, — 

Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet 
As maiden charms or maiden's love." 

" Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas, 
(Jood faith some clinking there will be ; 

Ik-shrew my heart but and my sword. 
If I winna turn and ride with thee ! " 

They whipped out ower the Shepherd Cleuch, 
And douu the links o' the Corsedeuch Bum ; 

And aye the Douglas swore by his sword 
To win his love, or ne'er return. 

" First fight your rival. Lord Douglas, 

And then brag after, if you may ; 
For the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord 

As ever gave good weapon sway. 

" But I for ae poor siller raerk. 
Or thii-teen pennies and a bawbee, 

Will tak in hand to fight you baith. 
Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be." 

The Douglas turned him on his steed, 
And I wat a loud laughter leuch he : 

" Of a' the fools 1 have ever met, 
Man, I ha'e never met ane like thee. 

' ' Art thou .akin to lord or knight. 
Or coui-tly sijuire or warrior leal ? " 

" I am a tinkler," quo' the wight, 
" But I like croun-cracking unco weeL" 

When they came to St. Mary's kirk. 
The chaplain shook for very fear ; 

And aye he kissed the cross, and said, 

" What deevil has sent that Douglas here ' 

" He neither values book nor ban. 

But curses all without demur ; 
And cares nae mair for a holy man 

Than I do for a worthless cur." 

"Come Ill-re, thou bland and brittle priest, 

.•\nd tell to me without delay 
Where you have hid the lord of Ross 

And the lady that came at the break of day. " 



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" No knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, 
Have I boheld since bieak of morn ; 

And I never saw the lord of Kos3 

Since the woful day that I was bora." 

Lord Douglas turned him round about, 
And looked the Tinkler in the face ; 

Where he lieheld a lurking smile, 
And a deevil of a dour grimace. 

" How 's this, how 's this, thou Tinkler loun '! 

Hast Ihou j)resumetl to lie on me ? " 
" Faith thill I have ! " the Tinkler said, 

"And a right good turn 1 have done to thee ; 

" For the lord of Ross and thy own true-love. 
The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, 

Kude west away, ore the break of day ; 
And you '11 never see the dear maid again ; 

" So I thought it best to bring you here. 
On a wrang scent, of my own accord ; 

For had you met the Johnstone clan, 
Tliey wad ha'e made mince-meat of a lord." 

At this the Douglas was so wroth 

Ho wist not what to say or do ; 
But he strak the Tinkler o'er the croun. 

Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow. 

" lioshrew my heart," quo' the Tinkler lad, 
" Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye ! 

If these are the manners of a lord, 
Thoy are manners tliatwinuagangdounwi' me." 

" Hold up thy hand," the Douglas cried, 
"And keep thy distance. Tinkler loun !" 

"That will 1 not," the Tinkler said, 

" Though I and ray mure should both go 
douu ! " 

" 1 have armor on," ei-ied the Lonl Douglas, 
"Cuirass and helm, as you may see." 

" The doil mo care ! " quo' tho Tinkler lad ; 
" 1 shall have a skolp at them and thee." 

" You are not horsed," quo' the Lord Douglas, 
" And no remorse this weapon brooks." 

" Mine 's a right good yaud," ijuo' the Tinkler 
lad, 
" And a great ileal better nor slie looks. 

"So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord. 
What 1 have taken 1 needs must give ; 

Tliou slialt never strike a tinkler again, 
F(U' tlio langest day thou hast to live. " 

Then to it they fell, both sharp and snell, 
Till the fire from both their weapons Hew ; 

But the very first shock that they met with, 
Tho Douglas his rashness 'gan to ruo. 



For though he had on a sark of mail, 
And a cuirass on his breast wore he, 

With a good steel bonnet on his head, 
Yet the blood ran trickling to his knee. 

The Douglas sat upright and finn. 

Aye as together their horses ran ; 
But the Tinkler laid on like a very deil, — 

Siccan strokes were never laid on by man. 

" Hold up thy hand, thou Tinkler loun," 
Cried the poor priest, with whining din ; 

" If thou liurt the brave Lord .lames Douglas, 
A curse be on thee and all thy kin ! " 

" I care no more for Lord James Douglas 
Than Lord .lames Douglas cares for me ; 

But 1 want to let his proud heart know 
That a tinkler 's a man as well ns he." 

So they fought on, and they fought on, 
Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone ; 

And the Tinkler bore him to the ground, 
With rush, with rattle, and with groan. 

" O liiin ! ( • liou ! " cried the proud Douglas, 
" That 1 this day should have lived to sec ! 

For sure my honor I have lost, 

And a leader again I can never be ! 

" But tell me of thy kith and kin, 
And where was bred thy weapon hand ? 

For thou art the wale of tinkler louns 
That ever was born in fair Scotland." 

" My name 's Jock Johnstone," quo' the wight ; 

" 1 winna keep in my name frae thee ; 
Anil here, tak thou thy sword again. 

And better friends we two shall be." 

But the Douglas swore a solemn oath. 
That was a debt he could never owe ; 

He would rather die at the back of the dike 
Thau owe his sword to a man so low. 

"But if thou wilt ride under my banner. 
And bear my livery and my name, 

My right-hand warrior thou shalt lie 

Aud I '11 kuight thee on the field of fame." 

" Woe worth thy wit, good Lord Douglas, 
To think I 'd change my trade for thine ; 

Far lietter and wiser would you be. 
To live a journeyman of mine, 

' ' To mend a kettle or a casque , 
Or clout a goodwife's yettlin' pan, — 

Upon my life, good Lord Douglas, 
You \i make a noble tinkler-man ! 



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' ' I would give you a drammock twice a day, 

And suiikets ou a Sunday niuru, 
And you should be a rare adi'jjt 

In steel and copper, brass :ind born ! 

" I 'II fight you every day you rise, 

Till you can act the hero's part ; 
Therefore, I pray you, tlduk of this, 

Aud lay it seriously to heart." 

The Douglas writhed beneath the lash. 
Answering with an inward curse, — 

Like salmon wriggling on a spear. 
That makes his deadly wound the worse. 

liut up there came two squires renowned ; 

In search of Lord Douglas they came ; 
And when they saw their master down, 

i'lieir spirits mounted in a tlame. 

Anil they flew upon the Tinkler wight, 

l.ikr |..-ir.r(, tiL'rrs ou their prey : 
Hut till Til! I. in lir.ived his trusty sword, 
And nude l.iin ready for the fray. 

"Uunic one to one, ye eowanl knaves, — 
1 'oiiie hand to hand, and steed to steed ; 

1 would that ye were better men, 
For this is glorious work indeed ! " 

lieforc you could have counted twelve. 

The Tinkler's wondrous chivalrye 
Hail both the squires upon the sward, 

And their horses galloping o'er the lea. 

Th(! Tinkler tied them neck and heel. 

And mony a biting jest gave he : 
" lie, for shame ! " said the Tinkler lad ; 

"Siccan fighters I did never see ! " 

111- slit one iif their bridle reins,— 
(>, wli.it ilisj,n:iir th. r,, liquored feels I — 

And hi' sl<il[iil the squiies with that good tawse, 
'I'ill tlie blood ran o(f at baith their heels. 

Thr Douglas ho was forced to laugh 
Till down his cheek the salt tear ran : 

" I think the deevil be come here 
In the likeness of a tinkler man ! " 

Then ho has to Lord Douglas gone, 

And ho raised him kindly by the hand, 

And be set him on his gallant steed, 
And bore him away to Henderland : 

" I!e not cost down, my Lord Douglas, 
Nor writlie beneath a broken banc ; 

For the leech's art will mend the part, 
Arid your honor lost will spring again. 



" 'T is true, Jock Johnstone is ray name ; 

I 'ra a right good tinkler, as you see ; 
For I can crack a casque betimes. 

Or clout one, as my need may be. 

" Jiiek .Johnstone is my name, 'tis true, — 
liut noble hearts are allied to me ; 

For 1 am the loi'd of Annandale, 

And a knight and earl as well as thee." 

Then Douglas strained the hero's hand, 
And took from it his sword again : 

"Since thou art tlie lord of Annandale, 
Thou hast eased my he.irt of meikle pain. 

" 1 might have known thy noble form 
111 that disguise thou 'rl pleiused to wear ; 

All .Scotland knows thy matcliless arm, 
Ami England by e.xi)eriene<! dear. 

" We have been fui-s as well as friends. 
And jealous of each other's sway ; 

liut little can I compreluuid 
Thy motive for these pranks to-day." 

"Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell, 
'T w:us 1 that stole youi' love away, 

And gave her to the lord of Ross 
An hour before the break of day ; 

" For the lord of Koss is my brother, 

Uy all the laws of chivalrye ; 
And 1 brought with me a thousand men 

To guard him to niy ain countryo. 

" Hut I thought meet to stay behind, 
And try your lordship to w.iylay, 

Ilesolved to lireed some noble sport, 
Hy leading you so far a.stray. 

"Juilging it better some lives to spare, — 
Which fancy takes me now and then, — 

And settle our quarrel hand to hanil. 
Than each with our ten thousand men. 

' ' God send you soon, my Lord Douglas, 
To Border foray sound and haill ! 

But never .strike a tinkler again, 

If he be a .Johnstone of Annandale." 

James Hogg. 



DEATH OF ARTHXTR. 

So all day long the noise of battle rolled 
Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 
Until I^ing Arthur's Table, man by man, 
Had fallen in Lyoness about their lord. 
King Arthur : then, because his wound waa deep, 
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, 
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his Knights, 



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And boro him to n chajiel nigh the lield, 
A broken chancel witli a broken cross, 
That stood on a dark stniit of barren land. 
On one side lay the Ocean, and mi one 
Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 

Then spake King .\rtluir to Sir Bedivere : 
"The scijuel of to-ilay imsoldei's all 
The goodliest fellowship of famous kniglits 
Whereof this world holds roconl. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men 1 loveii. I think that we 
Shall nevermore, at any future titne, 
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. 
Walking about tlie gaiilens and the halls 
Of Camelot, as in tlio days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Though Merlin sware that 1 should como again 
To rule once more ; but let what will be, bo. 
I am so deeply smitten through the helm 
That without help 1 cannot last till morn. 
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
Which was my prido : for thou remomlwrest how 
In those old days, one summer noon, an lU'm 
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
Holding the sword — and how I rowed across 
And took it, and have worn it, like a king ; 
And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
In after-time, this also shall bo known : 
But now delay not : take E.\ealibur, 
And tling him far into the middle mere : 
Watch what thou scest, and lightly bring mc 
word." 

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 
Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm. 
A little thing may harm a wounded man ; 
Yet 1 thy hest will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee woi-d." 

So saying, from the ruined shrine he slept 
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with Hakes of foam, lie, stepping 

down 
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointcii rock, 
Camo on the shining levels of the lake. 

There drew he forth the hrand Kxcalibur, 
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon. 
Brightening the skirts of a long eloud, ran forth 
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 
For all the haft twinkled with diamond studs. 
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work 
Of subtlest jewelry. Ho gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood. 



This way and tliat dividing the swift mind. 
In act to thnnv : but at the hist it seemed 
Better to leave Excalibur concealed 
There in the many-knotted water-Hags, 
That whistU'd stilfand dry about the marge. 
So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Hast thou performed my mission which I gavel 
What is it thou hast seen .' or what hast heard /" 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heaixl the ripple washing in the iveds, 
.\nd the wild water lapping on the en\g." 

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and imle : 
"Thou hast betiiiyed thy nature and thy n.imc, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseemed 
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 
For suivr sign had followed, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the u\ere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, ipiiekly go again, 
/Vs thou art lief and dear, and do the thing 
I bade thee, watch, aud lightly bring me word." 

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
.\cross the ridge, and paced beside the mere, 
t\)unting the dewy pebbles, fi.xed in thought ; 
But when he saw the wonder of tlie hilt. 
How curiously and strangely chased, he smoto 
His palms together, and ho cried aloud : — 

*' And if indeed I cast the brand away, 
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, 
Should thus be lost forever from the eartJi, 
Which might have pU'ased the eyes of many men. 
What good should follow this, if this were donot 
What harm, undone / deep harm to disobey, 
-Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 
-Vu act unprofitable, against himself '! 
The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
What record, or what relic of my lord 
Should be to after-time, but empty breath 
And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept. 
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 
Some one might show it at a joust of arms. 
Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
Wrought by the lonely maiilcn of the Lake. 
Nine years she ^vrought it, sitting in the deeps 
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' 
So might some old man speak in the after-time 
To all tlie iicople, winning reverence. 
But now nuirh honor and nuuh fame were lo.st." 

So siKike he, clouded with his own conceit, 
.\nd hill Kxcalibur the second time. 
And so strode back slow to the wounded King 



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'I'lioii spoke King Arthur, l;reathing heavily : 
' ' W'liat i» it thou liaHt Btcu I or wlmt liast heard ?" 

Anil answer rnadc the bold Sir Bedivero; 
" I lieard the water lapping on the crag, 
Ami the long ripple washing in the reeds." 

I'll whom replied King Aitluir, rnueli in WTath : 
"All, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
Uiiknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woo i» me ! 
Autliority forgets a dying king, 
Laid widowed ol' the powi'r in his eye 
Tliat liowed the will. I see thee what thou art. 
For Ihoii, tlie latestdeft of all my knights 
In wliom should meet the odiees of all. 
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, 
And tlie third time may prosper, get thee hence : 
IJut, if lliou spare to fling Excalibur, 
i will arise and slay tlice with my liands." 

'I'lion <juickly rose Sir Hedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword. 
Anil strongly wlieelcd and threw it. The great 

brand 
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, 
And Hashing round and round, and whirled in an 

arch, 
Slicit like a streamer of the northern mom, 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur : 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
And crm;,'l]t him liy the hilt, and brandished 1dm 
Tiiii-'- liiru's, and drew him under in the mere. 
Anil li;,'htly went tlie other to the King. 

Tlicn spoke K'lUi; .\rthur, drawing thicker 
breath : 
"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen ? " 

And answer made the liold Sir Bedivere : 
"Sir King, I clo.sed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 
Nor shall see, liero or elsewhere, till I die. 
Not though I live three lives of mortal men. 
So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both liands I flung him, wheeling 

him ; 
Hut when I looked again, behold an arm. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 



y^- 



I And answer made King Arthur, breathing 
hard : 
"My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone. 

J Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. 
And bear me to the margin ; yet 1 fear 
-My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." 

So saying, from the ]>avenicnt he half roge, 
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his ann. 
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
As in a iiicture. Him Sir Bedivero 
Hemorsefully regarded through his tears. 
And would have spoken, but he found not words ; 
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, 
(J'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, 
And rising bore him througli the place of tombs. 

But, as he walked. King Arthur panted hard, 
Mkc one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
When all the house is mute. So sighed tha 

King, 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear "Quick, 

fjuick ! 
I fear it is too late, and 1 shall die." 
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, &h he 

walked. 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard tlie dee[i behiml him, and a cry 
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. 
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black clilf clanged round him, as ho 

based 
His feet on juts of slii>pei-y crag that rang 
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armW heels — 
And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake. 
And the long glories of the wbiter moon. 

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. 
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 
I5eneath them ; and descending they were ware 
That all the de<;ks were dense with stately forms, 
Black-stoled, black-lioodcd, like a dream, — by 

tliese 
Three Quecms with crowns of gold, — and from 

them rose 
A cry that shivered to tlie tingling stars. 
Anil, as it were one voice, an agony 
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills 
All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 
Or hath come, since the making of the world. 

Then mm-mured Arthur, " Place me in the 

barge " ; 
So to the barge they came. There those three 

Queens 
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and 

wept. 



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But she that rose the tallest of them all, 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 
And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his 

hands. 
And called him by his name, complaining loud. 
And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
Striped with dark blood : for all his face was 

white 
And colorless, and like the withered moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dashcil with drojis 
Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the daiis-tlu'oue — were parched with 

dust ; 
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his 

lips. 
So like a sliattered column lay the King ; 
Not like that Arthur, who, with lance in rest, 
From spur to plume a star of tournament. 
Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged 
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall 1 go ? 
Where shall 1 hide my forehead and my eyes ? 
For now I see the true old times are dead, 
"When every morning brought a noble chance, 
And ovei-y chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that led 
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved 
"Which was an image of the mighty world ; 
And I, the last, go forth companionless, 
And the days darken round me, and the years. 
Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
"The old order ehangeth, yielding place to new. 
And God fulfills himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within himself make pure ! but thou, 
If thou sliouldst never see my face again, 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by 

jirayer 
Tlian tills world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy 

viiice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what ;ire men lictter than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life w^ithin the brain, 
If, knomng God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for tliemselves and those who call them 

friend ? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound bv gold chains about the feet of God. 



But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seest, — if indeed I go 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — 
To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snov/, 
lior ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-nieadowed, hajjpy, fair with orchard-LiHiis 
Ami bowery hollows crowne'l with summer sea, 
Wheio I will heal luc of my [grievous w'ound," 

So said he, and the bargo with oar and sail 
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted 

swan. 
That, fluting a wild carol cro her death, 
r.ufHes her pure cold plume, and takes the Hood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the luill 
Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
.'\nd on the mere the wailing died away. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE TRUMPETS OF DOOLKARNEIN. 

[In Eastern history are two Iskanders, or Alexanders, who are 
Bonietiines confounded, and both of whom arc called Doolkarnein, 
or the Two-Horned, in allusion to their subjugation of East and 
West, lior(.s beinjj an Oriental symbol of power. 

One of these heroes is Alexander of Macedon ; the other a con- 
queror of more ancient times, wlio built the marvelous series of 
ramparts on Mount Caucasus, known in fable as the wall of Gog 
.and Magog, that is to say, of the people of the North. It reached 
from the Euxine Sea to the Caspian, where its flanks originated the 
subsequent appellation of the Caspian Gates.] 

With awful walls, far glooming, that possessed 

The passes 'twixt the snow-fed Civspian foun- 
tains, 
Doolkarnein, the dread lord of East and West, 

Shut up thenorthernnationsin their mountains; 
And upon platforms where the oak-trees grew, 

Trumiie ts he set, huge beyonddreamsof wonder, 
Craftily purposed, when his arms withdrew. 

To make him thought still housed there, like 
the thunder : 
.\nd it so fell ; for when the winds blew right, 
They woke thesetrumpets to their calls of might. 

Unseen, but heard, their calls the trumpets blew, 
Ringing the granite rocks, their only bearers. 
Till the long fear into religion grew. 

And nevermore those heightshad human darers. 
Dreadful Doolkarnein was an earthly god ; 
His walls but shadowed forth his mightier 
frowning ; 
Annies of giants at his bidding trod 

From realm to realm, king after king dis- 
crowning. 
When thunder spoke, or when the earthquake 

stirred. 
Then, muttering in accord, his host was heard. 



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But when the winters marred the mountain 
shelves, 
And softer changes came witli venial mornings, 
Something had touched the trumpets' lofty selves. 
And less and less rang forth their sovereign 
warnings ; 
Fewer and feebler ; as when silence spreads 
In plague-struck tents, where haughty chiefs, 
left dying. 
Fail by degrees upon their angry beds, 

Till, one by one, ceases the last stern sighing. 
One by one, thus, their breath the trumpets drew, 
Till now JIG more the imperious music blew. 

Is he then dead ? Can great Doolkamein die ? 

(Jr can his endless hosts elsewhere be needed ? 
Were the great breaths that blew his minstrelsy 

Phantoms, that faded as himself receded ? 
Or is he angered ? Surely he still comes ; 

This silence ushers the dread visitation ; 
Sudden will buret the torrent of his drums, 

And then will follow bloody desolation. 
So did fear dream ; though now, with not a sound 
To scare good hope, summer had twice crept round. 

Tlii-n gathered in a band, with lifted eye.s, 
The neighbors, and those silent heights as- 
cended. 
Giant, nor aught blasting their bold emprise. 
They met, though twice they halted, breath 
suspended : 
Once, at a coming like a god's in rage 

With thunderous leaps, — but 't was the piled 
snow, falling; 
And once, when in the woods an oak, for age, 

Fell dead, the silence with its groan apfjalling. 
At last they came where still, in dread airay, 
As though they still mightspeak, thetrumpetslay. 

Unhurt they lay, like caverns above ground, 

The rifted rocks, forhands, about them clinging. 
Their tubes as straight, their mighty mouths as 
round 
And fiiTn aswhen the rocks werefirstsetricging. 
Fresh from their unimaginable mold 
They might have seemed, save that the storms 
had stained them 
With a rich rust, that now, with gloomy gold 
In the bright sunshine, beauteously ingrained 
them. 
Breathless the gazers looked, nigh faint for awe. 
Then leaped, then laughed. What was it now 
they saw ? 

Myriads of birds. Myriads of birds, that filled 
The trumpets all with nests and nestUng voices ! 

The great, huge, stormy music had been stilled 
By the soft needs that nursed those small, 
sweet noises ! 



thou Doolkamein, where is now thy wall ? 

Where now thy voice divine and all thy forces! 
Great was thy cunning, but its wit was small 
Comjiared with nature's least and gentlest 
courses. 
Fears and false creeds may fright the realms 

awhile ; 
But heaven and earth abide their time, and smile. 
Leigh hunt. 



ALFRED THE HARPER. 

Dakk fell the night, the watch w:is set, 
The host was idly spread. 
The Danes around their watchfires met, 
Caroused, and fiercely fed. 

The cliiefs beneath a tent of leaves. 

And Guthram, king of all. 

Devoured the flesh of England's beeves, 

And laughed at England's fall. 

Each warrior proud, each Danish eail. 

In mail and wolf-skin clad. 

Their bracelets white with plundered i)earl. 

Their eyes with triumph mad. 

From Humber-Iand to Severn-land, 

And on to Tamar stream. 

Where Thames makes green the towery strand, 

Where Medway's waters gleam, — 

With hands of steel and mouths of flame 

They raged the king<lom through ; 

And where the Norseman sickle came. 

No crop but hunger grew. 

They loaded many an English hoise 

With wealth of cities fair ; 

They dragged from many a father's corse 

The daughter by her hair. 

And English slaves, and gems and gold, 

Wsre gathered round the feast ; 

Till midnight in their woodland hold, 

0, never that riot ceased. 

in stalked a warrior tall and rude 

Before the strong sea-kings ; 

"Ye Lords and Earls of Odin's brood, 

Without a harper sings. 

He seems a simple man and poor. 

But well he sounds the lay ; 

And well, ye Norseman chiefs, be sure, 

Will ye the song repay." 

In trod the bard with keen cold look. 
And glanced along the board, 
That with the shout and war-cry shook 
Of many a Danish lord. 



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But thirty brows, inflamed and stem, 
Soon bent on him their gaze, 
While cairn ho gazed, as if to loaru 
Who chief deserved liis praise. 

1,1)11(1 (iiithruni spake, — " Nay, gaze not thus, 

Tlimi ilar|ii'r weak and poor! 

liy 'I'lior ! who bandy looks with us 

Must worse than looks endure. 

Siiij.; high the praise of Denmark's host, 

High praise each dauntless Earl ; 

The brave who stun this English coast 

With war's unceasing whirl." 

The Harper slowly bent his head. 
And tmiched aloud the string ; 
Then raised his I'aeo, and lioldly said, 
" Hear thou my lay, (t King ! 
High praise from every mouth of man 
To all who boldly strive. 
Who fall where first the fight liegaii, 
And ne'er go back alive. 

" Fill high your cups, and swell the shout. 

At famous liegnar's name ! 

Who sank his host in bloody rout, 

Whnn he to H umber came. 

His mi^n were chased, his sons were slain. 

And lie was left alone. 

They bound him in an iron chain 

Upon u dungeon stone. 

"With iron links they bound him fast ; 
Willi siinkes (1,,'y lllli'd the hole, 
Tli:it iiiiide his II, 'sh their long repast, 
Aihl bit into his soul. 

" Creid ihiefs, why sink in gloom your eyes ? 

Why champ your teeth in ]iain ! 

Still lives the song though Regnnr dies I 

Fill high your cups again.! 

Ye too, )icrelinnee, Norseman lords ! 

Who fought and swayed ,so long, 

Shall soon but live in minstrel words, 

And owe your names to song. 

"This land has graves by thousands more 

Than that where llegnar lies. 

Wlien con(|uests fade, and rule is o'er, 

The sod must close your eyes. 

How soon, who knows ? Not chief, nor bard ; 

And yet to nie 't is given, 

To see your foreheads deeply scarred. 

And guess the doom of Heaven. 

" I may not reml or when or how. 
Hut, Earls and Kings, be sure 
I see a blade o'er every brow, 
Where pride now sits secure. 



Fill high the cups, raise loud the strain I 
When chief and monarch fall. 
Their names in song shall breathe again, 
And thrill the feastful hall." 

Grim sat the chiefs ; one heaved a gi'oan. 

And oni^ grew pale with dread. 

His iron mace was grasped by one. 

By one his wine was shed. 

And (iuthrum cried, "Nay, bard, no more 

We hear thy boding lay ; 

Make drunk the song with spoil and gore ! 

Light up the joyous fray ! " 

"Quick throbs my brain," — .so bur.st the song, 

" To hear the strife once more. 

The mace, the a.x, they rest too long ; 

Earth cries. My thirst is sore. 

More blithely twang the strings of bows 

Than strings of harps in glee ; 

lied wounds are lovelier than the rose 

Or rosy lips to me. 

"O, fairer than a fielil of llowcra, 

AVlien llowers in England grew. 

Would be the battle's marshaled powers, 

The plain of carnage new. 

With all its deaths before my .soul 

Tlio vision rises fair ; 

liaise loud the song, and drain the bowl I 

1 would that I were there ! " 

Loud rang the harp, tlie minstrel's eye 
Rolled fiercely round the throng ; 
It seemed two erasliing hosts were nigh. 
Whose shock aroused the song. 
\ golden cup King Guthrura gave 
To him who strongly played ; 
And said, " I won it from the slave 
Who once o'er F,ngland swayed." 

King Guthrinii cried, " T 'was .\llre<rs own ; 

Thy song belils llic lirave : 

The King who cannot guard his throne 

Nor wine nor song .shall have." 

The minstrel took the goblet bright, 

And said, " I drink the wine 

To him who owns by justest right 

The eup thou bid'st be mine. 

" To him, your Loi.l, O shout ye all ! 
His meed bo deathless jiraise ! 
The King who dares not nobly fall, 
Dies basely all his days." 

"The praise thou speakest," Guthrum said, 
"With sweetness fills mine ear ; 
For Alfred swift before me fled. 
And left me monarch here. 



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POEMS OF ADVENTUIiE AND RUIiAL Sl'ORTS. 



603 i 



43- 



The royal coward nevur ilared 
Beneath mine eye to stand. 
0, would that now tliis feast lie sliared, 
And saw me rule his land ! " 

Then stem the minstrel rose, and simko, 

And gazed upon tlie King, — 

" Not now the golden cup I take, 

Nor more to thee I sing. 

Another day, a hai)i)ier hour, 

Shall bring mo here again : 

The cup shall stay in Outhrum'a power, 

Till I demand it then." 

The Harper turned and left the shed. 

Nor bent to Guthrum's crown ; 

And one who marked his visage said 

It wore a ghastly frown. 

The Danes ne'er saw that Harper more, 

For soon as morning rose. 

Upon their camp King Alfred bore. 

And slew ten thousand foes. 

John Sterling. 



THE EARL O' QtlARTERDECK. 

A NEW OLO nAI.I..VlJ. 

Tke wind it blew, and the ship it Hew ; 

And it was "Hey for hame ! 
And ho for hame ! " But the skipper cried, 

" Hand her oot o'er the saut sea faem." 

Then up and spoke the king himsel' : 

" Hand on for Dumferline ! " 
Quo the skipper, " Ye 're king upo' the land — 

1 'm king ujjo' the brine." 

And ho took the helm intil his hand, 

And he steered the ship sae free ; 
Wi' the wind astaru, he crowded sail. 

And stood right out to sea. 

Quo the king, " There 's treason in this, I vow ; 

This is something underhand ! 
'I'out ship ! " Quo the skipper, " Yer grace 
forgets 

Vc are king but o' the land ! " 

And still he held to the open sea ; 

And the east-wind sank behind ; 
And the west had a bitter word to say, 

W i' a white-sea roarin' wind. 

And ho turned her head into the north. 

Said the king : "Gar fling him o'er." 
Quo the fearless skipper : " It 's a' ye 're worth ! 

Ye '11 ne'er see Scotland more." 



The king crept down the cabin-stair, 

To drink the gude French wine. 
And up she came, Ids daughter fair. 

And luikit ower the brine. 

Slie turned her face to the drivin' hail, 

To the hail but and the weet ; 
Her snood it brak, and, as lang 'a hersel', 

Her hair dravc out i' the sleet. 

She turned her face frao the drivin' win' — 

" What 's that ahead 1 " quo she. 
The skipper he threw liimsel' frae the win'. 

And he drove the helm a-lee. 

" Put to yer hand, my lady fair I 

I'ut to yer hand," (juo he ; 
" Gin she dinna face the win' the mair. 

It 's the waur for you and me." 

For the skipper kenned that strength is strength, 
Whether woman's or man's at last. 

To the tiller the lady she laid her ban', 
And the ship laid her cheek to the blast. 

For that slender body was full o' soul, 

And the will is mair than shape ; 
As the skipper saw when they cleared the berg, 

And he heard her quarter scrape. 

Quo the skipper : " Ye are a lady fair, 

And a princess grand to see ; 
But ye are a woman, and a man wad sail 

To hell in yer company." 

She liftit a pale and queenly face ; 

Her een flashed, and syne they swim. 
" AikI what for no to heaven ? " she says. 

And she turned awa' frae liim. 

But she took na her han' frae the good ship's 
helm. 

Until the day did daw ; 
And the skipper he sj)ak, but what he said 

It was said atween them twa. 

And then the good ship she lay to, 

With the land far on the lee ; 
And up came the king upo' the deck, 

Wi' wan face and bluidsliot ee. 

The .skipper he louted to the king : 
" Gae wa', gae wa'," said the king. 

Said the king, like a prince, "I was a' wrang. 
Put on this mby ring." 

And the wind blew lowne, and the stars cam' oot, 
Anil the ship turned to the shore ; 

And, afore the sun was up again, 
They saw Scotland ance more. 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTti. 



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'riiat (lay tlif slii)! \\\iug at tlu> picr-hoitl, 
Ami tlu> kinj; lio sh'i't oii t)io laiui. 

" SkipiHii-, knool ilnwn," tho king lio aaitl. 
" Hon (laur y>> nfoiv me staiui f " 

Tho skippoi' ho UmtiHl on his kiu>o, 

Tho king liis Miulo ho Uivw : 
Saiil tho king, " How ilanvoil vo oontro mo ! 

1 'ill atiiwrU my ain slii)i noo. 

" 1 oannn mak yo a king," siiiil ho, 
" For tho Lonl alono oaii do tlial ; 

Anil bosiilos yo look it intil yoi- ain han" 
And oRionod yoi-sol' sao jial ! 

" IVit \vi' what yo will I ndoom my ring ; 

Kor aiu'O 1 am at your hook. 
And lirst, as yo hnitit Skijipor o' llooii, 

liiso np Yorl o' Qnartonloi'k," 

Tho skippor ho roso uiul lookod at tlio king 

111 Ids 0011 lor nil his oiooii ; 
Said tho skiiipor, " lloiv is yor gmco's ring. 

And yor daiightor is my boon." 

The roid bhulo sprang into tho king's faoo, — 

A wratht'nl man to soo ; 
" Tho rascal loon iilnises our grace ; 

Oao hang him upon yon tivo." 

Bnt llio .skippor ho spuing nboaiil his ship, 

.Xnd ho drow his hiting blado ; 
Aiul ho struok tho ohain that hold her last, 

Hut tho iron wasowor wool mado. 

And tho king ho blow a wliistlo loud ; 

.\iid tmmp, tramp, down tho jiior. 
Cam' fwoiily ridois on twonty .stoods, 

Claukiu' wi' spin- and spoar. 

'• Ho savod yonr lifo ! " oriod tho lady fair ; 

" His lifo yo danvna spill ! " 
"Will yo oonio atwoon mo and my liatot" 

Qno tho lady. "And that 1 will ! " 

And on cam' tho knights wi' spur and spoar. 

For tlioy hoanl tho iitm ring. 
" Gin yo oarti na for yor fatlior's gmoo, 

Mind yo that 1 am tho king." 

" I knool to my fatlior for his graoe, 

night lowly on my knoo ; 
Bnt I stand ami look tho king in tho faoo. 

For tho skippor is king o" mo." 

She tnniod and sho sprang niw' tho dock. 
And the cnblo splashed in tho son. 

The good sliip sproad her wings sac white. 
And away with tho skippor goes .sho. 



Kow was not this n king's dnuglinr. 

Ami a hravo laily bosido f 
And a woniiin with whom a man luiglu sail 

Into (ho hoavon wi' pi ivlo ■• 



I TllU TRAWin 



My name is Norvnl : on tho (Irainiiian hills 
iMy hktJior foods his Hooks ; a I'rngnl swain, 
Whoso constant onros wore to iiioronso his stom, 
.■\.nd koop his only son, myself, at homo. 
For I had hoard of hattlosi and 1 longi^d 
To follow to tho Hold somo warlike lord : 
And Heaven soon granted what my siro lioniod. 
This moon which ixise last night, roniid as mv 

shield, 
Had not yot tilled her horn, when, by hor light, 
A band of lioroe bnrbariiuis, fiimi tho hills, 
Hntiliod like a torront down npon tho vale, 
Swooping oin- Hooks and holds. Tho shophords 

Hod 
For safely and for snooor. 1 alone. 
With honded how, and tpiiver full of arrows, 
Hovorod about the oiioniy, and miirked 
Tho road he look, then hastened to my friends. 
Whom, witJi a troop of fifty ohoson inoii, 
I mot advnnoing. Tho pursuit 1 loil, 
Till wo o'ertook the s|uiil-onoiiiiiberod foo. 
Wo fought and oompiorod. Fro a sword was 

tlrawii 
An arrow from my bow had pierood tlioir chief, 
Who wore that day the arms which now 1 wear, 
lioturning lionio in triiimjih, 1 disdained 
The shoplior<rs slothful lifo ; and hnving henn.1 
That onrgood king had sninnionod his hold poors 
To load their warriors to tho I'arron side, 
1 left my father's house, and took with nie 
.■\ ohoson servant to oondiiot my stops, — 
Yon tiiMiibliiig oowaiil, who forsook his master, 
.lonrnoying with this intent, 1 passed theao 

towel's. 
And, Heavon-dii-cctod, oamo this day to do 
Tho happy dood that gilds my luuiil>lo name. 



JOKASSK. 

.Toi;.\ssF. was in his thivo-anil-twontieth year ; 
Oracoful and active ns a .stag jiisl roused ; 
Cientlo withal, and pleasant in his s|ioeoh, 
Yot seldom si'oii to smile. He had grown up 
Among tho hunters of the Higher Alps ; 
Had caught their st.irts and tits of thonghtful- 



Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquitvs. 



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60 



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. . . . Once, nor long tel'orc, 
Aloni; at daybreak on the MettenVjerg, 
Hie n\\\>\iKi\, he fell ; and, through a (earful cleft 
Gliding from li:dge to ledge, from deej* to deeper, 
Went to the under-world ! Long-while he lay 
(JjKjn his rugged l*<i, — then waked like one 
Wishing to sleep again and sleep forever ! 
For, looking round, he saw, or thought he saw, 
Innumerable branches of a cavern, 
W'inding Ijeneath a solid crust of ice ; 
With here and theie a rent that showed the stars ! 
What tlien, alas, wa» left him but Uj die f 
What else in those immeasurable chamljers, 
St;ewn with the bones of miserable men. 
Lost like himself? Yet must he wander on, 
Till cold and hunger set his spirit free ! 
And, rising, he began his dreary round ; 
When hark, the noise as of some mighty river 
Working its way to light ! Back he withdrew, 
But soon retuincl, and, fearless from despair, 
JJashwl down the dismal channel ; and all day, 
If day could be where utter darkness was, 
Traveled incessantly, the craggy roof 
Just overhead, and the im[jetuous waves. 
Nor broad nor deep, yet with a giant's strength, 
Lashing him on. At last the water slept 
In a dea/1 lake, — at the third sti;p he Uiok, 
Unfathomable, — and the roof, that long 
Ha*! threatened, suddenly descending, lay 
Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, 
His journey ended, when a ray divine 
Shot through his soul. Breathing a prayer to 

her 
Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Virgin, 
He |ilung<i<J, he swam, — and in an instant rose. 
The Ijarrier j/ast, in light, in sunshine ! Through 
A smiling valley, full of cottages, 
Glittering the river ran ; and on the bank 
The young were dancing ('t was a festival-day) 
All in their best attire. There first he saw 
His Maiielaine. In the crowd she stood U> hear, 
AVhen all drew round, inquiring ; and her face, 
Seen U-liind all, and varying, as he sjxjke. 
With bo|)e and fear and generous syinjathy, 
Sub<lued him. From tliat very hour he loved. 
Samcel Rogers. 



THE GLO\'E AJsT) THE LIONS. 

King Fkancis was a hearty king, and loved a 

royal sfjort, 
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on 

the court. 
The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in 

their pride, 
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with 

one for whom he sighed : 



And truly 't was a gallant thing X/) sec- tliat 

crowning show. 
Valor and love, and a king atxive, and the royal 

beasts below. 

Kamped and roared the lions, with horrid laugh- 
ing jaws ; 

They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a 
wind went with their paws ; 

With wallowing might and stifled roar they roll<«i 
on one another, 

Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a 
thunderous smother ; 

The bliwdy foam alx)ve the bars came whisking 
through the air ; 

Said Francis then, " Faith, gentlemen, we 're 
better here than there." 

De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous 

lively <iame. 
With smiling lij/s and sharp bright eyes, which 

always seemed the same ; 
She thought, the Count, my lover, is brave as 

brave can Ije ; 
He surely would do wondrous things to show his 

love of me ; 
King, la<lies, lovers, all look on ; the occasion is 

divine ; 
I '11 drop my glove, to prove his love ; great glory 

will be mine. 

She dropjMid her glove, to prove his love, then 

looked at him and smiled ; 
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the 

lions wild ; 
The leap was quick, return was quick, he has 

regained his place. 
Then threw the glove, but not with love, riglit 

in the la^iy's fa^*. 
" By Heaven," said Francis, " rightly done ! " 

and he rosi^ from where he sat ; 
" No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a 

task like that." 

Leigh hc.vt. 



If ever you should come to Mo<lena, 
\Vhere among other trophies may be seen 
Tassoni's bucket (in its chain it hangs 
Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandiua), 
.Stop at a palace near the li/:ggio-gati;. 
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini. 
Its noble gardens, terrace ai<ove t<.-rrace, 
And rich in fountains, stahM. cyj/rpsses. 
Will long detain you ; but, lielore you go, 
Enter the house — forget it not, I pray — 
And look awliile upon a picture there. 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AXD liURAL SPORTS. 



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'T is of a liuly in lier eiirliest youth, 
The last ot'tliat illustiious lainily ; 
Done by Zampicri — but by whom I caic not. 
He who observes it, ere he jiasses on. 
Gazes liis till, and eonies anil eonies again, 
That lie may eall it up when I'ar away. 

She .sits inclining Ibrwanl as to speak, 
Her lips half open, and her linger up. 
As though she .said "beware!" her vest of gold 
Broidered with Uowers, and clasped from head to 

foot. 
An emerald stone in every golden clasp; 
And on licr brow, fairer than alabaster, 
A coroncl of pearls. 

But then her face. 
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth. 
The o\'ertlowings of an innocent heart, — 
It haunts me still, though many a year lias fled, 
Like some wild melody ! 

Alone it hangs 
Over a moldering heirloom, its companion. 
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm. 
But richly carved by Antony of Trent 
With Scriptuie stories from the life of Christ, — 
A chest that ca\ne from A'cnice, and had held 
The ducal robes of some old ancestor, 
That, by the way — it may be true or false — 
Hut don't forget the picture ; and you will not 
Wlien you have heard the tale they told me there. 

She was an only child, — her name Uinevra, 
The joy, the pride, of aii indulgent father ; 
Anil in her fifteenth year became a bride, 
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 

Just as she looks there in her bridal dn'ss. 
She was all gentleness, all gaycty, 
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. 
But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; 
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time. 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached ducorum ; 
And, in the luster of her youth, she gave 
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. 

Great was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast, 
"When all satedown, thebride herself was wanting. 
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, 
" 'T is but to make a trial of our love ! " 
And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook. 
And soon from guest to guest. the panic spread. 
'T was but that instant she had left Francesco, 
Laughing and looking back, and flying still, 
Her ivory tootlijiln printed on his finger. 
But now, alas, W$ was not to be found ; 
Nor from that hoin- could anything be guessed. 
But that she was not ! 

Wearv of his life. 



Francesco flew to Venice, and, embarking. 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
Orsini lived, — and long might you have seen 
An old man wandering as in ipiest of something, 
Sonu'thing he could not find, he knew not what. 
M'hcn he was gone, the house remained awhile 
Silent and tenantless, — then went to strangers. 

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, 
When, on an idle day, a day of search 
Mill the old luudicr in the gallery. 
That moldering chcsl was noticed ; and 't was said 
By one as young, as thoughtless as (;ine\'ra, 
"Why not remove it from its lurking-place?" 
'T was done as soon as said ; but on the way 
It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton. 
With here and there a pearl, an euu'rald stone, 
A golden clasp, clasjiing a shred of gold ! 
All else had perished, — save a wedding-ring, 
And a small seal, her mother's legacy, 
Engraven with a name, the name of both, 
"(iinevra. " 

There then had she found a grave ! 
Within that chest had she concealed herself. 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the hapjiy ; 
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, 

Fastened her down forever ! 

Samuel Rogers. 



THE MISTLETOE BOUGH. 

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall. 
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall ; 
And the baron's retainers were blithe and g!>y, 
And keeping their Christmas holiday. 
The baron beheld with a father's pride 
His beautiful child, young I.ovell's bride; 
While she with her bright eyes seenu'd to be 
The star of the goodly company. 

"I 'm weary of dancing now," she cried ; 
"Here tarry a moment, — 1 '11 hide, 1 '11 hide ! 
.\nd, Lovell, be sure thou 'rt first to trace 
The clew to my secret lurking-place." 
Away she ran, — and her friends began 
Kach tower to search, and each nook to scan ; 
And young Lovell cried, ' ' 0, where dost thou hide ! 
1 'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride." 

Theysou.yht her that night, and they .sought her 

next day. 
And they sought her in vain when a week passed 

away : 
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot. 
Young Lovell sought wildly, — but found her not. 
And years flew by, and their grief at last 
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past ; 
.A.ud when Lovell appeared, the chddren cried, 
"See ! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.' 



-4? 



iSr- 



POEMS OF ADVKNTUkE AND UUUAL Hl'OUTfi. 



607 



■a 



At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid, 
Was found in the castle, — they j-aise<l th« lid. 
And a skeieton t'orui lay moldftiing there 
lu the bri'lal wreath of that lady fail-! 
O, sa-i was her fate i — in sjiOJtiye jest 
.She hid froD) her lord in the old oak chest. 
It closed with a sjjring ! — and, dreadful doom, 
The bride lay clasije<l in her linng tomb ! 

Thomas havkes BAyi-y. 



In wondroos motion. I was very strong. 

I looked U|wu my Iwly, as a bird 

'I'liat bills his feathei s ere he lakes to flight, — 

1, watching ovei iSana. Then 1 j.>rayed ; 

And on a soft stijue, wetUnl in the brook, 

Oiound my long knife ; and then I j;ray<yi again. 

Go*! !j«ii'i my voi'*, yvyinii'/ al) tor me, 



PEIKCE ADEB. 

In Sana, 0, in >Sana, Q<A, the Lord, 

Was very kind and merciful to me ! 

Forth fiom the liesert in my rags I came, 

Weaiv and soie of toot. I saw the spiles 

And swelling bubbles of the golden domes 

Kise through the trees of .Sana, and my heart 

Grew great within me with the strength of Oo<i ; 

And I crici out, "Kow shall I right myself, — 

1, Adeb the desj)isi5<l, — lor Go<i is just ! " 

Tliere he who wro^iged my fatherdwelt in peace, — 

My wailike father, who, when gray hairs crejA 

Around his foreh<si/l, as on LeI/anon 

The whitc;niug snows of winter, was betrayed 

Tjo the sly Imam, and his tented wealth 

Swept from him, 'twixt the roosting of the cock 

And his first crowing, — in a single night : 

And 1, j>o<jr Adeb, sole of all my race, I 

Smeare<l with my father'sand my kinsmen's blood, ■ 

Fled thiough the iJescrt, till one day a tiil>e 

Of hungiy liijdouius found me in the sand. 

Half ma<i with famine, and they took me up. 

And maiie a slave of me, — of me, a priu';e '. j 

All was fuliilied at last. I fled from thenj. 

In rags and s'/riow. Nothing V^ut my heart, 

Like a strong swimmer, Ixire me up against 

The howling sea of my aiiversity. 

At length o'er 8ana, in the act to swoop, 

I aV/iA like a young eagle on a crag. 

The travelei' jMsswi me with suspicious feai 

1 askeil for nothing ; I was not a thief. 

The leajj dogs snutted around me ; my lank bones, 

Fed on the (jerries and the cnisted pools. 

Were a s<atut moi-sel. Ou<ie a brown-skinned giil 

Called me a little from the common jiath. 

And gave me figs and bailey in a bag. 

1 jjaid her with a kiss, with nothing more, 

And she looked gla<l : for I was beautiful, 

And viigin as a fountain, and as cold. 

I strettihe"! her bounty, jjeiiking like a bird 

Her Sgs and 1/arley, till my strength retuined 

So when rich .Sana lay beneath my eyes, 

My fo<>t was as the leopaiil's, and my han'i 

As heavy as the lion's brandished paw ; 

And underneath my buniishe<l skin the veins 

And stretching muscles played, at every step. 



' , au'i ail li.c 01 iiugi;- trees 
Is, and from the Uiaible walls 

^and'»lumUS; >1r: n/. k wn.i.vtjt, 

ght, until ui\ "I 

.-ndor, Tilh' - k. 



. \. Man by man 
' inel, 

'1; 

acr wind 

yet never turns a leaf, 
-i> .slia/low forth ; 

J i , swung the door, 
.It, — 
' )-. and sUkxI 



J ., .... ,,,., .._ -i men. 

Then I reache<l torth, and t<x/k<>od's waiting hand : 

Afld S*? }.'*• led ffie over frt^wtiv fl'Xir?. 



In Me 



MIS neck, 

»ber,. 1 was, — 

.stofalL 

liei^^; pii^gi iiud )i<u:.L» <j'. JAiiil'iciiijg light 
I>eajjed through my brain and danced hietore my 

eyes. 
So loud my heart l.)eat, that I feare-l its sound 
W,,„W waicethosIe^jK-r- and the V.i.bbliug bl<>yl 

' : : ' ■: achUd, 

uug 



- ^ J^OUg, 

'.iiiiig but a striae ol einjAv aij- 
. me and God's justice. In a tle^j>, 
j Li'n «ith the fumes ■,' " ' grape, 

.Sprawled the false Iiu: ;4gy breast, 

Lik« a white lUv heav: 



-^ 



e-: 



Clt8 



I'OEMU OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



fe- 



Of some foul sti-enm, tlie fnii-est woiuiiu slept 

These roving eyes have ever looked upon. 

Almost a ehiUl, her bosom baivly showed 

The ehauge beyond her girlhood. All her ohtirms 

Were budding, b\it half opened ; for 1 saw 

Not only beauty wondrous in itself, 

Hut possibility of more to Iw 

In the full profess of her blooming days, 

1 gazed upon her, nud my heart gii>\v soft. 

As a paiviu'd pustuiv with the dew of heaven. 

While thus 1 giized she smiled, and slowly raised 

The loug curve of her lashes ; and wo looked 

Eaeli upon each in wonder, not alarm, — 

Not eye to eye, but soul to soul, we held 

Each other for a moment. All her life 

Seemed centered in the ciivle of her eyes. 

She stirrod no limb ; her long-ilrawu, ei[unl breath 

Swelled out and eblx'd away beneath her breast, 

In calm unbi-oken. Not a sign of fear 

Touched the faint color on her oval cheek, 

Or pinched the aivhes of her tender mouth. 

She took me for a vision, and she lay 

With her sleep's smile vmaltered, as in doubt 

Whether real life had stolen into her dreams, 

Or dreaming stretched into her outer life. 

I was not graceless to a woman's eyes. 

The girls of Damar paused to see me pass, 

I walking in my nigs, yet beautiful. 

One maiden said, "He has a prince's air!" 

I am a prince ; the air was all my own. 

So thought the lily on the Imam's bi-east ; 

And lightly as a summer mist, that lifts 

Hefore the morning, so she lloated up, 

AVithout a sound or rustle of a robe. 

From her coai'se pillow, and before me stood 

With asking eyes. The Imam never moved. 

A striile and blow were all my need, and they 

Were wholly in my power. 1 took her hand, 

1 held a warning linger to my lips, 

.Vod whispered in her small, expectant ear, 

'• .'Vdeb, the son of Akcm !" She replied 

In a low murmur whose bewildering sound 

Almost lulled wakeful me to sleep, and sealed 

The sleeper's lids in tenfold slumber, " Prince, 

I.onl of the Imam's life and of my heart. 

Take all thou seest, — it is thy right, I know, — 

Hut spare the Imam for thy own soul's sake !" 

Then 1 arrayed me in a robe of state. 

Shining with gold and jewels ; and 1 bound 

In my long tiirlmu gems that might have bought 

The lands 'twixt IJabelmandeb auil Sahan. 

1 girt about me, with a blazing belt, 

A scimitar o'er which the sweating smiths 

In far Damascus hammered for long years, 

Whose hilt and scabbaixl shot a trembling light 

From diamonds and rubies. And she smiled, 

As piece by piece 1 put the treasures on. 

To see me look so fair, — in pride she smiled. 



I hung long purses at my side. I scooped, 
From olf a table, ligs and dates and rico. 
And bound them to my ginllo in a sack. 
Then over all 1 Hung a snowy cloak. 
And becki>ued to the maiden. So she stole 
Forth like my shadow, jmst the sleeping wolf 
Who wronged my father, o'er the woolly head 
Of the swart eunuch, down the paintetl court. 
Anil by the sentinel who stamling slept. 
Strongly against the portal, through my rags, — 
My old base rags, — and through the maiden's veil, 
I pressed my knife, — upon X\\i> wooden hilt 
Was " Adeb, son of Akem," carved by me 
In my long slavehood, — as a passing sign 
To wait the Imam's waking. Shadows cast 
From two high-sailing clouds upon the sand 
l'a.ssed not more noiseless than we two, as one, 
tilided beneath the moonlight, till 1 smelt 
The fiiigrance of the stables. As I slid 
The wide doors ojien, with a sudden bound 
Uprose the startled horses : but they stood 
Still as the man who in a foreign land 
Hears his strange langvuige, when my De.sert cull. 
As low and plaintive as the nested dove's, 
Fell on their listening eare. From stall to stall, 
Feeling tlie horses wiUi my groping hands, 
1 crept in darkness ; and at length 1 came 
Upon two sister mares whose rounded sides. 
Fine muzzles, and small heads, and pointed oars. 
And foivheads spreading 'twixt their eyelids wide. 
Long slender tails, thin manes, and coats of silk. 
Told me, that, of the hnndroil steeds there st'iUed, 
My hand was on the treasuivs. tl'er and o'er 
I felt their bony joints, and down their legs 
To the cool hoofs ; — no blemish anywhere : 
These 1 led forth and saddled. Upon one 
I set the lily, gathered now for me, — 
My own, henceforth, forever. So we rodo 
Across the grass, beside the stony path. 
Until we gained the highway that is lost, 
Leading from Sana, in the eastern sands ; 
When, with a cry that both the desert-born 
Knew without hint from whip or goading spur. 
We dashed into a gallop. Far behind 
In sparks and smoke the dusty highway rose ; 
And ever on the maiden's face 1 saw. 
When the moon flashed upon it, the strange siiiil* 
It wore on waking. Once 1 kissed her mouth, 
\ Wlien she grew weary, and her strength returned. 
I All through the night wescouivd between the hills: 
I The moon went down behind us, and the stars 
! Propped after her ; but long before 1 saw 
I A planet blazing straight against our eyes. 
The road had softened, and the shadowy hills 
Had tlattened out, and I could hear the hiss 
Of sand spurned backward by the Hying mares. 
Glory to God ! 1 was at home again ! 
The sun rose on us ; far and near I saw 



^ 



POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



:-n 



609 



The level Desert ; sky met sand all round. 
We paused at mid-day by a palm-crowned well, 
Andate and slumbered. Somewhat, too, wassaid : 
The words have slipped my memorj'. That same 

eve 
We rode sedately through a Hamoum camp, — 
I, Adeb, prince amongst them, and my bride. 
And ever since amongst them I have ridden, 
A head and shoulders taller than the best ; 
And ever since my days have been of gold. 
My nights have been of silver, — God is just ! 
George Henry boker. 



MAZEPPA'S RIDE. 



" ' liriiig forth the horse ! ' — the horse was 
hrouglit, 

In truth, he was a noble steed, 

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, 
Who looked as though the speed of thought 
Were in his limlis ; but he wa.s wild. 

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught. 
With .spur and bridle undefiled, — 

'T was but a day he had been caught ; 
And snorting, with erected mane, 
.\nil strangling fiercely, but in vain, 
In the lull foam of wrath and dread 
To me the desert-boni was led ; 
Thr;y bound me on, that menial throng. 
Upon his back with many a thong ; 
Then loosed him with a sudden lash, — ■ 
.\way ! — away ! — and on we dash ! 
Torrents less rapid and less rash. 

" Away ! — away ! — My breath was gone, — 
1 saw not where he hurried on ; 
'T was scarcely yet the break of day. 
And on he foamed, — away ! — away ! — 
The last of human sounds which rose, 
As I was d.arted from my foes. 
Was the wild shout of savage laughter, 
Which on the wind came roaring after 
A moment from that rabble rout ; 
With sudden wrath I wrenched my head. 
And snapped the cord whieh to the mane 
Had bound my neck in lieu of rein. 
And, writhing half my form about, 
Howled back my curse ; but midst the tread. 
The thunder of my courser's speed. 
Perchance they did not hear nor heed : 

" Awaj', away, my steed and I, 

Upon the pinions of the wind. 

All human dwellings left behind ; 
We sped like meteors through the sky. 
When with its crackling sound the night 



Is checkered with the northern light : 
Town, — village, — none were on our tnn-k. 

But a wild plain of far extent. 
And bounded by a forest black ; 

And, save the scarce seen battlement 
On distant heights of some strong liold, 
Against the Tartars built of old. 

No trace of man 

" But fast we fled, away, away. 
And I could neitlier sigh nor pray ; 
And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain 
Upon the coni-ser's bristling mane ; 
Hut, snorting still with rage an<l fear. 
He flew upon his far career ; 
At times 1 almost thought, indeed. 
He must have slackened in his speed ; 
But no, — my bound and slender frame 

Was nothing to liis angi-y might, 
.\nd merely liki^ a s[)ur became : 
Eacli motion whieh 1 made to free 
My swoln limbs from their agony 

Increased his fury and alfiiglit : 
I tried ray voice, — 't was faint and low. 
But yet he swerved as from a blow ; 
And, starting to each accent, sjirang 
As from a sudden trumpet's clang ; 
Meantime my cords wi^re wet with gore. 
Which, oozing through my limits, ran o'er ; 
And in my tongue the thirst became 
A something tie rcor far than flame. 

" We neared the wild wood, — 't was so wide, 
I saw no bounds on either side ; 
'T was studded with old sturdy trees. 
That bent not to the roughest breeze 
Which howls down from .Sil>eria's waste, 
And strips the forest in its ha.ste, — 
But these were few and far between. 
Set thick with shrubs more young and green, 
Luxuriant with their annual leaves. 
Ere .strown by those autumnal eves 
That idp the forest's foliage deatl, 
Discolored with a lifeless reil. 
Which stands thereon like stilfened gore 
Upon the slain when battle 's o'er. 
And some long winter's night hath shed 
Its frost o'er every tombless head. 
So cold and stark the raven's beak 
May peck impierced each frozen cheek ; 
'T was a wild waste of underwood. 
And here and there a chestnut stood. 
The strong oak, and the hardy pine ; 
But far apart, — and well it were. 
Or else a different lot were mine, — 
The boughs gave way, and ilid not tear 
My limbs ; and I found strength to bear 
My wounds, already scarred with cold, — 



-ff 



[fi- 



CIO 



WEMS OF ADVENTURE AND SURAL SI'ORTS. 



6- 



My boiuis forbaile to looso iny hold. 

We rustlwl tluxiugli tlio liuvvis like wind, 

Left shiuKs lUid tiois and wolves behind ; 

By nij;ht 1 heaul theui on the track, 

Theiv troop eiune hai\i upon our baek 

With theii' loiij; gallop, whioh ean tire 

The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fuv : 

Wheiv'er we Hew they followed on, 

Nor left us witii the nioruiuj; sun ; 

Behind 1 sivw theui, searve a rood. 

At dayluvak winding thumgh the wood. 

And through the night had heaul their foet 

Their stealing, rustling step repeat. 

0, how I wished for spear or swoixi, 

At least to die amidst tlie hoiile. 

Anil iHH'isli — if it must h» so — 

At l«y, destixiying many a foe ! 

When tirst my eoui'ser's nice begun, 

I wished the goal already won ; 

But now 1 doubted strength and speed. 

Vain doubt ! his swift and .•«ivagt< breed 

Had nerved him like the mountain roe ; 

" The wood wius pas.sed ; 't was more than noon. 
But chill the air, although in .lune ; 
Or it might be my veins ran cold, — 
Prolonged euduraiuo tainiw the Iwld j 

" What marvel if this worn-out trank 

Beneath its woes a moment stnik i 

The earth gjive way, the skies rolUxl round, 

1 seemed to sink upon the ground ; 

But erred, for 1 was lastly bound. 

My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore. 

And throblvd awhile, then beat no more ; 

The skies sipuu like a mighty wheel ; 

1 s)»w the trees like drunkauls reel. 

And a slight Hash sprang o'er my eyes, 

Which s!»w no farther ; he who dies 

Can die no more than then I died. 

D'ertortuitxl by that ghastly ride, 

1 felt the blackness come and go. 

And strove to wake ; but coidd not make 
My senses climb up fiMiu below : 
1 felt as on a jilank at sea, 
AVhen all the waves that dasli o'er thee, 
At the -same time upheave and whelm, 
Antl hurl thee towards a desert realm, 
ily undulating life was as 
The fancied lights that Hitting pass 
Our shut eyes in ilecp midnight, when 
Fever begins upon the brain ; 
But soon it passed, with little |>ain. 

But a confusion wowe than such ; 

I own that 1 sliould deem it much, 
Pying, to feel the same again; 
And yet 1 do supjiose we must 
Feel far more vrv wo turn to dust : 



No matter ; 1 have bared my brow- 
Full in Death's face — before — and now. 

" My thoughts came back ; where was 1 f ("old 
And numb and giddy : pulse by pulse 

Life reassumed its lingtning hold. 

And throb by tln-ob, — till grown a Jiang 
Which for a moment would convulse. 
My blood retlowi-d, Miough thick and chill ; 

My ear with uncouth noises rang; 
My heart began once more to thrill ; 

My sight returned, though dim ; alas ! 

Ami Ihickeiunl, as it were, with glass. 

Methought the dash of waves was nigh ; 

There was a gleam too of the sky. 

Studded with stars ; — it is no dream ; 

The wild horse swims the wilder stretmi ! 

The bright, broad river's gushing tide 

Sweejw, winding onward, far ami wide. 

And we are half-way, struggling o'er 

To yon vinknown and silent shore. 

The waters broke my hollow trance. 

And with a temporary strength 
My stilfcned limbs were rclmptized. 

My cotn-ser's broad breast proudly braves. 

And dashes otV the asceiiditig waves. 

And onwaiil we advance ! 

We reach the slippery .shore at length, 
A haven 1 but little prized. 

For all U'hind was dark ai\d drear, 

And all Ivfore was night and fear. 

How many houi-s of night or day 

In those suspended Jiangs I lay, 

1 could not tell ; 1 scarcely knew 

If this were human bi-eath 1 ilrew. 

" With gh>ssy skin, and dripping mane. 

And reeling limbs, and reeking tlaiik. 
The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain 

Up the repelling Iwnk. 
We gain the top ; a boundless plain 
Spreads through the shadow of the night. 

And onwaitl, onwaixl, onv tird, seems. 

Like precipices in our dreai\is. 
To stretch beyoud the sight ; 
And liorev and there a speck of white, 

Or scattennl sjx>t of dusky green. 
In ma.sses broke into the light 
As rose the moon upon my right. 

But naught ilistinctly seen 
In the dim waste would indicate 
The omen of a cottage gjite ; 
No twinkling taper from afiu' 
Stood like a hospitable star ; 
Not even an iffitu-Muus rose 
To n\ake him merry with my woes : 

That very cheat had cheered me then ! 
Although detected, welcome still. 



a-^- 



POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



611 



"-a 



&-- 



Rc-niiiiiliiij,' II11-, tliiougli eveiy ill, 
Of the icbudus ol meu. 

" Onward we went, — but slack and slow ; 

His savage force at length o'erspent. 
The drooping courser, faint and low. 

All fi-i-lily foaming went. 
A sifkly infant had hud power 
To guide him forward in that hour ; 

But useless all to me. 
His new-born tarni;ntss naught availed, — 
My limbs were bound ; my force had failed. 

Perchance, had they been free. 
With feelile efforts still I tried 
To rend the bonds so starkly tied. 

But still it was in vain ; 
My limbs were only wrang the more, 
And soon the idle strife gave o'er. 

Which but prolonged their pain ; 
The dizzy race seemed almost done, 
Altliough no goal was nearly won ; 
Some streaks announced the coming sun, — 

How .slow, alas ! he came ! 
Methought that mi.st of dawning gi'ay 
Would never dapple into day ; 
How heavily it rolled away, — 

Before the eastern flame 
Rose crimson, and depo.sed the .stars. 
And called the radiance from their cars. 
And filled the earth, from his deep throne. 
With lonely luster, aU his own. 

" Up rose the sun ; the mists were curled 
Back from the solitary world 
Which lay around — behind — before. 
What booted it to traverse o'er 
Plain, forest, river ? Man nor brute, 
Nor dint of lioof, nor print of foot, 
Lay iu the wild lu.xuriant soil ; 
No sign of travel, — none of toil ; 
The very air was mute ; 
And not an in.sect's shrill small horn. 
Nor matin bird's new- voice, was borne 
From herb nor thicket. Many a weret. 
Panting as if his heart would burst. 
The weary brute still staggered on ; 
And still we were, or seemed, alone. 
At length, while reeling on our way, 
Methought I heard a courser neigh 
From out yon tuft of blackening firs. 
Is it the wind those branches stirs ? 
No, no ! from out the forest prance 

A trampling ti'oop ; I see them come ! 
In one vast squadron they advance ! 

1 strove to cry, — my lips were dumb. 
The steeds rush on in plunging pride ; 
But where are they the reins to guide ? 
A tliuusatid horse, — and none to ride ! 



With flowing tail, and Hying mane. 
Wide nostrils, never .stretched by pain, 
Mouths bloodless to the bit oi' I'ein, 
And feet that iron never shod. 
And flanks unscarred Ijy sjiur or rod, 
A thousand horse, the wild, the free. 
Like waves that follow o'er the sea, 

Came thickly thundering ou, 
As if our faint api)ioach to meet ; 
The sight renerved my courser's feet, 
A moment staggering, feelily fleet, 
A moment, with a faint low neigh. 

He answered, and then fell: 
With gasi>s and glazing eyes he lay. 

And recking limbs immovable. 
Ills first and last career is done ! 
On came the troop, — they saw him stoop. 

They .saw me strangely bound along 

His back with many a bloody thong : 
They stop, — they start, — they snufl' the air, 
Gallop a moment here and there. 
Approach, retire, wheel round and round. 
Then plunging back with sudden bound. 
Headed by one black mighty steed. 
Who seemed the patriarch of his breed. 

Without a single speck or hair 
Of white upon his shaggy hide ; 
They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside. 
And backward to the forest fly. 
By instinct, from a human eye. 

They left me there to my despair. 
Linked to the dead and stilfening WTetch, 
Whose lifeless limbs beneatli me stretch. 
Relieved from that unwonted weight. 
From whence I could not extricate 
Nor him nor me, and there we lay 

The dying on the deaii ! 
I little deemed another day 

Would see my houseless, liel]>less head. 

" And there from morn till twilight bound, 
I felt the heavy hours toil round. 
With just enough of life to see 
My last of suns go down on me. 

" The sun wa.s sinking, — still I lay 

Chained to the chill and stiffening steed ; 
I thought to mingle there our clay : 

And my dim eyes of death had need. 

No hojie arose of being freed : 
I cast my last looks up the sky. 

And there between me and the sun 
I saw the cxpecring raven fly. 
Who scarce would wait till both should die 

Ere his repast begun ; 
He flew, and perched, then flew once more. 
And each time nearer than belbre : 
I saw his wing through twilight flit. 



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And once so near me he alit 

I could hare smote, but lacked the strength ; 
But the slight motion of my hand, 
And feeble scratching of the sand, 
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise. 
Which scarcely could be called a voice, 

Together scared him off at length. 
I know no more, — my latest dream 

Is something of a lovely star 

Which fixed my dull eyes from afar. 
And wtnt and came with wandering beam, 
And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense 
Sensation of recurring sense. 
And then subsiding back to death. 
And then again a little breath, 
A little thrill, a short suspense. 

An icy sickness curdling o'er 
My heart, and sjjarks that crossed my brain, — 
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, 

A sigh, and nothing more. 

" I woke. — Where was I ? — Do I see 
A human face look down on me ? 
And doth a roof above me close ? 
Do these limbs on a couch repose ? 
Is this a chamber where 1 lie ? 
And is it mortal yon bright eye, 
That watches me with gentle glance ? 

I closed my own again once more, 
As doubtful that the former trance 

Could not as yet be o'er. 
A slender girl, long-haired and tall, 
Sate watching by the cottage wall ; 
The sparkle of her eye I caught. 
Even with my first return of thought ; 
For ever and anon she threw 

A prying, pitying glance on me 

AVith her black eyes so wild and free : 
I gazed and gazed, until 1 knew 

No vision it could be, — 
But that 1 lived, and was released 
From adding to the vulture's feast : 
And when the Cossack maid beheld 
My heavy eyes at length unsealed. 
She smiled, — and I essayed to speak. 

But failed, — and she approached, and made 

With lip and finger signs that said 
I must not strive as yet to break 
The silence, till my strength should be 
Enough to leave my accents free ; 
And then her hand on mine she laid. 
And smoothed the j)illow for my head, 
And stole along on tiptoe tread. 

And gently oped the door, and spake 
In whispers, — ne'er was voice so sweet ! 
Even music followed her light feet ; 

But those she called were not awake. 
And she went forth ; but, ere she passed, 



Another look on nie she cast. 

Another sign she made, to say 
That I had naught to fear, that all 
Were near, at my command or call, 

And she would not delay 
Her due return : while she was gone, 
Methought I felt too much alone. 

" She came with mother and with sire, — 
What need of more ? — I wUl not tire 
With long recital of the rest. 
Since I became the Cossack's guest. 
They found me senseless on the plain, — 

They bore me to the nearest hut, — 
They brought me into life again, — 
Me, — one day o'er their realm to reign ! 

Thus the vain fool who strove to glut 
His rage, refining on my pain. 

Sent me forth to the wilderness. 
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone. 
To pass the desert to a throne, — 

What mortal his o\\'u doom ma}' guess ? 
Lord BVR 



THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE STEED. 
My beautil'ul ! mv lieautiful ! that standest meek- 

ly by. 

With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and 

dark and fiery eye, 
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy 

wingkl speed ; 
I may not mount on thee again, — thou 'rt sold, 

my Arab steed ! 
Fret not with that impatient hoof, — siuiff not 

the breezy wind, — 
The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind ; 
Tlie stranger hath thy bridle-rein, — thy master 

hath his gold, — 
Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell ; thou 'rt 

sold, my steed, thou 'rt sold. 

Farewell ! those free, untired limbs full many a 

mile must roam. 
To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds 

the stranger's home ; 
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn 

and bed prepare. 
Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's 

care ! 
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never 

more with thee 
Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where 

we were wont to be : 
Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the 

sandy plain 
Some other steed, with slower step, shall liear me 

home again. 

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Yes, thou must, go ! the wiW, free breeze, the 

brilliant sun and sky. 
Thy master's house, — from all of these my 

exiled one must fly; 
Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy 

step become less fleet. 
Anil vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy mas- 
ter's hand to meet. 
Oidy in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, 

glancing bright; — 
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm 

and light ; 
And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or 

cheer thy speed, 
Then must I, starting, wake to feel, — thou 'rt 

sold, my Arab steed ! 

Ah ! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand 

may chide. 
Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along 

thy panting side : 
And the rich blood that 's in thee swells, in thy 

indignant pain. 
Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count 

each starting vein. 
Will, they ill-use thee ! If I thought — but no, 

it cannot be, — 
Thou art so swift, yet easy curlied ; so gentle, 

yet so free : 
And yet, if haply, when thou 'rt gone, my lonely 

heart should yearn, — 
Can the hand which casts thee from it now com- 
mand thee to return ? 

r^elurn.' alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy 

master do, 
When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanished 

from his view? 
■When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and 

through the gathering tears 
Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false 

mirage appears ; 
Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary 

step alone, 
Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou 

oft hast borne me on ; 
And sitting down by that green well, I '11 pause 

and sadly think, 
" It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last 

I saw him drink ! " 

When last I saw thee drink! — Away ! the fevered 

dream is o'er, — 
I could not live a day, and knov- that we should 

meet no more ! 
They tempted me, my beautiful ! — for hunger's 

power is strong, — 
They tempted me, my beautiful ! but I have 

loved too long. 



Who said that I had given thee up ? who said 

that thou wast sold? 
'T is false, — 't is false, my Arab steed ! 1 fling 

them back their gold ! 
Thus, tlMS, I leap upon thy back, and scour the 

distant plains ; 

Away ! who overtakes us now shall claim thee 

for his paius ! 

■ — E. Norton. 



HEL'VrELLTN. 

[In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most 
.Tiniable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain 
I lelvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months after- 
wards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his con- 
stant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds 
of Cumberland and Westmoreland.] 

1 CLi.MBEDthedarkbrowof the mighty I lelvellyn. 
Lakes and mountains bi^ncath me gleamed 
misty and wide : 
All was still, save, by tits, when the eagle was 
yelling, 
And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden Edge round the Ked Tarn 

was bending. 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
One huge nameless rook in the front was ascending. 
When I marked the sinl spot where the wan- 
derer had died. 

Dark green was that spot mid the brown moun- 
tain heather, 
WTiere the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in 
decay. 
Like the corjiseof an outcast abandoni'd to weathi'r. 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless 
clay; 
Xor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended. 
For. faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
The much-loveil remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven .away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was 
slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft 
didst thou start? 
How many long days, and long nights didst thou 
number 
Ere he faded before thee, the frieml of thy heart ' 
And, 0, was it meet that — no requiem re.ad o'er 

him. 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
.And thou, little guardian, alone stretcheil before 
him — 
Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 

Whenaprinceto the fate of the peasant hasyieldeil, 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted 
hall. 



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With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches 

are gleaming ; 
In the proudly arched chapel the banners are 

beaming ; 
Faradownthelongaisle sacred music is streaming. 
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 

But mecter for thee, gentle lover of nature. 
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain 
lamb, 
When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge 
in stature. 
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And moi'e stately thy couch by this desert lake 

lying. 
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 
Sir Walter Scott. 



HELVELLYN. 

A B.\RKlxc. sound the shepherd hears, 
A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
He halts, and searches with his eyes 
Among the scattered rocks ; 
And now at distance can discern 
A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
And instantly a dog is seen. 
Glancing through that covert green. 

The dog is not of mountain breed ; 

Its motions, too, are wild and shy, — • 

AVith something, as the shepherd thinks, 

Unusual in its cry ; 

Nor is there any one in sight 

All round, in hollow or on height ; 

Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. 

What is the creature doing here? 

It was a cove, a huge recess, 

Tlint keeps, till June, December's snow ; 

A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 

Eemote from public road or dwelling, 

Pathway, or cultivated land, — 

From trace of human foot or hand. 

There sometimes doth a leaping fish 

Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 

The crags repeat the raven's croak 

I II >;TOiphony austere ; 

Tliither the rainbow comes, the cloud. 

And mists that spread the iijdng shroud ; 



And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, 
That, if it could, would hurry past, 
But that enormous harrier holds it fast. 

Not free from boding thoughts, awhile 
The shepherd stood ; then makes his way 
O'er rocks and stones, foUowing the dog 
As quickly as he may ; 
Nor far had gone before he found 
A human skeleton on the ground. 
The appalled discoverer with a sigh 
Looks round to learn the history. 

From those abrupt and perilous rocks 

The man had fallen, that place of fear ! 

At length upon the shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and all is clear. 

He instantly recalled the name. 

And who he was, and whence he came ; 

Remembered, too, the very day 

On which the traveler passed this way. 

But hear a wonder, for whose sake 

This Lamentable tale I tell ! 

A lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits well. 

The dog, which still wa-s hovering nigh. 

Repeating the same timid cry. 

This dog had been through three months' space 

A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day 
When this ill-fated traveler died, 
The dog had watched about the spot. 
Or by his master's side : 
How nourished here through such long time 
He knows who gave that love sublime, 
And gave that strength of feeling, great 
Above all human estimate ! 

William Wordsworth. 



THE STAG HTTNT. 

FROM " THE LADY OF THE LAKE.' 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
WTiere danced the moon on Monan's rill. 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavj' bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint, from farther distance borne, 
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 
As Chief who hears his warder call, 
"To arms! the foemen storm the wall," 



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The antlered monarch of the waste 

Sprung from liis heathery couch in haste. 

But, ere las fleet career he took, 

The dew-drops from his fianivs he shook ; 

Like crested leader proud and high 

Tossed liis beamed frontlet to the sky ; 

A moment gazed adown the dale, 

A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 

A moment listened to the cry. 

That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 

Then, as the headmost foes appeared. 

With one brave bound the copse he cleared, 

And, stretching forward free and far, 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

Yelled on the view the opening jiack ; 
Dock, glen, and eaveni paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave response. 
A hundred <logs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Tlieir peal the merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices joined the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe ; 
Close in her covert cowered the doe ; 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still, 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 

Less loud the sounds of .sylvan war 
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where, 't is told, 
A giant made liis den of old ; 
For ere that .steep ascent was won. 
High in his pathway hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, stayed perforce. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse. 
And of the trackers of the deer. 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near .: 
So shrewdly, on the mountain-side. 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

The noble stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow. 
Where broad extended, far beneath. 
The varied realms of fair Menteitli. 
With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And pondered refuge from his toil. 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood gray 
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 



And mingled with the pine-trous blue 
On the bold clitfs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope returned. 
With flying foot the heath he spurned. 
Held westward with unwearied race. 
And left behind the panting chase. 

'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-morc ; 
What reins were tightened in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath. 
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, — 
For twice that day, from shore to shore, 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
That reached the lake of Vennachar; 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 

That horseman [ilied the scourge and steel ; 

For, jaded now, and spent with toil. 

Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, 

While every gasp with solis he drew. 

The laboring stag strained full in view. 

Two dogs of black St. H\ibert's breed. 

Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, 

Fast on his flying traces came. 

And all but won that despemte game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, 

Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds stanch ; 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 

Nor farther might the quarr\' strain. 

Thus up the margin of the lake. 

Between the precipice and brake. 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

The hunter marked that mountain high, 
The lone lake's western boundary. 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay. 
Where that huge rampart barred the way ; 
Already glorjing in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with his eyes : 
For the death-wound and death-halloo 
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew ; 
But thundering as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared. 
The wily quaiTy shunned the shock. 
And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen. 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There while, close couched, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head. 
He heard the baflled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass amain, 
Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 



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Close on the }iounds the hunter ciinic, 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But, stnmblinw in tlie rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labore o'er, 
Stretched his stilT limbs, to rise no more ; 
Then, touched with pity and remorse. 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse : 
"I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray I " 

Then through the dell his horn resounds. 
From vain pursuit to call the hountls. 
Back limped, with slow and crippled jiace. 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master's side they pressed. 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream. 
The eagles answered with their scream, 
Ro\uid and around the sounds were cast. 
Till echo seemed an answering blast ; 
And on the hunter hied his way. 
To join some comrades of the day ; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 

Sir Walier Scott. 

THE STAG HUNT. 



The stag too, singled from the herd where long 
He ranged the branching monarch of the shades, 
Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed 
He, sprightly, puts his faith : and, roused by 

fear. 
Gives all his shrift aeiial soul to flight. 
Against the breeze he darts, that way the more 
To leave the lessening murderous cry behind : 
Deception short ! though fleeter than the winds 
Blown o'er the keen-aired mountain by the north. 
He bursts the thickets, glances through the 

glades, 
And plunges deep into the wildest wood, — 
1 f slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track 
Hot-steaming, up behind him come again 
The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth 
Expel him, circling through his every shift. 
He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing .sees 
The glades, mild opening to the golden day. 
Where, in kind contest, with his buttinsr friends 



He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. 
Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 
To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides ; 
Oft seeks the heiil ; the watch ful herd, alarmed, 
With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. 
What shall he do ? His once so vivid nerves. 
So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 
Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil. 
Sick, seizes on his heart : he stands at l«y ; 
And puts his last weak refuge in despair. 
The big round tears run down his dappled face ; 
He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack. 
Blood-happy, hajig at his fidr jutting chest, 
And mark liis beauteous checkered .sides with gore. 

J.VMKS THOMSON. 



BETH GfiLERT. 

The spearmen heard the bugle sound. 
And cheerily smiled the morn ; 

And many a brach, and many a hound. 
Obeyed Llewelyn's horn. 

And still he blew a louder blast. 

And gave a lustier cheer, 
" Come, Gelert, come, wert never last 

Llewelyn's horn to hear. 

' ' 0, where does faithful Gelert roam. 

The flower of all his race ; 
So ti'ue, so brave, — a lamb at home, 

A lion in the chase .'" 

In sooth, he was a ]>eerless hound. 

The gift of royal John ; 
But now no Gelert could be found. 

And all the chase rode on. 

That day Llewelyn little loved 

The chase of hart and hare ; 
And scant and small the booty proved. 

For Gelert was not there. 

Unpleased, Llewelyn homeward hied, 

When, near the portal seat, 
His truant Gelert he espied, 

Bounding his lord to greet. 

But, when he gained his castle-door, 

Aghast the chieftain stood ; 
The hound all o'er was smeared with gore ; 

His lips, his fangs, ran blood. 

Llewelyn gazed with tierce surprise ; 

Unused such lo<iks to meet. 
His favorite checked his joyful guise. 

And crouched, and licked his feet. 



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Onward, in haste, Llewelyn passed. 

And on went Gelert too ; 
And still, where'er his eyes he cast, 

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view. 

O'ertumed his infant's bed he found. 
With blood-stained covert rent ; 

And all around the walls and ground 
With recent blood besprent. 

He called his child, — no voice replied, — 

He searched with terror wild ; 
Blood, l)lood he found on every side, 

]j\it nowhere found his child. 

"Hell-hound! my child 's by thee devoured, ' 

The frantic father cried ; 
And to the hilt his vengeful sworci 

He plunged in Gelcrt's side. 

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, 

Some slumberer wakened nigh ; 
W hat words the parent's joy could tell 

To hear his infant's cry 1 

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap 

His hurried search had missed. 
All glowing from his rosy sleep. 

The cherub boy he kissed. 

Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread. 

But, the same couch beneath. 
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead. 

Tremendous still in death. 

Ah, what was then Llewelyn's pain ! 

For now the truth was clear ; 
His gallant hound the wolf had slain 

To save Llewelyn's heir. 

William Roblrt Spen-cer. 



WAKEN, LORDS AND LADIES GAY. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day ; 

All the jolly chase is here, 

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear ! 
Hounds are in their couples yelling. 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Mi-rrily, meirily mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

AVaken, lords and ladies gay. 
The mist has left the mountain gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming. 
Anil foresters have busy been 
To track the buck in thicket green ; 



Now we come to chant our lay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the greenwood haste away ; 

We can show you where he lies. 

Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray&l ; 

You shall see him brought to bay ; 

Waken, loids and ladies gay. 

Louder, louder chant the lay. 
Waken, lords and ladies gay 1 

Tell them, youth and mirth and glee 

Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stern huntsman, who can balk. 
Stanch as hound and Hect as hawk ? 

Think of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay I 

siK Walter Scott 



A HXJNTING WE WILL GO. 

TnK dusky night rides down the sky, 

And ushers in the mom : 
The hounds all join in glorious cry, 

The huntsman winds his horn. 

And a hunting we will go. 

The wife around her husband throws 

Her arms to make him stay ; 
" My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows ; 

You cannot hunt to-day." 

Yet a hunting we will go. 

Away they fly to 'scape the rout, 
Their steeds they soundly switch ; 

Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, 
.And some thrown in the ditch. 

Yet a hunting we will go. 

Sly Reynard now like lightning flies. 

And swee])s across the vale ; 
And when the hounds too near he spies. 

He drops his bushy tail. 

Then a hunting we will go. 

Fond Echo seems to like the sport. 

And join the jovial en,- ; 
The woods, the bills, the sound retort. 

And music fills the sky. 

When a hunting we do go. 

At last his strength to faintness worn, 

Poor Reynard ceases flight ; 
Then hungry, homeward we return. 

To feast away the night. 

And a drinking we do go. 



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Ye jovial hunters, in the mom 

Prepare then for the chase ; 
Rise at the sounding of tlie horn 
And health witli sport embrace, 

AVlion a liunting we do go. 
HF.NRY Fielding. 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 

KisE ! Sleep no more ! 'T is a noble morn. 
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, 
.And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound, 
Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
Heboid where the billowy clouds (low by, 
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky ! 
Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho ! 
I 'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. 
Hark, harlc! — U'ko calkth the maiden Mom 
Prom her sleep in the woods and tlie stubble corn ? 

The horn, — the horn ! 
7'he merty, sweet rhtg of the hunter's horn. 

Now, through the copse where the fox is found, 
And over the stream at a miglity bound, 
And over the high lands, anil over the low, 
O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the liuntei's go ! 
Away ! — as a hawk Hies full at his prey. 
So flieth the hunter, away, — away ! 
From the burst at the cover till set of sun. 
When the red fox dies, and — the day is done ! 
Hark, hark ! — What sound on the wind is borne ? 
'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's horn.' 

The horn, — the horn! 
The merry, bold voice of the hunter's horn. 

Sound ! Sound the horn ! To the hunter good 
What 's the gully deep or the roaring flood? 
Right over ho bounds, as the wild stag bounds. 
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. 
0, what deliglit can a mortal lack, 
When he once is firm on his horse's back, 
Witli his stirrups short, and his snaitle strong, 
And the blast of the horn for his morning song? 
Hark, hark! — Now, home! and dream till mom 
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter's horn I 

The horn, — the horn! 
0, the sound of all sounds is the hunter's horn! 
BRYAN w, Procter 
(Barry Cornwall). 

A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime. 

Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. 

Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 

We '11 sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 

Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast. 

The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 



Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? — 
There is not a breath tlie blue wave to curl. 
But when the wind blows otf the shore, 
0, sweetly we '11 rest our weai-y oar ! 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 
The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 

Utawa's tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, — 
0, grant us cool heavens and favoring aii-s ! 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! 
Thomas Moore. 

THE PLEASURE BOAT. 

Come, hoist the sail, the fast let go ! 

They 're seated side by side ; 
Wave chases wave in ])leasant flow ; 

The bay is fair antl wide. 

The ripples lightly tap the boat ; 

Loose 1 Give her to the wind ! 
She shoots ahead ; they 're all afloat ; 

The strand is far behind. 

No danger reach so fair a crew ! 

Thou goddess of the foam, 
I '11 ever pay thee worship due. 

If thou wilt bring them home. 

Fair ladies, fairer than the spray 

The prow is dashing wide. 
Soft breezes take you on your way, 

Soft flow the blessed tide. 

0, might I like those breezes be. 

And touch that arching brow, 
I 'd dwell forever on the sea 

Where ye are floating now. 

The boat goes tilting on the waves ; 

The waves go tilting by ; 
Theio dips the duck, — her back she laves ; 

(V,.rbe:id the sea-gulls fly. 

Now, like the gulls that dart for prey, 

The little vessel stoops ; 
Now, rising, shoots along her way, 

Like them, in easy swoojis. 

The sunlight falling on her sheet. 

It glittei-s like the drift, 
Sparkling, in scorn of summer's heat, 

High up some mountain rift. 



The winds are fresh ; she 
Upon the bending tide 



driving fast 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL Sl'uRTS. 



619 



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The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast, 
Go witli her side by side. 

Why (lies the breeze away so soon ? 

Why hangs the pennant down ? 
The sea is glass ; the sun at noon. — 

Nay, lady, do not frown ; 

For, see, the winged (isher's plume 

Is painted on the sea ; 
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom. 

Whose eyes look up to thee ? 

She smiles ; thou need'st must smile on her. 

And see, beside her face, 
A rii'h, white cloud that doth not stir : 

What beauty, and what gi-ace ! 

And jiictured beacli of yellow sanri. 

And peaked rock and hill. 
Change the smooth sea to fairy-land ; 

How lovely and how still ! 

From that far isle the thresher's flail 

.Strikes close upon the ear ; 
The leajiing fish, the swinging sail 

Of yonder slooji, sound near. 

The parting sun sends out a glow- 
Across the placid l)ay. 

Touching with glory all the show. — 
A breeze ! Up lielni ! Away ! 

Careening to the wind, they reach. 
With laugh and call, the shore. 

They 've left their footprints on the beach. 
But them I hear no more. 

RICHARD HHNRY DANA. 



THE ANGLER'S TRYSTING-TREE. 

Si NO, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Meet the mom upon the lea ; 
Are the emeralds of tlie spring 

On the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 

Are there Ijuds on our willow-tree ? 

Buds and binls on our trysting-tree ? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Have you met the honey-bee. 
Circling upon rapid wing. 

Round the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Up, sweet thrushes, up and see ! 

Are there bees at onr willow-tree ? 

Birds and bees at the trysting-tree ? 



.Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Are the fountains gushing free ? 
Is the south-wind wandering 

Thiough tlie angler's trysting-tree ? 

U]), sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 

Is there wind up our willow-tree ? 

Wind or calm at our trysting-tree ? 

.Sing, sweet thnishes, forth and sing ! 

Wile us with a merry glee 
To the flowery haunts of spring, — 

To the anglei''s trysting-tree. 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 

Ari' there flowers 'iieath our willow-tree ? 

Spring and flowei-s at the trysting-tree ? 

Thomas Tod stoddart. 



IN PKAI.SE OF ANGLING. 

QuiVERiS'G fears, heart-tearing cares, 
Anxious sighs, untimely tears. 

Fly, fly to courts. 

Fly to fond worldlings' sports. 
Where strained sardonic smiles are glozing still. 
And grief is forced to laugh against her will, 

Where mirth 's but mummery, 

And sorrows only real be. 

Fly from our country ]iastimes, fly, 
Sad troops of human nii.sery ; 

Come, .sen^ne looks, 

Clear as the crj'stal brooks. 
Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see 
The rich attendance on our poverty ; 

Peace and a .secure 7uind, 

Which all men .seek, we only find. 

Abused mortals ! did you know 

Where joy, heart's case, ami comforts gi'ow. 
You 'd scorn proud towere 
And seek them in tliese bowers. 

Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps may 
shake. 

But blustering care could never tempest make ; 
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us. 
Saving of fountains that glide by us. 

Here 's no fantastic ma.sk or dance. 
But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 
Nor wars are seen. 
Unless upon the green 
Two harmless lambs are butting one the other. 
Which done, both bleating run, eacth to his mother; 
And wounds are never found, 
Save what the plowsliare gives the ground. 



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620 



POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



fb 



Here are no entrapping baits 
To hasten to, too liasty fates ; 

Unless it be 

Tlie fond credulity 
Of silly fish, which (worldling like) stUl look 
Upon the bait, but never on the hook ; 

Nor envy, 'less among 

The birds, for price of their sweet song. 

Go, let the diving negro seek 

For gems, hid in some foi'lorn creek : 

We all pearls scorn 

Save what the dewy morn 
Congeals upon each little spire of grass. 
Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass ; 

And gold ne'er here appears, 

Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 

Blest silent gi-oves, 0, may you be, 
Forever, mirth's best nursery ! 

Jlay pure contents 

Forever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, 

these mountains ! 
And peace stUl slumber by these purling fountains, 

AVhieh we may every year 

Meet, when we come a-fishing here. 

SIR Henry wotton. 



fr- 



THE ANGLER. 

THE gallant fisher's life, 

It is the best of any ! 
'T is full of pleasure, void of strife, 
And 't is beloved by many ; 
Other joys 
Are but toys ; 
Only this 
Lawful is ; 
For our skill 
Breeds no ill. 
But content and pleasure. 

In a moniing, up we rise. 

Ere Aurora's peeping ; 
Drink a cup to wash our eyes. 
Leave the sluggard sleeping ; 

Then we go 

To and fro. 

With our knacks 

At our backs, 

To such streams 

As the Thames, 
If we have the leisure. 

When we please to walk abroad 
For our recreation, 



In the fields is our abode. 
Full of delectation, 

Where, in a brook. 

With a hook, — 

Or a lake, — 

Fish we take ; 

There we sit. 

For a bit, 
Till we fish entangle. 

We have gentles in a horn. 

We have paste and worms too ; 
We can watch both night and morn, 
Suffer rain and storms too ; 
None do here 
Use to swear : 
Oaths do fiay 
Fish away ; 
We sit still. 
Watch our riuill : 
Fishers must not wrangle. 

If the sun's excessive heat 
Make our bodies swel ter, 
To an osier hedge we get. 
For a friendly shelter ; 
Where, in a dike, 
Perch or pike, 
Eoach or dace. 
We do chase, 
Bleak or gudgeon. 
Without grudging ; 
We are still contented. 

Or we sometimes pass an hour 

Under a green willow. 
That defends us from a shower. 
Making earth our pillow ; 
AVhere we may 
Think and pray, 
Before death 
Stops our breath ; 
Other joys 
Are but toys. 
And to be lamented. 

JOH.V Chalkhill. 



THE ANGLER'S WISH. 

I IN these flowery meads would be. 
These crystal streams should solace me ; 
To whose harmonious bubbling noise 
I, with my angle, would rejoice. 

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
Court his chaste mate to acts of love : 



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POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND RURAL SPORTS. 



621 



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Or, on that bank, feel the west-wind 
Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind, 
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, 
And then washed off by Ajjril showeis ; 

Here, hear my kenna sing a song ; 

There, see a blackbird feed her young. 

Or a laverock build her nest : 

Here, give my weaiy spirits rest. 

And raise my low-pitched thoughts above 

Earth, or what poor mortals love. 

Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise 
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice ; 

Or, with my Brj-an and a book. 

Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; 

There sit by him, and eat my meat ; 

There see the sun both rise and set ; 

There bid good morning to next day ; 

There meditate my time away ; 

And angle on ; and beg to have 

A quiet passage to a welcome gi'ave. 

IZAAK Walton. 



Just in the dubious point, where mth the pool 
Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils 
Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank 
Reverted plays in undulating flow, 
There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly ; 
And, as you lead it round in artful curve. 
With eye attentive mark the springing game. 
Straight as above the surface of the flood 
They wanton rise, or urged by himger leap. 
Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 
Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank. 
And to the shelving shore slow dragging some. 
With various hand proportioned to their force. 
If yet too young, and easily deceived, 
A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod. 
Him, piteous of Ms youth, and the short space 
He has enjoyed the vital light of heaven. 
Soft disengage, and back into the stream 
The speckled infant throw. But .should you lure 
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 
Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook. 
Behooves you then to ply your finest art. 
Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly ; 
And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 
The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 
At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 
Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death. 
With sullen plunge. At once he darts along. 
Deep-struck, and nms out all the lengthened line : 
Then seeks the farthest ooze, the shelteiing weed. 
The cavemed bank, his old secure abode : 



And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, 
That feels him still, yet to his furious course 
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 
Across the stream, exhaust his idle nige ; 
Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 
And to his fate abandoned, to the shore 
You gayly drag your unresisting prize. 

jAiiES Thomson. 



U-- 



THE ANGLER. 

But look ! o'er the fall see the angler stand, 
Swinging his rod with skillful hand ; 
The fly at the end of his gossamer line 

Swims through the sun like a summer moth, 
Till, dropt tt'ith a careful precision fine. 

It touches the pool beyond the froth. 
A-sudden, the speckled hawk of the brook 
Darts from his covert and seizes the hook. 
Swift spins the reel ; wth easy slip 
The line pays out, and the rod, like a whip, 
Lithe and arrowy, tapering, slim. 
Is bent to a bow o'er the brooklet's brim, 
Till the trout leaps up in the sun, and flings 
The spray from the flash of his finny wings ; 
Then falls on his side, and, drunken with fright, 

Is towed to the shore like a staggering barge, 

TUl beached at last on the sandy marge, 
Where he dies with the hues of the morning light, 
While his sides with a cluster of stars are liriglit. 
The angler in his basket lays 
The constellation, and goes his ways. 

Thomas BfCHANAN- Read. 



SWIMMING. 

FROM -THR TWO FOSCARl." 

How many a time have I 
Cloven, with arm stiU lustier, breast more daring, 
The wave all roughened ; with a swimmer's stroke 
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair. 
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine. 
Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er 
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 
The loftier they uplifted me ; and oft. 
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down 
Into their gi-een and glassy gulfs, and making 
My waj- to .shells and sea-weed, all unseen 
By those above, till they waxed fearful ; then 
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens 
As showed that 1 had searched thedeep : exulting. 
With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep 
The long-suspended breath, again I spurned 
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 
My track like a sea-bird. — I was a boy tlien. 
LORD Byron. 



^ 



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622 



POEMS OF ADVENTURE AND BUBAL SPOBTS. 



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OUR SKATER BELLE. 

Along tlie frozen lake shu comes 

In liukiug crescents, liglit and lleet ; 

The ice-iniprisoued Undiuo liums 
A welcome to her little leet. 

I see the jaunty hat, the plume 

Swerve birdlike in the joyous gale, — 

The cheeks lit up to burning bloom, 
The young eyes sparkling through the veil. 

The nuick breath parts her laughing lips, 

The white neck shines through tossing curls ; 

Her vesture gently sways and dips. 
As on she speeds in shell-like whirls. 

Men stop and smile to see her go ; 

They gazo, they smile in pleased surprise ; 
They ask her name ; they long to show 

Some sileut friendship in their eyes. 

She glances not ; she passes on ; 

Her steely footfall quicker rings ; 
She guesses not the benisou 

Which follows her on noiseless wings. 

Smooth be her ways, secure her tread 

Along the devious lines of life. 
From grace to grace successive led, — 

A noble maiden, nobler wife I 

ANONVKOUS. 



SLEIGH SONG. 

Jingle, jingle, clear the way, 
'T is the merry, meny sleigh ! 
As it swiftly scuds along. 
Hear the burst of happy song ; 
See tlie gleam of glances bright, 
Flashing o'er the pathway white ! 
Jingle, jingle, past it flies. 
Sending shafts from hooded eyes, — 
Roguish archers, I '11 be bound, 
Little heeding whom the)' wound ; 
See them, with capricious pranks. 
Plowing now the drifted bauks ; 
Jingle, jingle, mid the glee 
Who among them cares for me ? 
Jingle, jingle, on they go, 
Capes and bonnets white with snow. 
Not a single robe they fold 
To protect them from the cold ; 
Jingle, jingle, mid the storm. 
Fun and frolic keep them wanu ; 
Jingle, jingle, down the hills. 
O'er the meadows, past the mills, 
Now 't is slow, and now 't is fast ; 
Winter will not always last. 
Jingle, jingle, clear the way ! 
'T is the merry, merry sleigh. 

a. W. PRTTHE. 



U-- 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 




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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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NORHAM CASTLE. 



(The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford) is 
situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above 
Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between Eng- 
land and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical 
importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence as well 
as stren£fth. Edward 1. resided there when he was created umpire 
of the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. It was repeat- 
edly taken and retaken during the wars between England and 
Scotland, and, indeed, scarce any happened in which it had not 
a principal share. Xorham Castle is situated on a steep bank, 
which overhangs the river. The ruins of the castle are at present 
considerable, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large 
shattered tower, with many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, 
inclosed within an outward wall of great circuit.] 

Day set on Norham's castled steep, 
Aiui Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 

And (-'heviot's mountains lone : 
The liattled towers, the donjon keep. 
The loop-hole grates where captives weep, 
The Hanking walls that round it sweep, 

In yellow luster shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high, 
Mo^dng athwart the evening sky, 

.Seemed forms of giant height ; 
Their armor, as it caught the rays. 
Flashed back again the western blaze 

In lines of dazzling light. 

St. George's banner, broad and gay. 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the donjon tower. 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search. 

The castle gates were barred ; 
Aljove the gloomy portal arch. 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

The warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along. 
Some ancient Border-gathering song. 

A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er Homcliff hill, a plump of spears. 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud 

Before the dark array. 



Beneath the .sable palisade. 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle-horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight diil call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 

" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe. 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my her.alds ready be. 
And every minstrel souml his glee, 

And all oui' trumpets blow ; 
.\nd, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot : 

Lord Marmion waits below." 
Then to the castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron-.studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
The lofty palisade unsparred, 

.■\nd let the drawbridge fall. 

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rodi', 
I'roudly his red-roan charger trode, 
His helm hung at the saddle-bow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight, and keen. 
And had in many a battle been. 
The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire. 
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thick mustache, and curly hair, 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turned joints, and .strength of limb, 
Showed him no cai-pet-knight so trim. 
But in close fight a champion grim. 

In camps a leader sage. 

■\Vell was he armed from heid to heel. 
In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 
But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 
Was all with buniished gold embos.sed ; 



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62-4 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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Anlid the plumage of the crest, 

A falcon hovered on her nest, 

With wings outspread, and forward breast ; 

E'en sui'h a falcon, on his shield, 

Soared sable in an azure field : 

Thr -olden Icyeiid bore ariKhl, 

21811)0 cljrcks nt mr to liratlj is Sigijt. 
Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 
Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 
The knightly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 

Behind him rode two gallant squires 
Of noble name and knightly sires ; 
They burned tlie gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored, 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board. 
And frame love-ditties passing rare. 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

Four men-at-arms came at their backs. 
With halben, bill, and battle-ax ; 
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
Ami led his sumpter-mules along, 
And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four 
On high his forky pennon bore ; 
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, 
Where, blazoned sable, as before. 
The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two. 
In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 
With falcons broidered on each breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest : 
Each, chosen for an archer good. 
Knew liunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys and array 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 

SIR Walter scott. 



MELROSE ABBEY. 



LAV OF THE LAST MINSTRE 



u 



If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 

Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 

For the gay beams of lightsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in night. 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 



When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower ; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 

When sih-er edges the imagei-y, 

.\nd the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's giave, 

Then go, — but go alone the while, — 

Then view St. D.a\'id'3 ruined pile ; 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair ! 

The pillared arches were over their head. 

And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. 

Spreading herbs and flowerets bright . 

Glistened with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb nor flow'eret glistened there, 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The monk gaz<-d long on the lovely moon. 

Then into the night he lookeil forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the glowing north. 

He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 
That .spirits were riding the northern light. 

By a steel-clenched postern door. 

They entereil now the chancel tall ; 
The darkened roof rose high aloof 

On pillars lofty and light and small ; 
The keystone, that locked each ribbed aisle, 
Was a fleur-de-lis, or a (juatre-feuille : 
The corbells were carved grotesque and grim ; 
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim, 
With base and with capital flourished aronnd. 
Seemed bundles of lances whiili garlands had 
bound. 

Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven. 

Around the screenki altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn. 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
gallant chief of Otterburne ! 

And thine, dark Kniglit of Liddesdale ! 
fading honors of the dead ! 
high ambition, lowly laid ! 

The moon on the east oriel shone 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone. 

By foliaged tracery combined ; 
Thou wouldst have lli.iuulit sonic fairy's hand 
'Twixt popl.ars sti-iiulil ilir,.~i-'i u.iml 

In many a freakish knot had twiiird ; 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done, 
And changed the willow wreaths to stone. 
The silver light, so pale and faint. 



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DliSViai' TI I -E I -OEMS. 



625 



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Showed many a projiliet, and many a saint, 

Whose image on the glass was dyed ; 
Full in the midst, his Cross of Ked 
Triumphant Michael braudishW, 

And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
TIk! moonbeam kissed the holy pane, 
And threw on the pavement a liloody stain. 



ON ROUSSEAU'S ISLE. 

Ai.oN'E and .sa<l I sat me down 

To rest on Rousseau's narrow Isle, 

Ijelow Geneva. Mile on mih', 

And set with many a shining town. 

Toward Dent du Midi danced the wave 

Beneath the moon. Winds went and came, 

And fanned the stars into a llame. 

I heanl the far lake, dark and deep, 

Kise up and talk as in its slee]i. 

I lieard the laughing waters lave 

And lap against the farther shore. 

An idle oar, and nothing more 

Save that the Isle had voice, and save 

That round about its base of stone 

Tlii-re ]ila.slieil and flashed the foamy Rhone. 

A stately man, as black as tan. 
Kept up a stern and broken round 
Ainong the strangers on the ground. 
I named that awful African 
A second Hannibal. I gat 
Jly elbows on the talile, sat 
With chin in upturned palm to .scan 
His face, and conteniplate the scene. 
The moon rode by, a crowneil queen. 
I was alone. Lo ! not a man 
To speak my moth(U'-tonguc. Ah me ! 
How more than all alone can be 
A man in crowds ! Acrcss the Isle 
My Hannibal strode on. The while 
Uinnni.sbed Rousseau sat his throne 
Of books, unnoticed an<l unknown. 

This strange, strong man with face austere 
At last drew near. He bowed ; he spake 
In unknown tongues. I could but shake 
My hi^ad. Then, half a-chill with fear, 
1 rose, and sought another place. 
Again I mused. The kings of thought 
Came by, and on that storied spot 
1 lilted up a tearful face. 

The star-set Alps they sang a rune 
I'nbeard by any soul but mine. 
Mont lUanc, iis lone and as divine 
And white, seemed mated to the moon. 



The past was mine, strong-voiced and v;ist : 
Stern Calvin, strange Voltiiire, and Tell, 
And two whose names are known too well 
To name, in gi'and procession passed. 

And yet again came Hannibal, 

King-like he came, and drawing neaj, 

1 saw his brow was now severe 

And resolute. In tongues unknown 

Again he spake. I was alone. 

Was all unarme<l, was worn and sad ; 

I'ut now, at last, my s|>irit had 

Its old assertion. I arose. 

As startled from a dull repose. 

With gathered strength I raised a hand, 

And cried, " 1 do not understand." 

His black face brightened as I spake ; 
He bowed ; he wagged his woolly hi ad , 
He showed his shining teeth, and .saiil, 
"Sar, if you please, dose tables here 
Are consecrate to lager-beer ; 
And, Sar, what will you have to take ? " 

Not that I loved that colored cuss, — 

Nay ! he had awed me all too much, — 

But I sjjrang forth, an<l with a clutch 

I grasped his hand, and holiling thus. 

Cried, " Bring my countiy's drink for two I " 

For 0, that speech of Sa.\on sound 

To me was as a fountain found 

In wastes, and thrilled nie through and through. 

On Rousseau's Isle, in Rous.seau's .shade. 
Two pink and spicy drinks wen: made; 
In classic shade, on clas.sic ground. 
We stiiTed two cocktails round and rouml. 

JOAfJUIN MILLER. 



ALNWICK CASTLE. 

IbiMi; of the Percy's high-born race, 

Home of their beautiful and brave. 
Alike their birth ami burial place. 

Their cradle and their grave ! 
Still stenily o'er the castle gate 
Thi'ir house's Lion stands in state, 

.■\s in his proud departed hours; 
And warriors frown in stone on high, 
And feudal banners " flout the sky " 

Above his princely towers. 

A gentle hill its side inclines. 

Lovely in Englainl's fadeless green. 

To meet the i(uiet stream which winds 
Through this romantic scene 

As .silently and sweetly still 

As when, at evenini', on that hill, 



-^ 



[& 



Q-2i\ 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



■a 



e- 



Wliile summer's wind blew soft and low, 
Si'ated hv giiUiint Hotspur's side, 
His Katherine was a happy bride, 

A thousand years ago. 

1 wandered through the lofty halls 

Trod by the Pereys of old fame. 
And traeed upon the chapel walls 

Each high, heroic name, 
From him who once his standard set 
Where now, o'er niosiiue and minaret. 

Glitter the Sultan's crescent moons, 
To him who, when a younger son. 
Fought for King George at Lexington, 

A major of dragoons. 

That last half-stanza, —it has dashed 

From my warm lip the sparklinj; cup; 
The light that o'er my eyebeam Hashed, 

The power that bore my spirit up 
Above this liank-note world, is gone ; 
And Alnwick 's but a market town, • 
And this, alas ! its market day. 
And beasts and borderers throng the way ; 
Oxen and bleating lambs in lots, 
Northumbrian boors and plaided Scots, 

Men in the coal and cattle line ; 
From Teviot's baixl and hero land. 
From royal Berwick's beach of sand. 
From WooUer, Jlorpeth, Hexham, and 

Xewcastle-upou-Tyne. 

These are not the romantic times 
So beautiful in Spenser's rhymes. 

So dazzling to the dreaming boy ; 
Ours are the days of fact, not fable, 
Of knights, but not of the round table. 

Of Bailie Jarvie, not Rob l!oy : 
Tis what " Our President, " Monroe, 

Has called " the ei-a of good feeling" ; 
The Highlander, the bitterest foe 
To modern laws, has felt their blow. 
Consented to be taxed, and vote, 
And put on pantaloons and coat. 

And leave olV cattle-stealing : 
Lord Stalford mines for coal and salt, 
The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt. 

The Douglas in red herrings ; 
And noble name and cultured land. 
Palace, and park, and vassal band. 
Are powerless to the notes of hand 

Of Rothschild or the Barings. 

The age of bargaining, said Burke, 
Has come ; to-day the turbaned Turk 
(Sleep, Richard of the lion heart ! 
Sleep on, nor from your cerements start) 
Is England's friend and fast ally : 



The Moslem tramples on the Greek, 
Aiul on the Cross and altar-stone, 
And Christendom looks tamely on. 
And heai-s the Christian maiden shriek, 
j And sees the Christian father die ; 
I iVnd not a saber-blow is given 
I For Greece and fame, for faith and heaven, 
I By Europe's craven chivalry. 

! You '11 ask if yet the Percy lives 
! 1 n the armed pomp of feudal state. 
i The present representatives 
I Of Hotspur and his "gentle Kate," 
Are some half-dozen servingincn 
In the drab coat of AVilliam Pcnn ; 

A chambermaid, whose lip and eye. 
And cheek, and brown hair, bright and curlin;,', 

Spoke nature's aristocracy ; 
And one, half groom, half seneschal, 
Who bowed me through court, bower, and hall, 
From donjon keep to tunvt wall. 
For ten-and-sixpence sterling. 
riTz-» 



COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER ERinC.E, 1803. 

E.^UTii has not anything to .show more fair ; 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This city now doth, like a gjirment, wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
Shijis, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie 
Open >mto the fields, and to the sky. 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep 
In his firat splendor valley, rock, or hill ; 
Xe'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deeji! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will. 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

William Wordsworth. 



NUREMBERG. 



: broad 



In the valley of the Pcgnitz, wher 

meadow-lands 
Rise the blue Franeonian mountains, Nuremberg, 

the ancient, stands. 

Quaint old to\vn of toil and traffic, ipiaint old 

town of art ami song. 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables like the rooks 

that round them throng . 

-.4:5 



l^ 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



-.7^ 



627 



Memories of the iliddle Ages, whcu the eiiijjer- 

ors rouyh aud bold 
Had their dwellings in thy castle, time-defying, 

centuries old ; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in 

their uncouth rhyme, 
That their great, imperial city stretched its hand 

to evei-y clime. 

In the courtyard of the castle, bound with many 

an iron band. 
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen 

Cunigunde's hand ; 

On the square, the oriel window, where iu old 

heroic days 
Sat the poet ilelchior, singing Kaiser Maximilian's 

praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondious 
world of art ; 

Fountains wrought with richest sculpture stand- 
ing in the common mart ; 

And above cathedral doorways saints and bLshops 

carved in stone, 
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our 

own. 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrine<l 

his holy dust, 
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from 

age to age their trust : 

Id the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix 

of sculpture rare, 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountain!*, rising through 

the painted air. 

Here, when art was still religion, with a simple 
reverent heart. 

Lived and labored Alhrecht Diirer, the Evange- 
list of Art ; 

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with 

busy hand. 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the 

Better Land. 

EmigravU is the inscriprion on the tombstone 

where he lies. 
Dead he is not — but departed — for the artist 

never dies : 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine 

seems more fair 
That he once has trod its pavement, that he 

once has breathed its air. 



Through these streets sd broad and stalely, these 

obscure and dismal lanes. 
Walked of yore the Mastei'singers, chanting rude 

jwetic strains ; 

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to 

the friendly guild, 
Building nests iu Fame's great temple, a.s in 

spouts the swallows build. 

As the weaver plied the shuttle wove he too the 

mystic rhyme. 
And the smith liis iron measures hammered to 

the anvil's chime. 

Thanking God, whose Iwundlcss wisdom makes 

the (lowers of poesy bloom 
In the forge's dust and cinder.s, in the tissues of 

the loom. 

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of 

the gentle craft. 
Wisest of ihc Twelve Wise Masters, in huge 

folios .sang and laughed. 

But his house is now an alehou.se, with a nicely 

sanded floor. 
And a garland in the window, and liis face alxjve 

the door. 

Painted by some humble artist, as in .\dain 

I'uschman's song. 
As the old man gray and dovelike, with his 

great beard white and long. 

And at night the swart mechanic conies to drown 

his cark and care, 
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the ma.s- 

ter's antique chair. 

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my 

dreamy eye 
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a 

faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisei-s, win for thee 

the world's regard, 
But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and Hans 

Sachs, thy cobbler-bard. 

Thus, Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region 

far away. 
As he paced thy streets and courtyards, sang in 

thought his careless lay ; 

Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a 

floweret of the soil. 
The nobility of labor, — the long pedigree of toil. 

HENRY W. LONGF--Lt.O\V. 



y-^- 



-^ 



e- 



628 



DKSCIUPTIVE POEM:>. 



-n 



Italy, liow l>wuitirul thou art I 
Yet 1 cimlil \\oi>ii, — for thou iirt lying, alas ! 
Low ill the dust ; iiiid they who conio admire 

thee 
As we admire the beautiful in death. 
Tliiue was a daiigi-rous gift, the gift of heauty. 
\Vould thou hudst less, or wort as oiire thou wast, 
liispiriug awe iu those who now enslave thee ! 
Hill \\ liY despair ' Twiee hast tliou lived already, 
Twiee shone among the nations of the world. 
As the sun shines among the lesser lights 
( If lieaveii ; and slialt again. Tlio hour shall 

COllU', 

When Ihey who think to bind the ethereal siurit, 
W'lio, like tile eagle eoworing o'er his jirey, 
Wateh with quiek eye, and strike and strike again 
If I'Ut a sinew vibrate, shall eonfess 
Their wisdom folly. 

SAMl'i;!. KOCtKS. 



tN THE ETRURIAN VALLEY. 



TiiK ealm swan rested on the breathless glass 
t'f dreamy waters, ami the snow-white steer 

Near the ojiposing margin, motionless, 

Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its eleav 

And lifelike shadow, sliimniering deep and far. 

Where on the lurid darkness fell the star. 

Near them, upon its liehcn-tiuted base, 
Gleamed one of those fair-fancied images 

AVhieh art hath lost, — no god of 1 dan iiiee, 
But the winged symbol whieb liy Caspian 
soas. 

Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest 

To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest, 

Light as tho soul, whose archetype it was. 
The Genius touched, yet spurned, the pedestal ; 

Behind, the foliage in its jairple mass 

Shut out the flushed horizon ; oireliiig nil. 

Nature's hushed giants stood, to guard and girth 

The only home of jieaee upon the earth. 

EnWARD lUl.WEK (I.OKli I.%TTON), 



Tmekk is a glorious City in the Sea. 
The Sea is iu the broad, the narrow streets, 
Ebbing and tlow-ing ; and the salt soa-weed 
T Clings to the marble of her palaces. 
U-(— . . 



No track of men, no footsteps to and fro. 

Lead to her gates. Tlic path lies o'er tho Sea, 

Invisilile ; and from tlie land we went. 

As to a lloating City, — steering in. 

And gliding up her streets as in a ilreani. 

So smoothly, silently, — by many a dome 

Mosiiue-like, and many a stiitely portico. 

The statues ranged along an azure sky ; 

By many a pile in more than Eastern spK'iidor, 

Cf old the residence of merchant kings ; 

Tho fronts of some, though Time luid sliatteied 

them. 
Still glowing with the richest hues of art, 
.Vs though the wealth within them had run o'er. 

. . . . A few in fear, 
Flying away from him whoso boast it was 
That tho grass grow not where his horse had 

trod, 
Gave birth to Venice. Like tho waterfowl, 
They built their nests among the ocean waves ; 
And where the sands were shifting, as the wind 
Blew fronv the north, the south ; where they that 

came 
Had to make sure tho ground they stood upon, 
Kose, like an exhalation, from the deep, 
.\ vast Metropolis, with glittering spires. 
With theaters, basilicas lulorned ; 
A scene of light and glory, a doiuinion, 
That lias endured the longest among men. 

And wlu'iici' the talisman liy which she rose 
Toncring ! "1' was found tlicre in tlic Ijarivn 

sea. 
Want led to Enterprise ; and, far or near, 
Who met not the Venetian i — now in Cairo ; 
Ere yet the Califa came, listening to hear 
Its bells approaching from the Kcd Sea coast ; 
Now on the Euxine, on the Sea of Azoph, 
In converse with the Persian, with the Huss, 
The Tartar ; on his lowly deck receiving 
Pearls from the gulf of Onnus, gems from Bagdad, 
Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love 
From Georgia, from Cireassia. Wandering round. 
When in tlie rich bazaar ho saw, displayed. 
Treasures from unknown climes, away he went, 
And, traveling slowly upward, drew erelong 
From the well-head supplying all below ; 
Jlaking the Imperial City of the East 
Ilei-sidf his tributary 

. . . . Thus did Venice rise, 
Tims flourish, till the unwelcome tidings came. 
That in the Tagus had arrived a fleet 
I'nnn India, from the region of the Sun, 
Fragrant with sjiices, — that a way was found, 
-A channel opened, and the golden stream 
Turned to enrich another. Then she felt 
Her strength departing, and at last she fell. 
Fell in an instant, blotted out and razeil ; 



-3 



LEHCIilPTIVE POEMS. 



G29 



"d 



She who hail btood yi.-t longer tliari the longeat 
Of the Four Kingdoms, — who, as in an Ark, 
Had lioat»;d down amid a thousand wrecks. 
Uninjured, from th'.- Old World to the New. 

Samuel RocEJca. 



1 AM in Korne ! Oft as the morning ray 
Vi«it» these eyes, waking at once I cry. 
Whence this excess of joy? What lias befallen 

me ? 
And from within a thrilling voice replie», 
Tiiou art in Koine ! A thousand busy thoughts 
H:is1j on my mind, a thousand images ; 
AthI I spring up as girt i/i run a race ! 

Thou art in Kome 1 the City that so long 
lleigncd atjsolutc, the mistress of the world ; 
The mighty vision that the projihets saw. 
And trembled ; that from nothing, from the 

least, 
The lowliest village (what but here and there 
A reed-ro<jfcd cabin by a river-side ?) 
Grew into everjthing ; and, year by year, 
Patiently, fearlessly working her way 
O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea, 
Xot like the merchant with his merchandise, 
Or traveler with stafl' and s<rip exploring, 
But hand to hand and foot to foot through hosts, 
Through nations numberless in Ixittle array, 
Ea/;h l»ehind each, ea/:li, when the other fell. 
Up and in arms, at length subdued them alL 
Samuel Roceks. 



THE GRECIAN TEMPLES AT P^ESTUM. 

In Pasturn's ancient fanes I trod. 
And mused on those strange men of old. 
Whose dark religion could infold 
So many gods, and yet no God '. 

I>id they to human feelings own, 
And had tliey human s<juls indecl. 
Or did the sternness of their creed 
Frown their faint spirits into stone ? 

The southern breezes fan rny face ; — 
I hear the hum of Itees arise, 
And lizards dart, with mystic eyes. 
That shrine the secret of the place ! 

These silent columns speak of dread. 
Of lovely worship without love ; 
And yet the wami, deep heaven above 
Whispers a »off-r tale instea/1 1 

R'/<i3ITEK W. RAVMOSIj 



COLISEUM HY MOONLIGHT. 



Thk stars are forth, the moon aljovc the tojis 
Of the snow-shining mountains. — Jieautiful ! 
I linger yet with Nature, for the night 
Hath Wn to me a more familiar face 
Than tliat of man ; and in her starry slia/b- 
Of dim and solitary loveliness 
I learncl the language of another worhL 
1 do rememl;er me, that in my youth, 
When I was wandering, — ujjon such a night 
I Ht/xA within tlie Coliseum's wall, 
Midst the chief relics of almighty ICome. 
The trees which grew along the 1/roken arches 
Waved <lark in the, blue midnight, and the stars 
.Slione through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
The watch-dog V;ay<«l U;yond the Tilx:r ; and 
More near, from out the Ca;»ars' |«ibu;c came 
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly. 
Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Begun and did ujjon the gentle wind. 
Some cypresses l;eyond the time-worn brea/;h 
Appcard to skirt the horizon, yet they «U)od 
• ithin a Ixiwshot, — where the Ca;».'irs dwelt, 
yind dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
A grove which springs through leveled l/altle- 

ments. 
And twines its roots with the imjxrrial heartbii. 
Ivy usuqjs the laurel's pla/;e of growth ; — 
But the gladiators' IJowly Circus stands, 
A noble wreck in ruinous jwrfection. 
While Ciesar's chaml<crs and the Augustan halls 
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — 
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, u[)on 
All this, and ca.st a wide and tender light. 
Which softened down the hoar austerity 
Of raggfjil desolation, and filled up, 
As 't were anew, the gaj/s of centuries, 
I>;aving that lyjautiful which still was so, 
And making that which was not, till the pk' 
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 
With silent worship of the great of old I — 
The dear], but scejjterd sovereigns, who still rul^ 
Our sjiirits from their urns. 



THE COLISEUM. 



CUIUjE haeold," 



AKf;ilF,s on arches I as it were that Eome, 
Collecting the chief trophies of her line, 
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, 
Her ColLseum stands ; the mwjnbeams shine 
As 't were its natural torches, for divine 
Should Uthelightwhich streams here, to illume 
This long-explored, but still exhaustless, mine 



fr- 



G30 



DK&Cllll'Tl VE POEMS. 



-^ 



Of iontomi>livtiou ; nuil tli« ft/mo gloom 
(If nil Italimi iiifilU, wlu-ro llu' i1im'|i skies nssiimo 

lliu's whi.li Imvo words, iiml speiik to jo of 

luuivtMi, 
I'Moiits o'or lliis vast ami wondrous iiiomniu'nt, 
Ami shadows fortli its glory, 'I'Ikto is j,'iviMi 
l'Mlotluitliiii),'sofTOVtli, wliicirrimi'liatli bwil, 
A N|iirit's fccliiif;, and wlmro Im hatli Iraiit 
Hi-. Iiiiml. Imt lirokoliissi'vthf, Www is a iiowor 
And mu>;ii- in tlio niimid liattliMiu'id, 
For wliicli till' palai'o of tlu' pivsoiit lioiir 
MusI yield its poiuii, and wait till af;osare its dower. 

And liere the Imzz of eiigw nations ran, 
In nuunnireil iiity, or lotid-roarod iipiilaiiso. 
As man was slivuf;hterod by his I'ollow-niau. 
And wherefore shuijjhtered / wherefore, Imt 

IveeaUM^ 
Sueh were the iiloodv I'ireus' j;enial laws. 
Ami the imperial pleasiiro. — Wlu'refore not? 
^\'hat mutters whore we fall to till the mawa 
(If worms, on hattloplains or listed spot / 
lioth are Imt theaters whoro the ehief aetors rot. 

1 see lieloii' nu' the (iladiator lie ; 
He leans upon his haml, — his nnmly hrow 
Consents to death, hut eomiliersi aj;ony, 
And his drooped head sinks j;radnally low,— 
Andthroii'^h his side the last drops, ebhinfislow 
Kroin the ifd j;ash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the lirst of a tluiliiler-sliowiM- ; and now 
'I'he arena swims around liim, -• he is gone, 
Kre eeased the inhuman shout whieli hailed the 
wreteh who won. 

He heard it, but he heeded not, — his oyos 
Were with his heart, anil that was far ftway. 
He leeked imt of the life he lost nor prize, 
l!ut when' his ruilo hut by the llanube lay. 
There were liis young twrlmrians all at play, 
T'herewns their llaoian mother, he, tlieirsire, 
Hutehered to make a Koman holiday ! — 
All this rushed with his blood. - SJiall he ex- 
pire 
And unavenged .' Ari.se, yedoths, and glut your 



r.ut here. wh,-re Murder breathed lier bloody 

.And here, where lau/ing nations ehoked the 

ways. 
.And roared or nuuinured like a mountain stream 
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; 
Heiv, where the lunnan millions' blaiueor praise 
Was death or life, the playthings of a erowd, 
Mv voice sounds mueh, — tuid fall the stars' 



^ 



On the arena void, seats crushed, walls bowivl, 
And galleries, where mv steps seem eehoes strange- 
ly lou.l. 

A rniii, -yet what ruin ! from its nuiss 
Walls, palaees, half-eities, Imve been reared ; 
Vet oft the enormous skeleton ye pas,s. 
And marvel where t he siuiileouldhaveappeared. 
Hath it indeed been plundered, or but eleared ? 
Alas ! developed, opens the deeay, 
When the eolossal fabrie's form is noiirod ; 
It will not bear Urn brightne.ss of the day, 
Whieh streams too mueh on all years, man, have 
reft away. 

Hut when the rising moon begins to eliinb 
Us topmost areh, and gently pauses there ; 
When the stars twinkle through the loops of 

time, 
.And I hi' low night-bree/e waves along the air 
'I'he garland-forest, whieh the gray walls wear, 
Like laurels on the l«dil lirst C'a'.sar's head ; 
When the light shines serene, but doth not 

glare, — 
Then in this inagio eirele raise the dead ; 
Heroes have trod this spot, — 't is on their dust 

ye tread. 

•'AVhilestamlstheC'oliseum, liome shall stand ; 
AVhen falls the t'oliseum, Uonn- shall fall ; 
And when Kome falls — the AVorld." . Krom 

our own land 
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
In Sa.xon times, whieh we are wont to eall 
.Aneient ; and these three mortal things are still 
On their fouiulations, and unaltered all ; 
Kome and her Uuiu [wst liedemption's skill, 
The W'iuld, the sai\u' wide den — of thieves, or 

what ve will. 



A DAA' IN TUE rAMKlU UOKIA, 



T'llot'iJii the hills aro eold and snowy. 
And the wind drives ehill to-day. 

My heart goes baek to a spring-time, 
Far, far in the past away. 

And T see a ipniint old eity. 

Weary ami worn ami brown, 
AVhere the siiring ai\d the birils are so early. 

And the sun in sueh light goes ilown. 

\ ivmemher that oUl-tin\e villa 

Where our afternoons went by, 
AVhere the .suns of Mareh thi.shed warndy. 

And spring was in earth and sky. 



--S 



DKH<JIill"n Vli POEMS. 



031 



-a 



U-- 



Out of the inoWfcriii;< city, — 

Mol'icririg, old, ami gray, — 
We H|)<;(l, with a lightsome hiart-thrill, 

For a Numiy, glaflnouit liay, — 

For a revel of fresh spring verdure. 
For a rac<; mid springing (lowers, 

For a vioioii of jilanhiug fountains. 
Of l)irdn and blossoming Ixiwers. 

There were violet l/anks in the shadows, 

Violets wliit<; and blue ; 
And a worM of bright anemones. 

That over the terra/:c grew, — 

151 ue and orange and )mri)Ic, 

I'osy and yellow and white, 
liising in rainlxjw bubbles, 

.Streaking the lawns with light. 

And down from the old stone-pine trees, 

'I'hose far-off islands of air, 
Tlye birds are Hinging the tidings 

Of a joyful revel up there. 

And now for the grand old fountains. 

Tossing their silveiy spray ; 
Those fountains, so <[u;iint and ho many. 

That are leaping and Hiui^ug all iJay j 

Those fountains of strange weird si;ulpture, 
With lichens and moss o'ergiown, — 

Are they marble greening in rnfjss-wreaths. 
Or moss-wreaths whit'-ning to st«ne i 

iJown many a wild, dim pathway 
We ramble from moniing till noon ; 

AVe linger, unheeding the hours, 
'I'ill evening eornes all Uxj soon. 

Arid from out the ilex alleys, 

Wliere lengthening shadows play. 

We look on the dreamy Cafni»agna, 
All glowing with setting liay, — 

All melting in Ijan'ls of purple. 
In swathings and foldings of gold, 

In riblyjjis of azure and lilar-. 
Like a princely Ijanner unrolled. 

And the srnokc of each distant cottage, 
And the flash of each villa white. 

Shines out with an opal glimmer, 
Like gems in a ca«ket of light. 

And the dome of old Bt. Petf^r's 
With a strange transluw;nce glows. 

Like a mighty bubble of amethyst 
Floating in waves of rose. 



In a trance of dreamy vagueness. 
We, ga/ing and yearning, Iwholil 

That city Iwheld by the j/rophet, 
Who«« walls were transj<arent gold. 

And, dropjiing all s<jl<:mn and slowly. 
To hallow the soft'/ning spell. 

There falls on the dying twUight 
The Ave Maria bell. 

With a mournful, motherly 8<;ftness, 
With a weird and weary care, 

That strange and ancient city 

.Seenu) calling the nations U) i<rayer. 

And the words that of old the angel 
To the Hiolher of .lesus brought 

Ww: like a new evangel. 

To liallow the trance of our thought. 

With the smoke of the evening Uiixiuv: 
Our thoughts are as<^;nding then 

To Mary, the mother of .lesiis. 
To .Icsus, the Mast^ir of men. 

city of prophets and martyrs ! 

O shrines of the saint<;d deail ! 
When, when shall the living day-spring 

On<« more on your t<jwers 1*: sprea/l '. 

When He who is meek and lowly 
.Shall rule in thos*; lordly halls, 

And shall stand and IJtcd as a sluphcrd 
The flock which hiji mercy calls, — 

O, then to those noble churches. 
To ])icture and statue and gem. 

To the pageant of solemn worshi[), 
.Shall the meaniwi come t/a<;k again. 

And this strange and ancient city, 
In that reign of his truth and love. 

Shall l/c what it mr.rnJi in the twilight. 
The tyiie of that City alxjve. 

HARKII-T KRIlCHeh Stowr. 



A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA. 



OvKK the dumb carni/agna-sea, 

Out in the offing through mist and rain, 
St, VithTH Church hi-jivfM silently 

I„ike a njighty shi[» in pain, 

Y'dJmtii the tcmjiest with straggle and strain. 

Motionless waifs of ruincl UfV/<:TH, 
Soundless breakers of de»olat« land I 



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632 



DESCIiJl'TirE I'OEMS. 



-a 



6- 



The $uUen surf of th* mist ilcvoure 

Tliat imnintniii-mii^i uinni pithor hiuui, 
Efitoii luvav I'lviu its outliiu' gi-siiui. 

Aiul ovi>r tlio dumb i!U«ivis;im-si>ii 

\Vhoi\<tlu>sluiiortlu>(.'huivhlu>avosonto\vrock, 

AloiH' iinil siloiit as (.nni must U' 
Tho I'hrist walks ! — Ay, but IVter's nock 
Is stilV to tuiu on tho fouiuloiing dock. 

Totor, I'otov, if such Ih> thy i«\\m>. 

Now U'Bvo tho ship lor anollun- to stoor. 

And piwing thy faitlv ovormoiv tho samo 
t\>mo forth, tR'adoutthixmghtluHh»rkanddt\)«r, 
Siiioo Uo who walks on tho soa is hoiv ! 

Totor, IVtor 1 — ho doos not sjuvik, — 
llo is not as rash as iu oUi tisUih'o. 

S)»tor a ship, Iliougli it toss aiul leak, 
Thau a U'olinj; foot o« a ivUinji: soa ! 
— And ho 's i^it to Ik> round iu t]u> girtli, thiuks 
ho. 

Pot or, IVtor ! — ho doos not stir, — 
His lU'ts aiv lu'avy with silvor fish ; 

Ho ivokons his spiins, and is koon to infor, 
"Tlio luvil ou tho slioiv, if tho Loixl sliould 

wisli, — 
Hut tJu' sturgeon gvios to tho Civsar's disli." 

I'otor, Totor, thou fislior of moii, 
Kishor of tish wouUist thou livo instead, — 

Haggling for penoo with tho other Ton, 
I'hoating tho market at so much a head, 
(.■riping tho Iwg of tJio traitor dead .' 

At tho triple oivw of the Oallio ooek 

Thou woep'st not, thou, though thine oyes bo 
diutnl : 

What biixl eomes next in tho tomp<>st shook ? 
Vultures ! Soo. — as when Komulus gtuted, 
To inaugurate l?onu> for a world amazed ! 

ELir.\i:FTH I;,\KKK1-T BROWNINa 



Tuts ivgion, suivly, is not of tho earth. 
Was it not dropt from heaven ! Kot a grove, 
t^'itiMU or pine or cedar, not a grot 
Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vino. 
But bwathes onohantniont, >>'ot a olilV but tlings 
On the clear wave some imago of ilolight. 
Some cabin-ivof glowing with crimson tlowors. 
Some ruined temple or fivUen moi\niuent. 
To muse on as the Iwrk is gliding by. 
And bo it mine to mu.^e theiv, mine to glide. 
From daybivak, when the mountain j«K>s his tiiv 
Yet nioiv and moix-, and friim tho mountjxin-top. 



Till tJu'ti invisible, a snmkc ascends. 
Solemn and slow, as oi-st fivm Ararat, 
When he, the I'atiiaivh, who osca{«Ml tho Flood, 
Was with his household sacrificing thoiv, — 
Fi-om daybreak lo that hour, the last ami Ivst, 
When, one by one, tho lishing-boats como forth, 
Etich with its gliuinicring lantern at the prow, 
-Vnd, when tho nets aiv thivwn, tho evening hyniu 
Steals o'er tho tivmbliiig waters. 

Kvorywhci'o 
Fable and Truth have .sliod, in rivalry, 
F.aeh her peculiar intluenco. Fable eamo. 
And laughed and snug, arraying Truth in llowora. 
Like a young child her gnindam. Fable came ; 
Ruth, sea, and sky i-ellecting, i\s she llcw. 
A thousand, thousand coloi's not their own ; 
.\iul at her bidding, lo ! a dark descent 
To Tartarus, and those thrice happy lields, 
Tlu>se fields with ether pniv and jxirplo light 
Ever invested, scones by him described 
Who heiv was wont to wander and iwoixl 
What they ivvoalwl, and on tho western shoiv 
Slooi>s in a silent givvo, o"erlooking thoo, 
Helovod rarthenope. 

Yet hoiw niethinks. 
Truth wants no ornament, in her own shape 
Filling tho mind by turns with awe and love, 
liy turns inclining to wild ecstasy 
And soK'ivst lueditatiou. 

SAMCIU. ROOliRS 



To men of other minds my fancy llies, 
Kmltosomod in tho deep wheit> Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before mo stand, 
Whoiv tho biwul ocean leans against the land, 
And. sedulous to stop the coining tide. 
Lift the tall ranipiiv'.s artilicial pride, 
llnwai-d methinks, and diligently slow. 
The firm coimectod bulwark seems to grow ; 
Spivads its long arms amidst the watery iwir, 
Scoo)>s out an empiiv, and usurps the shore. 
While tho pent ocean, rising o'er tho pile. 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale, 
Tho willow-tufto<l hiuk, tho gliding sail. 
The crowded mart, tho cultivated plain, — 
.•V new civation iTSCued from his roign. 

Thus while around tho wave-subjected soil 
Impels tJie native to ivpeatod toil. 
Industrious habits in «ach bosom reign, 
.\nd industry K>gi>ts a love of gain. 
Hence all the gxiod from opulenee that springs. 
With all those ills superfluous tivasuiv biings, 
.\iv here displayed. 



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JjESCH/J'TI ve poemh. 



G33 



-a 



GREAT BRITAIN. 



PROM "THIi 



My genius spreads her wing, 
Ami flies where I'ritain coui-ts tlje wehtern hjji-ing ; 
Wliere liiwiis extend tliat »<.orn Areiuliaii jiride, 
And brighter streams tlian farned Hyilasj/es 

gli.le ; 
There all around the gentlest breezes stray, 
There gentle miisie melts on cvi;ry spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are tlierc com bind, 
Extremes arc only in the master's mind 1 
Stern o'er each Vmsorn K<«uion Jiol'Is her state, 
With daring aims irregularly great ; 
Pride in their jiort, delianee in their eye, 
1 see tlie lords of human kind jiass by ; 
lnti;nt on high designs, a thoughtful land. 
By forms unfashioned, fresh from Nature's hand, 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagined right, above control. 
While e'en the peasant lx»asts thesi; rights to 

scan. 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 
Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here. 
Thine are those chairns that ilazzle and endear ! 

OLIVIik GOLDSMITH, 



WEEHAWKEN AND THE NEW YORK BAY. 



Wkf.hawkes ! In thy mountain scenery yet. 
All we adore of Nature in her wild 

And frolic hour of infancy is met ; 

And never Vias a summer's moniing smiled 

Upon a lovelier scene than the full eye 

Of the enthusiast revels on, — when high 

Amid thy forest solitudes he climbs 

O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep. 
And knows that sense of danger which sublimes 

The breathless moment, — when his ilaring Btf:p 
Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear 
The low dash of the wave with startled ear. 

Like the death-music of his coming doom, 
And clings to the grei:n turf with desperate 
force. 

As the heart clings to life ; and when resume 
The currents in his veins their wonted course. 

There lingers a deep feeling, — like the moan 

Of woarie<l ocean when the storm is gone. 

In such an hour he turns, and on his view 
Oeiyin and earth and heaven burst before him ; 

Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue 
Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him, — 



The city bright Ixdow ; and far away, 
Sjiarkling in golden light, his own romantic 
Ixiy. 

Tall sjiire, and glittering roof, and Uitllemr^nt, 
And l>anners lloating in the sunny air ; 

And white sails o'er the calm blue waUii-s bent, 
Oreen isle, and cin.ling shore, are blendc<I there 

In wild r<sility. When life Is old. 

And many a S';ene forgot, the h'airt will hold 

Its memory of this ; nor lives there one 

Whose infant breath was drawn, or ljoyhoo<r« 
.lays 

Of liapjiiness were pass<:d Ix;neath tliat sun. 
That in his manhood's jirime can calmly gaze 

Uprin that Ijay, or on that mountain stand. 

Nor feel the prouder of his native lamL 

flTZMjUhliSti llALLhCK. 



LAKE LEMAN. 



Cl-KAIi, placid Lenian ! thy contrast<;d hike. 
With the wihl woHd 1 dwelt in, Ls a thing 
Which warns me, with its Htillnes,s, to for.«»ke 
Earth's troubled wat<:rs for a purer sjiring. 
This ijuiet s-uil Ls as a noiseless wing 
To waft inc from distrat.'tion ; once I loved 
Tom ocean's roar, but thy Wift murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sisti^r's voice reproved, 
That I with stem delights should e'er liave l«en 
HI) move'l. 

It is the hush of night, and all Ijetwcen 
Thy margin and the mountaiiLs, dusk, yet 

clear, 
Mcllowral and mingling, yet distinctly si.en, 
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights apjxiar 
Precipitously steep; and drawing near. 
There breathes a living fragrance from the 

shore. 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the car 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chiqjB the grasshopper one goo'l-night carol 

more : 

He is an evening reveler, wlio makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fdl ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whLs[)er on the hill. 
But that is fancy; for the stiriight dews 
All silently their t«ars of love instill, 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the sjiirit of her hues. 



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634 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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STOKM AT NIGHT ON LAKE LEMAN. 



TiiK sky is cliaugcd ! — and such a chaiigo ! 

liight, 
Aiul storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous 

strong, 
Yet lovely iu your strength, as is the light 
Of 11 dark eye in woman ! Far along. 
From peak to peak, the rattling erags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Xot iVom one lone 

eloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud I 

And this is iu the night: — umst glorious 

night ! 
Thou Wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A shaivr in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea. 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 't is black, — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its uiountaiu- 

mirth, • 

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's 

birth. 

Lord Byron. 



THE DESERTED \1LLAGE. 

SwEEi' Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit i>aid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed. 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth, w hen every sport could please, 
How often have 1 loitei-eil o'er thy green, 
Where luunble happiness endeared each scene ! 
How often have 1 paused on every charm. 
The sheltered cot, the cidtivated farm. 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
The decent church that topiied the neighboring 

hill. 
The hawthorn - bush, with seats beneath the 

shade. 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
How often have I blessed the coming day, 
Wlien toil remitting lent its turn to )>lay. 
And all the village train, from labor free. 
Led up their siKirts l>eneath the spreading tree. 
While many a pastime cireled in the shade. 
The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round ; 



And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 
The dancing jiair that simply sought renown, 
By holding out, to tire each other down ; 
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 
While secret laughter tittere'd round the place ; 
The liashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 
The matron's glance that would those looks re- 

pixne, — 
These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like 

these. 
With sweet succession, t«ught e'en toil to please ; 
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence 

shed. 
These were thy charms, — but all these charms 

are fled ! 
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn. 
Thy siKirts are fled, and all tliy charms with- 
drawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green ; 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 
No more thy glassy brook reflects tlie day, 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollow-sounding bittern gnaixls its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapiwing flies. 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless vuin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the moldering wall. 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's 

hand. 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay : 
Princes and loixls may flourish, or may fade ; 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
Hut a bold peasantry, their country's pride. 
When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere Kiiglaml's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground mainfaiucd its man ; 
For him light Labor spread her wholesome store, 
.T\ist gave what life i'e(iuired, but gave no more : 
His best comiianions, innocence and health ; 
Ami his liest riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling ti-aiu 
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scattered luunlets rose, 
rnwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 
.■\nd every want to luxury allied, 
Ami every jwng that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle houi-s that plenty bade to bloom. 
Those calm desires that asked but little room. 
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful 

scene. 
Lived in each look, and bris;htene<l all tic 



green, — 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



635 



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^ 



These, far departing, seek a kiuder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's 
close, 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ; 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 
The playful children just let loose from school ; 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering 

wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, — 
These all in sweet confusion sought the sliade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail, 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 
No bu.sy steps the grass-gi-own foot-way ti'ead. 
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 
All but yon widowed, solitaiy thing, 
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 
iShe, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; 
.She only left of all the harmless train. 
The sad historian of the [lensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 
smiled, 
.\nd still where many a garden-flower grows wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place dis- 
close, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his 

place ; 
Unskillful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize. 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train. 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast. 
The mined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wejjt o'er liis wounds, or tales of sorrow done. 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to 

glow. 
And quite forgot their vices in their wo« ; 



Careless their merits or their faidts to scan, 
His pit}' gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
Ancl e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side ; 
But in his duty prompt at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries. 
To tempt its new-fledged ofl'spring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed. 
The reverend diampion stood. At his control. 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 
At church, with meek and unaH'ected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. 
And fools, who came to scolf, remainefl to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man. 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children followed with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's 

smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed. 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares dis- 
tressed ; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall clifl', that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are 

spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school ; 
A man severe he was, and stem to view, 
I knew him well, and eveiy truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned ; 
Vet he was kind, or, if severe in aught. 
The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
The village all declared how much he knew, 
'T was certain he could write, and cipher too ; 
Lands he could measure, times and tides presage. 
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge ; 
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill, 
For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still. 
While words of learned length and thundering 

sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 



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636 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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& 



And still tliey gazed, and still the wonder grew 
Tlmt one small head could carry all he knew. 

Uut past is all his fame. The very spot 
Wliere numy a time he triumphed is forgot. — 
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Whore once the sign-jiost caught the passing eye. 
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts 

inspired. 
Where graybeanl mirth and smiling toil retired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks pro- 
found, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlor splendoi-s of that festive place, — 
The whitewashed wall ; the nicely sanded floor ; 
The varnisheil clock that clicked behind the door ; 
The chest, conti'ived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawere by day ; 
Tlio pictures placed for ornament and use ; • 
The twelve good rules ; the royal g-ame of goose ; 
The hearth, e.xccpt when winter dulled the day. 
With a.speu boughs and flowers and fennel gay ; 
While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
SocuiX! to please while youth confirms her reign. 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes. 
But when those charms are past, — for charms ai'e 

frail, — 
When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress ; 
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed. 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise. 
Its visbxs strike, its palaces surprise ; 
AVhile, scourged by famine from the smiling land. 
The inournhil jieasant leads his humble band ; 
.\nd wliile he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms, — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside. 
To 'scape the pre.ssure of contiguous pride ? 
I f to some common's fenceless limits strayed 
He drives his Hock to (liek the scanty blade. 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide. 
And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped, — what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To jiamper luxuiy and thin mankind ; 
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know 
Kxtorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
Here while the courtier glittei's in brocade. 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps 
display. 



There the black gibbet glooms beside the w ay. 

The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight 
reign. 

Here, richly decked, adudts the gorgi'ous train ; 

Tiunultuous grandeur crowds the bla/ing scpiare. 

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy I 

Sure these denote one univei'sal joy ! 

Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah, turn tliiiu' 
eyes 

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 

She once, perhaps, in \-illage plenty blest. 

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 

Sweet as the primrose jieejjs beneath the thorn ; 

Now lost to all : her friemls, her virtue fU>d, 

Near lier betrayer's door she lays her head. 

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from tlie 
shower. 

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour. 

When idly first, ambitious of the town. 

She left her wheel and robes of country brow'n. 
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest 
train. 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proml men's ilooi's they ask a little bread ! 
All, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half tlie convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracks with fainting stejis they go. 
Where wild Altanui murnnirs to their woe. 
Far difl'erent there from all that charmed be- 
fore. 
The various teiToi-s of that horrid shore, — 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray. 
And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters eling ; 
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance 

crowned. 
Where the dark scorpion gathere death around ; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless luey, 
.And savage men more muixlerous still than they ; 
Wliile oft in whirls the mad tornado flies. 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far ditt'erent these from every former scene. 
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green. 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove. 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that 
parting day 
That called them from their native walks away : 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their 

last, 
.\nd took a long farewell, and wished in vain 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



637 



ra 



For seats like these beyond the western main ; 
And shuddering still to face th'e distant deeij, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe 
But for himself in conscious virtue brave. 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
The fonil companion of his helpless years, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her channs, 
Anil left a lover's for her father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woe.s. 
And blessed the cot where every plcjisure rose ; 
And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a 

tear. 
And clas]ied them close, in sorrow doubly dear : 
Whilst her fond liusband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

OLIVER COLDSMITH. 



VILLAGE IN IRELA.VD, 



fr.- 



The town of Pa-ssage 

Is both large and spacious. 

And situated 

Upon the say. 
'T is nate and dacent, 
And ([uite adjacent 
To (;ome from Cork 

On a summer's day ; 
There you may slip in 
To take a di])ping 
Foment the shipping 

That at anchor ride, 
Or in a wherry 
Cross o'er the ferry 
To Carrigaloe, 

On the other side. 

Mud cabins swarm in 
This place so charming, 
With .sailors' gaiments 

Hung out to diy ; 
And each abode Ls 
Snug and commodiou.s. 
With pigs melodious 

In their straw-built sty. 
'T is there the turf is. 
And lots of murphies, 
Dead sprats and herrings. 

And oyster-shells ; 
Nor any lack, 0, 
Of good tobac<;o — 
Though what is smuggled 

By far excels. 



There are ships from Cadiz, 
And from liarbadoes. 
Hut the leading trade is 

In whi.sky punch ; 
And you may go in 
Where one Mary IJowen 
Keeps a nate hotel. 

For a quiet lunch. 
Hut land or deck on. 
You may safely reckon, 
Whatsoever country 

You come hitlier from, 
On an invitation 
To a jollification 
With a parish priest 

That 's called "Father Tom." 

Of ships there 's one fixt 
For Imlging itonvicts, 
A iloating "stone jug" 

Of amazing bulk. 
The liakc and salmon. 
Playing at liagammon, 
Swim for divarsion 

AriHind this hulk; 
There Saxon jailors 
Keej) brave repailors, 
Who soon with sailors 

Must anchor weigh 
From the Emerald Island, 
Ne'er to see dry land, 
Until they spy land 

In sweet Bofny Bay. 

FRANCIS .Mamony (Father proih"). 



THE ISLANT), 

FROM "THE nCCCANEER." 

TllK island lies nine leagues away. 

Along its solitary shore. 
Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 
No .sound but ocean's roar, 
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her 

home. 
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 

But when the light winds lie at rest. 

And on the glas,sy, heaving sea 
The black duck, with her glossy breast, 
Sits swinging silently. 
How beautiful ! no ripples break the reach, 
And silvei-y waves go noiseless u]) the beach. 

And inland I'ests the green, warm dell ; 
The brook comes tinkling down its side ; 



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638 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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From out the trees the Sabbath bell 
Kings cheerful, far ami wide, 
Mingling its soviml with bleatings of the flocks, 
That feed about the vale among the rocks. 

Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat, 

In former days within the vale ; 
I"lapi«ed in the bay the pirate's sheet ; 
Curees were on the gale ; 
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men ; 
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. 

But calm, low voices, words of grace. 

Now slowly fall uiion the ear ; 
A quiet look is in each face, 
SuUlued and holy fear : 
Each motion 's gentle ; all is kindly done ; — 
Come, listen how from criiue this isle was won. 

KlCUAKIl 11, DANA. 

THE SEA-GROT. 

FROM "THE ISLAND." 

Wiin-; it was and high, 
And showed a self-bocu Gothic canopy ; 
The arch upreared by Nature's architect, 
The architrave some earthquake might erect ; 
The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurled. 
When the poles crashed and water was the world ; 
There, with a little tinge of fantasy. 
Fantastic faces moped and mowed on high, 
An<l then a miter or a shrine would lix 
The eye upon its seeuiing cnieili.x. 
Thus Nature played with the stalactites, 
And built herself a chapel of the seas. 

Lord Byron. 



t 



BEFORE AND AFTER THE RAIN. 

We knew it would rain, for all the moru, 

A spirit on slender ropes of mist 
Was lowering its golden buckets down 

Into the vapory amethyst 

Of marehes and swamps and dismal fens, — 
Scooping the dew that lay in the (lowers. 

Dipping the jewels out of the sea, 

To sprinkle them over the laud in showers. 

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed 
The white of their leaves, the amber grain 

Shrunk in the wind, — and the lightning now 
Is tangled in trennilous skeins of rain ! 

TiiE rain has ceased, and in my room 
Tlie sunshine pours an airy Hood ; 
And on the church's dizzy vane 
The ancient Cross is liathed in blood. 



From out the dripping ivy-leaves. 
Antiquely carven, gray and liigh, 
A dormer, facing westwanl, looks 
Upon the village like an eye : 

.\nd now it glimmers in the sun, 
A square of gold, a disk, a speck : 
.•\nd in the belfry sits a Dove 
With purple ripples on her neck. 

THOMAS Bailey aldrich. 



A STILL DAY IN AUTtTMN. 

I LOVE to wander through the woodlands hoary 
In the soft light of an autumnal day. 

When Summer gathers np her robes of glory. 
And like a dream of beauty glides away. 

How through each loved, familiar path she lin- 
gers, 

Serenely smiling through the golden mist. 
Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingei-s 

Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst ; 

Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining 
To light the gloom of Autumn's nioldering 
halls. 
With hoary jilumcs the clematis entwining 
Where o'er the rock her withered garland falls. 

Warm lights are on the sleepy uplands waning 
Beneath soft clouds along the horizon rolled. 

Till the slant sunbeams through their fringes 
raining 
Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold. 

The moist winds bivathe of crispt'd leaves and 
tlowers 

In the damp hollows of the woodland sown, 
Jlingling the freshness of autumnal .showers 

With spicy airs from cedarn alleys blown. 

Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow. 
Where yellow fem-tufts fleck the faded ground, 

■With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow 
The gentian nods, in dewy slumbers bound. 

Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding, 
Like a fond lover loath to say farewell. 

Or with shut wings, through .silken folds in- 
trading. 
Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to tell. 

The little birds upon the hillside lonely 
Klit noiselessly along from spray to spray, 

Silent as a sweet wandering thought that only 
Shows its bright wings and softly glides away. 
Sarah Helen whitman. 



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DEHCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



639 



u- 



THE BIRCH STBEA^ 

At noon, witliin the <liwty Uiwn, 
Where the wild river niiihes down. 

And thunders hoansely all day long, 
I think of thee, my hcnnit utrearn, 
/>ow singing in thy sunimer dnsini 

Thine idle, sweet, old, tran'juil xong. 

Noithwanl, Katahdin's c-liasmed |/ile 
Looms through thy low, long, I'^fy aisle ; 

Kastward, Olamon's suniiiiit shines ; 
And I ujK>n thy grassy shore. 
The dreamful, happy child of yore, 

Worehip Ixjfore mine olden shrines. 

Again the sultrj' noontide hush 
Is sweetly broken by the thrusli, 

Whose elcar Ijell rings and dies away 
Beside thy Panics, in coverts ili-ep. 
Where noijding bu'ls of orchis »l%p 

In dusk, and dream not it is 'lay. 

Again the wild cow-lily floats 
Her golden-freight'^l, tcntcl lxjat» 

In thy cool coves of softi^ned gloom, 
O'eiTiliiwlowtjd by the whispering reed. 
And purple plumes of pickerel- weed. 

And raea<low-sweet in tangled bloom. 

The 8tartle<i minnows dart in flocks 
Beneath thy glimmering aml)er ro<;ks. 

If but a zephyr stirs the brake ; 
The silent swallow swoops, a flash 
Of light, and leaves, with dainty plash, 

A ring of ripples in her wake. 

Without, the land is hot and dim ; 
Tlie level fields in languor swim, 

Their stubble-grasses brown as dust ; 
And all along the upland lanes, 
Where sha'leless ntym oppressive r"igns, 

Dea<l roses wear their crowns of rust. 

Within, is neither blight nor death ; 
The fierce sun wooes with ardent breath, 

But cannot win thy sylvan heart. 
Only the child who loves thee long, 
With faithful worship pure and strong, 

Can know how dear and sweet thou art. 

So loved I thee in days gone by, 

So love I yet, though leagues may lie 

Between us, and the years divide ; 
A breath of coolness, dawn, and dew, 
A joy forever fresh and true. 

Thy memory doth with me abide. 

▲1,-NA BOYKrOM AVERILU 



A EU88IAN ICE-PALACE. 



Lass worthy of applause, though more a'Imir<!<l, 
bivrAUw: a novelty, the work of man, 
Imjorrial mistres>> of the fur-cla/1 Kuss, 
Thy most magnilicent and mighty freak, 
The wonder of the North. No forest fell 
When thou woul'lst build ; no quarry sent it« 

st^jres 
To enrich thy walk ; but thou di<lst hew the 

Ho'.hIs, 
And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 
Silently as a di<taiii the (abric row; ; 
No sound of liammer or of saw was there : 
lee \i\K)U ice, the well-a<Iju«ti;d parts 
Were s')on eonjoin'wi, nor other <ei(ient asked 
Tlian water int>'i-fiis';d to make them one, 
Lamjw gracefully disjxfsi^l, and of all hues, 
Illumine<i every side : a wat<;ry light 
Gleami-jl through the clear transj/arency, tliat 

s<?eme4 
Another moon new ris'-n, or meteor fallen 
From heaven to earth, of laml>ent flame se- 
rene. 
So stood the brittle jirvligy ; though smooth 
And slipj)ery the mat<;iTals, yet frost-txjund 
Finn as a rock. Nor want<-d aught within. 
That royal residence might well tx;fit, 
For grandeur or for us*;. I><jng wavy WTeatha 
Of flowers, that f'aire"! no enemy but warmth. 
Blushed on the f/anels. Mirror wnAi^l none 
Where all was vitnyjus ; but in order due 
Convivial table and comm'xiious seat 
(What 8e<!me'l at least commo<liouB seat) were 

there ; 
Sofa and fX)Uch and high-built throne august. 
The same lubricity was found in all. 
And all was moist t'j the wann t/juch ; a scene 
or evanescent glorj', onw a str'sirn, 
And soon to slide into a stnsim again. 

William Co-a-pesl 



THE OCEAN. 

The ocean at the bidding of the tnvm 
Forever changes with his restless tide : 
Flung shoreward now, U> Ix; TK^MinnA soon 
With kingly i«u.v;s of reluctant pride. 
And s<;mblan';e of return. Anon from home 
He issues forth anew, high ridge<l and free, — 
The gentlest murmur of his seething foam 
Like armies whis-jxiring where great echoes 

be. 
0, leave me here uix>n thi* beech to rove. 
Mute listener to that sound fi grand and 

lone ; 



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640 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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& 



A glorious sound, deep drawn, nnd strongly 

thrown, 
And reaching those on mountain heights ahovo. 
To British oars (as who sliall scorn to own ?) 
A tutelar I'oud voice, a savior tone of love. 

CHARLES TENNYSON. 

THE BLACKBIRD. 

How sweet the harmonies of afternoon ! 

The Hlackbird sings along the sunny breeze 
His ancient song of leaves, anil summer boon ; 

liich breath of haytields streams through whis- 
pering trees ; 
And liirds of morning trim their bustling wings. 
And listen fondly — while the Blackbird sings. 

How soft the lovclight of the west reposes 
On this green valley's cheery solitude, 

On the trim cottage with its screen of roses. 
On the gray belfry with its ivy hood. 

And nmrmuring mill-race, and the wheel that 
llings 

I ts bubbling freshness— while the Blackbird sings. 

The very dial on the village church 

Seems as 't were dreaming in a dozy rest ; 

The scribbled benches underneath the porch 
Bask in the kindly welcome of the west ; 

But the broad easements of the old Three Kings 

Blaze like a furnace — while the Blackbinl sings. 

And there beneath the immemorial elm 
Three rosy revelers round a table sit, 

And through gray clouds give laws imto the realm, 
Curse good andgi'eat, but wor.ship theirown wit, 

Aiul roar of lights, and fairs, and junketings. 

Corn, colts, and curs — the while the Blackbird 
sings. 

Before her home, in her accustomed seat. 
The tidy grandam spins beneath the shade 

Of the old honeysuckle, at her feet 

The dreaming ]iug and purring tabby laid ; 

To her low chair a little maiden cling.s. 

And spells in silence — while the lllaiklard sings. 

Sometimes the shadow of a lazy cloud 

Breathes o'er the handet with its gardens gi-een, 

While the far fields with sunlight overflowed 
Like golden shores of Fairyland are seen ; 

.\gain the sunshine on the shadow springs. 

Ami firesthe thicket — where the Blaekliird sings. 

The wui.ds. the lawn, the peaked manor-house, 
With its peach-covered wall.s, and rookery loud. 

The trim, ipiaint garden-allevs, screened with 
boughs. 
The lion headed gates, so grim and proud. 



The mossy fountain with its murraurings. 

Lie in warm sunshine — while the Blackbird sings. 

The ring of silver voices, anil the sheen 
Of festal garments, — and my lady streams 

With her gay court across the garden green ; 
Some laugh, and dance, some whisper their 
love-dreams ; 

And one calls for a little page : he strings 

Her lute beside her — while the Blackbird sings. 

A little while, — and lo ! the charm is heard : 
A youth, whose life has been all summer, steals 

Forth from the noisy guests around the l)oard. 
Creeps by her softly, at her footstool kneels, 

And, when she pauses, murmurs tender things 

Into her fond ear — while the Blackbird sings. 

The smoke-wreaths from the chimneys curl up 
higher, 
.\nd dizzy things of eve begin to float 
Upon the light ; the breeze begins to tire. 
Half-way to .sunset with a drowsy note 
The ancient clock from out the valley swings ; 
The grandam nods — and still the Blackbird 
sings. 

Far shouts and laughter from the farm-stead 
peal. 

Where the great stack is piling in the sun ; 
Through narrow gates o'erladen wagons reel, 

And barking curs into the tumult run ; 
While the inconstant wind bears ofl', and brings 
The merry tempest — and the Blackbird sings. 

On the high wold the last look of the sun 
Burns, like a beacon, over dale and stream ; 

The shouts have ceased, the laughter and the 
fun ; 
Thegrandam sleeps, and peaceful be her dream ; 

Only a hammer on an anvil rings ; 

The day is dying — still the Blackbii'd sings. 

Now the good vicar passes from his gate. 

Serene, with long white hair ; and in his eye 

Burns the clear spirit that hath conquered Fate, 
And felt the wings of immort.ality ; 

His heart is thronged with great imaginings 

And tender mercies— while the Blackbird sings. 

Down by the lu-ook he bends his steps, ami 
through 
A lowly wicket ; and at last he stands 
.\wful beside tlie bed of one who grew 

From boyhood with him, — who with lifted 
hands 
And eyes seems listening to far welcomings 
.'Vnd sweeter music — than the Blackbird sings. 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



G41 



,-a 



B^- 



Two golJen stars, like tokens from tlie Idcst, 
Strike on his dim orbs lioni the setting sun ; 

His sinking hands seem pointing to the west ; 
He smiles as though he said, "Thy will be 
done ! " 

His eyes they see not those ilium inings ; 

His ears they hear not — what the Hlackbird sings. 

FRUUEKICK TRNNVSON. 



THE COXnfTRY LIFE. 

Sweet eountiy life, to such unknown 

Whose lives are others', not their own ; 

But, serving courts and cities, be 

Less happy, less enjoying thee. 

Thou never plow'st the ocean's foame 

To seek and bring rougli pepper home ; 

Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove 

To bring from thence the scorched clove ; 

Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, 

lii'ing'st home the ingot from the West : 

N'o, thy ambitious ma.ster]>iece 

Flics no thought higher than a fleece ; 

I M- to pay thy hinds, and cleerc 

.\U scores, and so to end the yeare : 

liut walk'st about thine own dear boun<ls. 

Not envying others' larger grounds ; 

For well thou know'st, 't is not the extent 

Of land makes life, but sweet content. 

When now the cock, the plowman's home, 

rails forth the lily-wristed morne ; 

Then to thy cornfields thou dost go, 

Which, though well soyl'd, yet thou dost know 

That the best compost for the lands 

l» the wise master's feet and hands : 

There at the plow thou find'st thy tcame. 

With a hind whistling there to them ; 

.■\iid cheer' St them up, by singing how 

Tlic kingdom's portion is the plow; 

'i'his done, then to the enameled meads 

Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads. 

Thou seest a present godlike power 

Inijirinted in each herbe and flower; 

.'Vnd smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, 

Sweet as the blossoms of the vine ; 

Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat 

L'nto the dewlaps up in meat ; 

And as thou look'st, the wanton steere, 

The heifer, cow, and oxe draw neare, 

To make a pleasing pastime there : 

These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks 

Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox, 

And find'st their bellies there as full 

Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool ; 

And leav'st them, as tliey feed and fill, 

A shepherd piping on a hill. 

For sports, for pageantrie, an<l playes. 

Thou hast thy eves and holydayes ; 



On which the young men and maids meet 

To (^■iercise their dancing feet, 

Tripi)ing the comely country round. 

With daffodils and daisies crowned. 

Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast. 

Thy May-poles, too, with garlands grac't. 

Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun ale. 

Thy shearing-feast, which never faile. 

Thy harvest home, thy wa.ssail bowle, 

That 's tost up after fox i' th' hole. 

Thy mummeries, thy twelf-tide kings 

And ([ueenes, thy Cliiistnjas rcvelings, 

Thy nut-browuc mirth, thy russet wit, 

Aud no man pays too de.are for it : 

To these tliou hast thy times to goc. 

And trace the hare i' th' treacherous snow ; 

Thy witty wiles to draw an<l get 

The larkc into the trammel net ; 

Thou hast thy eockrood and tliy glado 

To take the precious pheasant made ; 

Thy lime-twigs, snares, anil pitfalls then 

To catch the [(ilfering birds, not men. 

happy life ! if tliat their good 

Tlie husbandmen but understood ; 

Who all the day them.selves do please, 

Anrl younglings, with such sjiorts as these ; 

And, lying down, have nought U> affright 

Sweet sleep, that makes more .sliort the night 



CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME. 



Heap on more wood I — the wind is chill ; 

But, let it whi.stle .-ls it will. 

We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 

Rach age has deemed the new-born year 

The fitt<!St time for festal cheer : 

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep tlic mead did drain ; 

High on the beach his galleys drew. 

And fe.i-sted all his pirate crew; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall. 

Where shields and axes decked the wall. 

They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ; 

Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 

The half-gnawed rib an<l marrow-bone. 

Or listened all, in grim delight, 

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 

Then forth in frenzy would they hie, 

Wliile wildly loose their red locks fly ; 

Anil, dancing round the blazing pile. 

They make such barlarous mirth the while, 

i\n liest might to the mind reeall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course ha'l rolled 



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642 



DESCRIPTIVE PUEMS. 



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B- 



And brought blithe Christmas back again, 

With all his hospitable train. 

Domestic and religious rite 

Gave honor to the holy night : 

On Christinas eve the bells were rung ; 

On Christmas eve the mass was sung ; 

That only night, in all the year, 

Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 

The hall was dressed with holly green ; 

Forth to the wood did men-y-nien go, 

To gather in the mistletoe. 

Then opened wide the baron's hall 

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 

Power laid his rod of rule aside. 

And Ceremony doffed her pride. 

The heir, with roses in his shoes. 

That night might \-illage partner choose ; 

The lord, underogating, share 

The vulgar game of " post and pair." 

All liailed, with uncontrolled delight, 

And genend voice, the happy night 

That to the cottage, as the crown. 

Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with weU-dried logs supplied, 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face. 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to gi'ace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high, 
Crested with hays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-g.arbed ranger tell 
How, when, and where the monster fell ; 
What dogs before his death he tore, 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The wassail round, in good brown bowls. 
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
Plum-pon-idge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
Nor failed old Scotland to produce. 
At such higli-tide, her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roared with blithesome din ; 
If unmelodious was the song. 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
"Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery ; 
White skirts supplied the masquerade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors made : 
But, 0, what maskers richly dight 
Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
England was merry England, when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
'T was Christmas broached the mightiest ale ; 
'T was Christmas told the merriest tale ; 



A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through lialf the year. 



THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. 

Befell that in that season on a day 
In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay, 
At night was come into that hostelrie 
Wall nine-and-twenty in a compaguie. 

There also was a Nun, a Prioiess, 
That in her smiling was full simple and coy : 
Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eloy ; 
And she was cleped Madame Eglantine. 
Full well she sange* the service divine, 
Entuned in her nose full swetely ; 
And French she spake full faire and fetisly,+ 
After the school of Stratford atte Bow, 
For French of Paris was to her unknow. 
At mete was she well ytaught witliall ; 
She let no morsel from her lippes fall. 
Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep : 
Well could she cany a morsel, and well keep. 
That no drop never fell upon her lireast. 
In courtesie was set full much her lest. } 

And certainly she was of great disport. 
And full pleasant, and amiable of port. 
And took much pains to imitate the air 
Of court, and hold a stately manner. 
And to be thoughten worthy reverence. 

But for to speaken of her conscience. 
She was so charitable and so piteous. 
She wolde weep if that she saw a mouse 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ; 
Some small hounds had she that she fed 
With roasted flesh, and milk, and wasted bread. 
But sore she wept if one of them were dead, 
Or if men smote it mth a yerde§ smart : 
She was all conscience and tender heart. 

Full seemely her wimple pinched was ; 
Her nose was straight ; her eyes were grey as glass. 
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red ; 
But certainly slie had a fair forehead. 
It was almost a spanne broad I trow, 
For certainly she was not undergrown. 

Full handsome was her cloak, as I was 'ware 
Of sm.all coral about her atm she bare 
A pair of bedes, gauded all with green ; 
And thereon hung a broach of gold full sheue. 
On which was first ywritten a crowned A, 
And after, Amor vindt omnia. 

Another NuN also with her had she. 
That was her chaplain, and of Priestes three. 

• Although the spelling of Chaucer is here much modernized, in 
this and other instances a superfluous e is retained, because the 
rhythm requires that it should be pronounced. 

I Neatly. I Pleasure § Staff. 



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[0- 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



643 



a 



A good man there was of religion, 
Tliat was a poor Pabsoxe of a town ; 
But rich he was in holy thought and work, 
He was also a learned man, a clerk, 
That Christe's gospel truely would preach. 
His parishens devoutly would he teach, 
Beiiigne he was and wondrous diligent, 
And in adversity full patient : 
And such he was yproved often times ; 
Full loth were he to cursen for his tithes, 
liut rather would he given, out of doubt, 
Ciito his poor parishioners about, 
Of hLs offering, and eke of his substance ; 
He could in little thing have sufiisunce. 
Wide was hLs parish, and houses far asunder. 
But he nor felt nor thought of rain or thunder. 
In sickness and in mischief to visit 
The farthest in his parish, much and oft, 
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff. 
This noble ensample to his sheep he gave, 
That first he wi'ought, and afterward he taught. 
Out of the gospel he the wordes caught, 
And this figure he added j'et thereto, 
That if gold rust, what sholde iron do ? 
And if a priest be foul, on whom we tnist, 
\o wonder if a common man do rust ; 
Well ought a priest ensample for to give. 
By his cleannesse, how his sheep should live. 

He sette not his benefice to hire. 
Or left his sheep bewildered in the mire. 
And ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's, 
To seeken him a chanterie for souls. 
Or ^rith a brotlierhood to be withold ; 
But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold, 
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry. 
He was a shepherd and no mercenarie, 
And though he holy were, and virtuous. 
He was to sinful men not dispiteous, 
Xor of his speech dangerous nor high, 
But in his teaching discrete and benigne. 
To draw his folk to heaven, with fairness, 
By good ensample, was hLs business : 
But if were any person obstinate. 
Whether he were of high or low estate, 
Him would he reprove sharply for the nones, 
A better priest I trow that nowhere is. 
He waited after neither pomp ne reverence. 
Nor raaked him no spiced conscience. 
But Christe's lore and his Apostles twelve 
He taught, but first he followed it himselve. 

Geoffrey Chaucer. 



ON SOME SKULLS 



Ix silent, barren synod met 

Within these roofless walls, where yet 



The severed arch and cari'ed fret 

Cling to the ruin. 
The brethren's skulls mourn, dewy wet. 

Their creed's undoing. 

The mitered ones of Nice and Trent 
Were not so tongue-tied ; no, they went 
Hot to their councils, .scarce content 

With orthodoxy ; 
But ye, poor tonguelcss things, were meant 

To speak by ])roxy. 

Your chronicles no more exist, 
1 For Knox, the revolutionist, 
I Destroyed the work of every fist 

That scrawled black -letter ; 
Well 1 I 'ni a crauiologist, 

\ui. may do better. 

This skull-cap wore the cowl from sloth 
Or discontent, perhaps from Ixith ; 
And yet one day, against his oath. 

He tried esca|)ing ; 
For men, though idle, may be loath 

To live on gaping. 

This crawled through life in feebleness. 

Boasting he never knew excess. 

Cursing those crimes he scarce could guess, 

Or felt but faintly. 
With prayers that Heaven would cease to ble 

Men so unsaintly. 

Here 's a true churchman, — he 'd affect 
Much charity, and ne'er neglect 
To pray for mercy on the elect. 

But thought no evil 
In sending heathen, Turk, and sect. 

All to the devil. 

Poor skull, thy fingers set ablaze. 
With silver saint in golden rays, 
The holy missal ; thou didst craze 

Mid beard and spangle, 
WliOe others passed their idler days 

In coil and wrangle. 

Long time this sconce a helmet wore. 
But sickness smites the conscience sore ; 
He broke his sword and hither bore 

His gear and plunder. 
Took to the cowl, then raved and .swore 

Xt his great blunder ! 

This lily-colored skull, with all 

The teeth complete, so white and small, 

Belonged to one whose early pall 

A lover shaded : 
He died ere superstitious gall 

His breast invaded. 



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Ha ! Here is iiiulivulgeil crime ! 
Dcspiiir forbade his soul to climb 
Beyotul this world, this mortal time 

( If fevered sadness, 
Until their monkish i«viitomime 

I>azzled his madness. 

A younger brother this ; a man 

Aspiring as a Tartar Khan, 

But, curbed and baffled, he begun 

The trade of frightening. 
It smacked of power, — aiui here he ran 

To deal Heaven's lightning. 

This idiot skull belonged to one, 
A buried miser's only son, 
Who, penitent ere he 'd begun 

To taste of pleasure. 
And hoping Heaven's dread wrath to shun, 

Gave Hell his treasure. 

There is the forehead of an ape, 

A robber's mark ; and here the nape. 

That bone — fie on 't ! — just beare the shape 

Of carnal pission ; 
0, he was one for theft and rape 

In monkish fashion. 

This was the porter ; he could sing, 
Or dance, or play, or anything ; 
Aud what the friars bade him bring. 

They ne'er were balked of ; 
JIatters not worth remembering. 

And seldom talked of. 

Kuough, — why need I fuither pore ? 
This corner holds at least a score, 
And yonder twice as many more. 

Of reverend brothers ; 
'T is the same story o'er and o'er, — 

They 're like the others. 

ANONYMOUS. 



CLEOPATRA. 

FROM •• ANTONV AND CLEOPATRA." 

Enob.\rbus. The barge she sat in, like a bur- 
nished throne. 
Burned on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
The w inds were lovesick with them ; the oars 

were silver, 
Which to the time of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The ^\■atcr, which they beat, to follow faster, 
As amorous of their strokes. For Iier own pereon, 
It beggared all description : she did lie 
In her pavilion (cloth-of-gold of tissue). 



O'erpicturing that Venus, whei-e we see 
The fancy outwork nature ; on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cliceks which they did cool, 
Anil what they undid, did. 

Aor.ii'PA. 0, rare for Antony '. 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, 
So nuvny mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
And made their bi'uds adornings : at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of tliose Hower-soft hands, 
That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
X strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
Kiitlironed in the market-place, did sit alone. 
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy. 
Had gone to gazo on Cleopatra too. 
And made a gap in nature. 

Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to lier. 
Invited her to supper : she replied, 
1 1 should be better he became her guest ; 
Which she entreated : our courteous Antony, 
Wliom ne'er the woiil of "No" woman heard 

speak. 
Being bartered ten times o'er, goes to the feast ; 
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart 
For what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Koyal wench I 

MeCjENAS, Now Antony mustleave hcrutterly. 

Eno. Never ; he will not : 
Ago cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety ; other women cloy 
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry 
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests 
Bless her wh?n she is riggish. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



Not only we, the latest seed of Time, 

New men, that in the flying of a wheel 

Cry down the past ; not only we, that prate 

Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, 

-Vnd loathed to see them overtaxed ; but she 

Did more, and underwent, and overcame. 

The woman of a thousand summers back, 

Oodiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled 

In Coventry : for when he laid a tax 

Upon his town, and all the mothere brought 

Their children, clamoring, "If we jiay, we 

starve ! " 
She soughtherlord, and foundhim, where bestrode 
.\bout the hall, among his dogs, alone. 



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His beard a foot before }iim, and his liair 
A yard beliiiid. She tohl him of their tears, 
And prayed him, "If they pay tliis tax, they 

starve." 
Whereat he stared, replying, lialf amazed, 
" You would not let your Kttle linger ache 
For such as these?" •"But I would die," said 

she. 
He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul : 
Tlien rdliped at the diamond in her ear; 
"(), ay, ay, ay, you talk I" "Alas!" she said, 
" Hut prove me what it is I would not do." 
And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, 
H(' answered, "Ride you naked through the town, 
And I repeal it " ; and nodding, as in scorn. 
He parted, with gi'eat strides among his dogs. 

So left alone, the passions of her mind. 
As winds from all the compass shift and blow. 
Made war upon each other for an hour. 
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth. 
And hade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all 
The hard condition ; hut that she would loose 
The people : therefore, as they loved her well, 
Kroni then till noon no foot should pace the street. 
No eye look down, she passing ; but that all 
Should keep within, door shut andwindow barred. 

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there 
Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, 
The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath 
She lingered, looking like a summer moon 
Half dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head. 
And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee ; 
Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair 
Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid 
From pillar unto pillar, until she reached 
The gateway ; there she found her jKUfrey trapt 
In purple blazoned with annoiial gold. 

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : 
The deep air listened round her as .she rode. 
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. 
Th(! little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout 
Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur 
Made her cheek flame : her palfrey's footfall shot 
Light horrors through her pulses : the blind walls 
Were full of chinks and holes ; and overliead 
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but .she 
Not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw 
The white-flowered elder-thicket from the lieM 
Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. 

Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity : 
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth. 
The fatal byword of all years to come. 
Boring a little auger-hole in fear. 
Peeped — but his eyes, before they had their will. 
Were shriveled into darkness in his head. 
And drofijt before him. So the Powers, who wait 
On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; 
And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once. 



With twelve great shocks of sound, the sliumeless 

noon 
Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, 
One after one : but even then slie gained 
Her bower ; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, 
To meet her lord, she took the tax away. 
And built herself an everlasting name. 

ALI-RIiO TENNYSON. 



PEACE IN ACADIE. 



VANGELI.NE." 



l.N the Acadian land, ou the shores of the Baain 

of Mina.s, 
Distant, secluded, still, the little villag*^ of Graud- 

Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vastmeadowsstretched 

to the eastward. 
Giving the village its name, and j)a8ture to flocks 

without numl>er. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 

with labor incessant. 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated sea- 
sons th(! flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 

o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and 

orchards and conifiehis 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and 

away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on 

the mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 

mighty Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 

station descended. 
There, in the miilst of its farms, reposed the 

Acadian village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of 

oak and of chestnut, 
Such as the pea.sants of Xoimandy built in the 

reign of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; 

and gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded 

the doorway. 
There in the tranquil evenings of sunmier, when 

brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 

on the chimneys. 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 

in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spin- 
ning the golden 
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shut- 
tles \vithin doors 



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Mingled their somul witli Ihe wliir of the wheels 

and the songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 

and the cliildren 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 

to bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 

mati'ons and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- 
tionate welcome. 
Then came the laborers home from the field, and 

serenely the sun sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevaUed. Anon 

from the belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 

of the village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in- 
cense ascending. 
Rose from a Imndred hearths, the homes of peace 

and contentment. 
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 

farmers, — 
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike 

were they free from 
Fear, that reigns with the t\Tant, and envy, the 

vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars 

to their windows ; 
But their dwellings were open as day and the 

hearts of the owners ; 
There the richest were poor, and the poorest lived 

in abundance. 
Somewhat apart from tlie \'illage, and nearer 

the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 

Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, direct- 
ing his household, 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the ])ride 

of the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of 

seventy winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 

with snow-flakes ; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks 

as brown as the oak-leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 

summers. 
Black were her eyes as the I»'rry that grows on 

the thorn by the wayside. 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 

brown shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 

feed in the meadows, 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers 

at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah '. fair in sooth 

was the maiden. 



Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the 

bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 

with his hy.ssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 

upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet 

of beads and her missal. 
Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, 

and the ear-rings. 
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, 

as an heirloom. 
Handed down from mother to child, through long 

generations. 
But a celestial brightness, a more ethereal beauty. 
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 

after confession, 
Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- 
diction upon her. 
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing 

of e.Yquisite music. 

LONGFELLOW. 



EVANGELINE ON THE PRAIRIE. 



BEAUTiFfL was the night. Behind the black 

wall of tlie forest. 
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 

On the river 
Fell here and there through the branches a tremu- 
lous gleam of the moonlight. 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 

and devious spirit. 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 

of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 

prayers and confessions 
l^nto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 

shadows and night-dews. 
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and 

the magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her sold with indefinable 

longings, 
As, through the garden gate, and beneath the 

shade of the oak-trees. 
Passed she along the path to the edge of the 

measureless prairie. 
Silent it lay, with a silveiy haze upon it, and 

fire-flies 
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and in- 
finite numbers. 
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in 

the heavens. 



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Shone on tne eyes of man, who had ceased to 

marvel and worship, 
Save wlien a blazing comet was seen on the walls 

of that temple. 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 

" Upharsin." 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 

and the fire-flies. 
Wandered alone, and she cried, "0 Gabriel ! O 

my beloved ! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot be- 
hold thee ! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does 

not reach me ? 
Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to 

the prairie ! 
Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the 

woodlands around me ! 
Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 

labor, 
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me 

in thy slumbers. 
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 

folded about thee ? " 
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whip- 

poorwill sounded 
Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through 

the neighboiing thickets. 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 

into silence. 
"Patience !" whispered the oaks from oracular 

caverns of darkness ; 
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 

"To-morrow ! " 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 

Riding from C'oleraine 

(Famed for lovely Kitty) 
Came a Cockney bound 

Unto Derry city ; 
Weary was his soul. 

Shivering and sad he 
Bumped along the road 

Leads to Limavaddy. 

Mountains stretched around. 

Gloomy was their tinting. 
And the horse's hoofs 

Made a dismal dinting ; 
Wind upon the heath 

Howling was and piping. 
On the heath and bog, 

Black with many a snipe in ; 
Mid the bogs of black. 

Silver pools were flashing, 



Crows upon their sides 

Picking were and splashing. 
Cockney on the car 

Closer folds his plaidy. 
Grumbling at the road 

Leads to Limavaddy. 
Through the crashing woods 

Autumn brawled and blustered. 
Tossing round about 

Leaves the hue of mustard ; 
Yonder lay Lough Foyle, 

Which a storm was whipping, 
Coveiing with mist 

Lake and shores and shipping. 
Up and down the hill 

(Nothing could be bolder) 
Horse went with a raw 

Bleeding on his shoulder. 
" Where are horses changed ? " 

Said I to the laddy 
Driving on the box. 

"Sir, at Limavaddy." 

Limavaddy inn 's 

But a humble baithouse, 
Where you may procure 

Wliisky and potatoes ; 
Landlord at the door 

Gives a smiling welcome 
To the shivering wights 

Who to his hotel come. 
Landlady within 

Sits and knits a stocking, 
With a wary foot 

Baby's cradle rocking. 
To the chimney-nook 

Having found admittance. 
There I watch a pup 

Playing with two kittens 
(Playing round the fire, 

Wliicli of blazing turf is. 
Roaring to the pot 

Which bubbles with the muriihies) ; 
And the cradled babe. 

Fond the mother nursed it. 
Singing it a song 

As she twists the worsted ! 

Up and down the stair 

Two more young ones patter 
(Twins were never seen 

Dirtier nor fatter) ; 
Both have mottled legs, 

Both have snubby noses. 
Both have — Here the host 

Kindly interposes : 
"Sure you must be froze 

With the sleet and hail, sir ; 



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So will you have some punch, 
Or will you have some ale, sir ? " 

Presently a maid 

Enters with the liquor 
(Half a pint of ale 

Frothing in a beaker). 
Gads ! I did n't know 

What my beatiiif,' heart meant ; 
Hebe's self I thought 

Entered the apartment. 
As she came she smiled, 

And the smile bewitching, 
On my word and honor. 

Lighted all the kitchen ! 

With a courtesy neat 

Greeting the new-comer, 
Lovely, smiling Peg 

Ofi'ers me the rummer ; 
But my trembling hand 

Up the beaker tilted. 
And the glass of ale 

Eveiy drop I sjiilt it, — 
Spilt it every drop 

(Dames who read my volumes. 
Pardon such a word) 

On my what-d'ye-call-ems ! 
Witnessing the sight 

Of that dire disa.ster, 
Out began to laugh 

Missis, maid, and master ; 
Such a merry peal, 

'Specially Miss Peg's was, 
(.As tile glass of ale " 

Triekling down my legs was,) 
That the joyful sound 

Of that mingling laughter 
Echoed in my ears 

Many a long day after. 

Such a silver peal I 

In the meadows listening. 
You who 've heard the bells 

Kinging to a christening ; 
You who ever heard 

Caradori pretty. 
Smiling like an angel. 

Singing " Giovinetti" ; 
Fancy Peggy's laugh, 

Sweet and clear and (cheerful. 
At my pantaloons 

With half a pint of beer full ! 

See her as she moves ! 

Scarce the gi'ound she touches ; 
Airy as a fay. 

Graceful as a duchess ; 



Bare her rounded arm, 

Bare her little leg is ; 
Vestris never showed 

Ankles like to Peggy's ; 
Braided is her hair. 

Soft her look and modest, 
Slim her little waist. 

Comfortably bodiced. 

This 1 do declare, 

Happy is the laddy 
Who the heart can share 

Of Peg of Limavaddy ; 
Married if she were. 

Blest would be the daddy 
Of the children fair 

Of Peg of Limavaddy. 
Beauty is not rare 

In the laud of Paddy ; 
Fair beyond compare 

Is Peg of Limavaddy. 
And till I expire. 

Or till I grow mad, I 
Will sing unto my lyre 

Peg of Limavaddy ! 



[ MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 



THE LEPER. 

" Room for the leper ! Koom ! " And as he came 
The cry passed on, — "Room for the lejier ! 
Room ! " 

.... And aside they stood. 
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood, — all 
Who met him on his way, — and let him pass. 
And onward through the open gate he came 
A leper with the ashes on his brow. 
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip 
A covering, stepping painfully and slow. 
And with a difficult utterance, like one 
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down. 
Crying, " Unclean ! unclean ! " 

.... Day was breaking 
When at the altar of the temple stood 
The holy priest of God. The incense-lamp 
Burned with a straggling light, and a low chant 
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof. 
Like an articulate wail, and there, alone. 
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. 
The echoes of the melancholy strain 
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, 
Sti'Uggling with weakness, and bowed down his 

head 
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off 
His costly raiment for the leper's garb. 
And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip 



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Hid iu a loathsome covering, stood still, 
Waiting to hear his doom : — 

' ' Depart ! depart, child 
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God, 
For he has smote thee with his chastening rod. 

And to the desert wild 
From all thou lov'st away thy feet must flee, 
That from thy plague his pcojjle may be free. 

' ' Depart ! and come not near 
The busy mart, the crowded city, more ; 
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er ; 

And stay thou not to hear 
Voices that call thee in the way ; and tly 
From all who in the wilderness pass by. 

"Wet not thy burning Up 
In streams that to a human dwelling glide ; 
iS'or rest thee where the covert fountains hide. 

Nor kneel thee down to dip 
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink. 
By desert well, or river's grassy brink. 

"And pass not thou between 
The weary traveler and the cooling breeze. 
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees 

Where human tracks are seen ; 
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain. 
Nor pluck the standing corn or yellow grain. 

" And now depart ! and when 
Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, 
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him 

Who, from the tribes of men. 
Selected thee to feel his chastening rod. 
Depart ! leper ! and forget not God ! " 

And he went foith — alone ! not one of all 
Tlie many whom he loved, nor she whose name 
Was woven in the fibers of the heart 
Breaking within him now, to come and .speak 
I'oiiifort unto him. Yea, he went his way, 
Sii k and heart-broken and alone, — to die ! 
[•'ill' (I (id had cursed the leper ! 

It was noon, 
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool 
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, 
1 1 ot with the burning leprosy, and touched 
The loathsome water to his fevered lips. 
Praying that he might be so blest, — to die ! 
Footstepsapproached, and with no strength to flee. 
He drew the covering closer on his lip. 
Crying, " Unclean ! unclean ! " and in the folds 
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face. 
He fell upon the earth till they should pass. 
Nearer the stranger came, and, be-nding o'er 
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name. 



— " Helon ! " — the voice was like the master- 
tone 
Of a rich instrument, — most strangely sweet ; 
And the dull pulses of disease awoke. 
And for a moment beat beneath the hot 
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. 
" Helon ! arise ! " and he forgot his curse. 
And rose and stood before him. 

Love and awe 
Miiiglcil in the regard of Helen's eye 
As he beheld the stranger. He was not 
In coStly raiment clad, nor on his brow 
The symbol of a piincely lineage wore ; 
No followers at liis back, nor in his hand 
Buckler or sword or spear, — yet in his mien 
('ommand sat throned serene, and if he smiled, 
A kingly condescension graced his lips 
The lion would have crouched to in his lair. 
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn ; 
His stature modeled with a perfect grace ; 
His countenance, the impress of a God, 
Touched with the open innocence of a child ; 
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky 
In the serenest noon ; his hair unshorn 
Fell to his shoulders ; and his curling beard 
The fullness of perfected manhood bore. 
He looked on Hijlon earnestly awhile. 
As if his heart was moved, and, stooi>ing downi, 
He took a little water in his hand 
And laid it on his brow, and said, " Be clean ! " 
And lo ! the scales fell from him, and his blood 
( 'oursed with delicious coolness through his veins, 
And his diy palms grew moist, and on his brow 
The dewy softness of an infant's stole. 
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell <lown 
Prostrate at Jesus' feet, ami worsliiped him. 

NATHANIEI. I'ARKER WILLIS. 



THE SETTLER. 

His echoing ax the settler swung 

Amid the sea-like solitude, 
And, rushing, thundering, down w'cre flung 

The Titans of the wood ; 
Loud shrieked the eagle, a.s he dashed 
From out his mossy nest, which crashed 
With its supporting bough, 
And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed 

On the wolfs haunt below. 

Eude was the garb and strong the frame 
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil ; 

To form that garb the wildwood game 
Contributed their spoil ; 

The soul that warmed that frame disdained 

The tinsel, gaud, and glare that reigned 
Where men their crowds collect ; 



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Tile simple fur, untrimmed, unstaiued, 
This forest-tamer decked. 

The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees, 

The stream whose bright lips kissed theii- 
flowers, 
The winds that swelled their harmonies 

Through those sun-hiding bowers, 
The temple vast, the green arcade. 
The nestling vale, the grassy glade. 

Dark cave, and swampy lair ; 
These scenes and sounds majestic made * 

His world, his pleasures, there. 

His roof adorned a pleasant spot, 

Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, 
And herbs and jilants the woods knew not 

Throve in the sun and rain. 
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, 
The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell. 

All made a landscape strange, 
Which was the living chronicle 

Of deeds that wrought the change. 

The violet sprung at spring's first tinge. 

The rose of summer spread its glow, 
The maize hung out its autumn fringe, 

Rude winter brought his snow ; 
And still the lone one labored there. 
His shout and whistle broke the air. 

As cheerily he plied 
His garden-spade, or drove his share 

Along the hillock's side. 

He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood 

Roaring and crackling on its path. 
And scorching earth, and melting wood, 

Beneath its greedy wrath ; 
He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot. 
Trampling the pine-tree with its foot, 

.\nd darkening thick the day 
With streaming bough and severed root, 

Hurled whizzing on its way. 

His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed, 

The grim bear hushed his savage growl ; 
In blood and foam the panther gnashed 

His fangs, with dying howl ; 
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound. 
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground, 

And, with its moaning cry, 
The beaver sank beneath the wound 

Its pond-built Venice by. 

Humble the lot, yet his the race, 

■\\lien Liberty sent forth her cry. 
Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place. 

To fight, — to bleed, — to die ! 



Who cumbered Bunker's height of red. 
By hope through weary years were led. 

And witnessed York town's sun 
Blaze on a nation's banner spread, 

A nation's freedom won. 

Alfred B. Street. 



DIVINA COMMEDIA. 

Oft have I seen, at some cathedral door, 
A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat. 
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 
Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 

Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er ; 
Far off the noises of the world retreat ; 
The loud vociferations of the street 
Become an undistinguishable roar. 

So, as 1 enter here from day to day. 

And leave my burden at this minster gate. 
Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray. 

The tumult of the time disconsolate 
To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 
While the eternal ages watch and wait. 

How strange the sculptures that adorn these 
towers ! 
This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves 
Birds build their nests ; while canopied with 
leaves 
Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers. 
And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers ! 
But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves 
Watch the dead Christ between the living 

thieves. 
And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers ! 
Ah ! from what agonies of heart and brain, 
What exultations trampling on despair, 
What tenderness, what tears, what hate of 
wrong, 
WTiat passionate outcry of a soul in pain. 
Uprose this poem of the earth and air, 
This medifeval miracle of song ! 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom 
Of the long aisles, poet saturnine ! 
And strive to make my steps keep pace with 

thine. 
The air is filled with some unknown perfume ; 

The congregation of the dead make room 
For thee to pass ; the votive tapers .shine ; 
Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine 
The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. 

From the confessionals I hear- arise 
Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, 
And lamentations from the crvpts below ; 

And then a voice celestial, that begins 

With the pathetic words, ' ' Although your sins 
As scarlet he," and ends with "as the snow." 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



Col 



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I lift mine eyes, and all the wimlows blaze 
With forms of saints and holy men who died, 
Here martyred and hereafter glorified ; 
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays 

Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays, 
With splendor upon splendor multiplied ; 
And Beatrice again at Dante's side 
No more rebukes, but smiles her words of 
praise. 

And tlien the organ sounds, and unseen choirs 
Sing the old Latin hjTuns of peace and love. 
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost ; 

Ami tlie melodious bells among the spires 

O'er all the house-tops and through heaven 

above 
Proclaim the elevation of the Host ' 

star of morning and of liberty ! 
bringer of the light, whose splendor shines 
Above the darkness of the Apennines, 
Forerunner of the day that is to be ! 

The voices of the city aud the sea, 

The voices of the mountains and the pines, 
Eepeat thy song, till the familiar lines 
Are footpaths for the thought of Italy! 

Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, 
Through all the nations, and a sound is heard. 
As of a mighty wind, and men devout. 

Strangers of Rome, and the new piroselytes, 
In their own language hear thy wondrous word. 
And many are amazed and many doubt. 

Henry wadswokih Longfellow. 



THE CLOSING SCENE. 

Within the sober realm of leafless trees. 
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air ; 

Like some tanned reaper, in his hour of ea,se. 
When all the fields are lying brown and bare. 

The gray barns looking from their hazy hills, 
O'er the dun waters widening in the vales, 

.Sent down tlie air a gi-eeting to the mills 
On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, 
Tlie hills seemed further and the stream sang 
low. 

As in a dream the distant woodman hewed 
His winter log with many a muffled blow. 

The embattled forests, erewhile armed with gold, 
Their banners bright mth every martial hue. 

Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old. 
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 



On somber wings the vulture tried his flight ; 
The dove scarce heard his sighing niati-'s i ..in- 
plaint ; 
And, like a .star .slow drowning in the light, 
The village church vane seemed to pale aud 
faint. 

The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew, — 
Crew thrice, —and all was stiller than before ; 

Silent, till some rephing warden blew 

His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 

Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall rarest, 
Made garrulous trouble rouiiil her uiiHedgtii 
young ; 

And ivhere the oriole hung her swaying nest. 
By every light wind like a censer swung; 

Where sang the noisy martens of the eves. 
The busy swallows circling ever near, — 

Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes. 
An early harvest and a plenteous year ; 

Wliere every bird that waked the vernal feast 
Shook the sweet slunibi-r from its wings at 
mom. 

To warn the reaper of the rosy east ; — 
AH now was sunless, empty, aud forloni. 

Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail : 
And croaked the crow through all the dreary 
gloom ; 

Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale. 
Made echo in the distance to the cottage-loom. 

There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers : 
The spiders moved their thin shrouds night bv 
night. 
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers, 
Sailed .slowly by, — passed noiseless out of 
sight. 

Amid all this — in this most dre.ary air, 

And where the woodbine shed upon the porch 

Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there. 
Firing the floor with its inverted torch, — 

Amid all this, the center of the scene, 

The white-haired matron, with monotonous 
tread, 

Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyless njii-n 
Sat like a fate, and watched the flying thread. 

She had known Sorrow. He haii walked with 
her, 
Oft sujiped, and broke with her the ashen 
crust. 
And in the dead leaves still she heard tlie stir 
Of his thick mantle trailing in the dust. 



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652 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



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fe- 



While yet liei- cheek was briglit with summer 
bloom, 

Her country summoned and she gave her all ; 
And twice War bowed to her his sable plume, — 

lie-gave the sword to rust upon the wall. 

Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that drew 
And struck for liberty the dying blow ; 

Nor him who, to his sire and country true, 
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. 

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on. 
Like the low murmur of a hive at noon ; 

Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous 
tune. 

At last the thread Wiis snapped, — her head was 
bowed ; 
Lift' droiiped the distaff through her hands 
serene ; 
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful 
shroud, 
While death and winter closed the autumn 
scene. 

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 



MR. SIMMS. 



FROM ■■BOLE POUJIS.^" 

Who did not know that office Jaun of pale Po- 
mona green. 

With its drab and yellow lining, and picked-out 
black between, 

Which down the csplimade did go at the ninth 
hour of the day ? 

Wo ne'er shall see it thus again — Alas ! and 
well-a-day ! 

With its bright brass patent axles, and its little 

hogmaned tatts. 
And its ever jetty harness, which was always 

made by Watts ; 
The harness black and silver, and the ponies of 

dark gray, — 
And shall we never see it more ? — Alas ! and 

well-a-day ! 

With its very tidy coachman with a very old gray 
beard, " ' 

And its pair of neat olad .Sayces on whom no spot 
appeared, 

Not sitting lazily behind, but i-unning all the way 

By Mr. Simms's little coach — Alas ! and well- 
a-day ! 



And when he reached the counting-house, he got 

out at tile door. 
And entering the office made just three bows and 

no more. 
Then passing through the clerks he smiled, a 

sweet smile and a gay. 
And kindly spoke the younger ones — Alas ! and 

well-a-day ! 

And all did love to see him, with his jacket rather 

long. 
It was the way they wore them when good Jlr. 

Simms was young ; 
With his nankeen breeches buckled by two guUl 

buckles alway, 
And his china tight silk stockings, pink and shiny 

— AYell-a-day ! 

With his little frill, like crisped snow, his waist- 
coat spotless white, 

His cravat very narrow, and a very little tight. 

And a blue broach where, in diamond sparks, a 
ship at anchor lay. 

The gift of Mr. Crittenden — Alas ! and well-a- 
day! 

Then from the press where it abode he took the 

ledger stout. 
And gazed upon it reverently, withinsidc and 

without ; 
Then placed lus pencUs, laibbers, pens, and knives 

in due array. 
And Mr. Simms was readj^ for the business of 

the day. 

And ever to the junior clerks his counsel it was 

wise, — 
That they shall loop their I's, and cross their t's, 

and dot their i's. 
And honor Messrs. Sheringham, Leith, Badgery, 

and Hay, 
Whom he had served for fortv' years — Alas I and 

well-a-day ! 

And a very pleasant running hand good Mr. 
Simms did write, 

His upstrokes were like gossamer, his down- 
strokes black as night ; 

And his lines, all clear and sparkling, like a 
rivulet in May, 

Meandered o'er the folios — .'\.las ! and well-a- 
day I 

And daily, in a silver di.sh, as bright as bright 

could be. 
At one o'clock his titfin came, — two sandwiches 
1 or three. 



p 



DESCRIPTIVE I'UEMS. 



653 



-a 



It ni'vi'i- ouino a miimlo soon, nor a minute did 

So puncliuil wero good Jlr. Siuims's iieople — 
\\\-ll-a-day! 



And in tile mango season still a daily basket came, 
Willi tVuit as green as emeralds, or ruddier than 
llame. 



In bright hUie coats and waistcoats which were 
sjiarkling as the day, 

And curly liair and white kid gloves, — a lover- 
like anav ! 



And at t'hinsiira they walked about, and then 

tliey went to tea 
With the aticient merchant Van der Zank, and 
lly Mr. Simms the sort had been imported from j the widow Van der Zee; 

lioinbay. They were old friends of Mr. Simms, and parting 



Vr-- 



Ami sown and grown beneath his eye — Alas! 
and well-a-day ! 

And whin his tillin it was done, he took a pint 

!"■'■'•'«■ 

(•r will-i'oidiil soda-water, — but it was not 
coolc.l with ire, — 

And a little ginger essence (O.xly's), Mr. Simms 
did .say 

It roiiiforted his rheumatiz — Alas! and well-a- 
day ! 

Then of a Sumlay alter prayers, wdiile waiting in 

the ponh. 
His talk was of tlie bishop, and the vestry, and 

the church ; 
A?id two or three select young men would dine 

with him that day 
To ta.ste his old Madeira, and his curry called 

Malay. 

For famous was the table that good Mr. Simms 

did keep. 
With his liome-fed ducks, his Madras fowls, and 

his grain-fed Patua .sheep ; 
And tlie fruits from his own garden and the dried 

lish from the Bay 
Sent up liy bold Branch Pilot Stout — Alas ! and 

well-a-day ! 

And he was full of anecdote, and s]iiced his prime 
pale ale 

With many a cheerful bit of talk and many a 
curious tale. 

How Dc.vter ate his buttons oil', and in a one- 
horse shay 

My Lord C'ornwallis drove about — Alas I and 
well-a-day ! 

Anil every Doorga Poojah would good Mr. Simius 

explore 
Tile famous river Hoogleyas high as Barrackpore ; 
And visit the menagerie, and in his pleasant way 
Declare that " all the bears were bores " — Alas ! 

and well-a-day ! 

Then, if the weather it was fine, toChinsurahe'd go 
AVith his nieces three in a pinnace, and a smart 
youTig man or so 



he would say, 
" Perchance we ne'er may meet again ! " — Alas ! 
and wcll-a-day ! 

At length the hour did come for him wliicli surely 
comes for all, 

From the beggar in Ids hovel to the monarch in 
his hall ; 

And when it came to Mr. Simms he gently jias.sed 
away 

As falling into plea.sant sleep — .'Uas ! and well- 
a-day ! 

And on his face there lingered still a sweet smile 

and a liland, 
His Bilile lying by his side, and some roses in 

his hand ; 
His spectacles still marked the place where he 

had read that day 
The words of faith and hope which cheered his 

spirit on his way. 

And many were the wccjiing friends who followed 

him iie.xt lught. 
In many mourinng coaclies found by Solitude 

and Kytc ; 
And many a circle still laments the good, tlu' 

kind, the gay, 
Tlie hospitable Mr. Simms — Alas! and wcll-a- 

dav ! 



THE WAKE OF TIM O'HARA. 

Til the wakeof O'llara 

( anie comiianie ; — 

All St. Patrick's Alley 

Was there to see. 

With the friends and kinsmen 

Of the family. 
On the old deal table Tim lay, in white, 
And at his pillow the burning light ; 
While pale as himself, with the tear on her cheek. 
The mother received us, — too full to speak. 
But she heajied the fire, and with never a word 
Set tlie black bottle upon the board. 
While the company gathered, one and all 



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654 



DESCJUi'TIVE POEMS. 



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Men and women, bij; and siniiU, — 
Not one in the alley l>ut felt a liUl 
To the wake of Tim D'Haiii. 

At the taee of O'Hara, 

All white with sleep, 

Not one of the women 

But took a l>eep. 

And the wives new wedded 

Beg!»n to wiH>p. 
The mothei's elusteivtl aivnnd aKint, 
And prsiiswl the Uueu and laying out, 
Kov white as snow was his winding-sheet. 
And all looked peaceful, and clean, and sweet. 
The old wives, praising the blessevl dead, 
Clusterwl thick ivuntl the old pivss-lied, 
AVheiv O'Haw's widow, tattviwl and torn, 
Held to her Kisom the Iwhe new-lvrn. 
And stareil all ivund her, with eyes forlorn, 
At the wake of 'Km O'Uara. 

For the heart of O'Hara 

Was true as gvild. 

And the life of O'Hara 

Was bright and Kild, 

And his smile was pivcio\is 

To young and old. 
Gay as a guinea, wet or dry. 
With a siniling month imd a twinkling eye, 
Had ever im answer for chatf or fun ; 
Would tight like a lion with any one. 
Kot a neighlxir of any trade 
But knew some joke that the lx>y had made ! 
Not a neighlvr, dull or hright. 
But mindeil something, frolic or tight. 
And whispered it round the tiiv that night, 
.\t the wake of Tim O'Hara ! 

"To God lie glory, in death and life ! 
He 's taken O'Hara from tivuble and strife," 
Siiid one-tyed Biddy, the apple-wife. 
"God bless old hvlaud '. " sjud .Mistress Hart, 
Mother to Mike of the donkey -cart ; 
"God bless old Irt-land till all I* done ! 
She never made wake for a better son ! " 
And all joined chorus, and each one sjud 
Something kind of the boy that was dead. 
The bottle went i-ound from lip to lip. 
And the weepiug widow, for fellowship, 
TiHik the glass of old Biddy, and had a sip, 
At the wake of Tim O'Hara. 

Then we drank to O'Hara with drains to tlie 

brim. 
While the face of O'Hara looked on so grim, 
In the cori>se-light shining yellow and dim. 
The drink went ivund agjiin and agsiin ; 
The talk grew lovider at every drain ; 



Louder the tongues of tlie women grew ; 
The tongues of the Imys wei-e loosing too ! 
But the widow her weary eyelids elos«i, 
And, soothe^l by the divp of drink, she dozed ; 
The mother laightened, imd laughed to hesu- 
Of O'Hara's tight with the Grenadier, 
And the hearts of us all took In-tter chet»r 
At tlie wake of Tim O'Hara. 

Though the face of O'Hara looked on so wan, 
In tlie chimney-corner the row U'gan ; 
Liune Tony was in it, the oysternian. 
For a dirty low thief from the north came near 
And whistled " Boyne Water " in his oar, 
And Tony, with never a woul of grace. 
Hit out his fist in the blackguaixl's face. 
Then all the women scroamed out for fright ; 
The men that weiv drunkest l>eg!m to fight ; 
Over the chaii-s and tables they tliivw ; 
The corjvse-light tumbled, the tivublc givw; 
The new-Knu joinnl in the huUaltdoo, 
At the wake oi Tim O'Hara, 

"Be still! Be silent! 

Ye do a sin ! 

Shame lie his jxirtioa 

Who daivs begin ! " 

'T was Father O'Connor 

Just enteretl in ; 
And all hwkiH.1 sliamcd, and the row was done ; 
Sorry and sheepish looked every one : 
But the priest just smihxl quite easy and free ; 
" Would you wake the poor lioy from his sleep!" 

stud he. 
And he said a prayer with a shining face. 
Till a kind of a brightness filled the place ; 
The women lit up the dim cHir|>se-light ; 
The men wero ipiieter at the sight : 
And the iH>ace of the Loi\l fell on all that night 
At the wake of Tim O'Hara. 

ROI'ERT EVCHANAN. 



A GENTLEMAK OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 

" Leisure is s^Mie .... fine old Leisure." — George EHOT, 

Hk livetl in "Farmer George's" day, 
When men were lesss inclined to say 
That "Time is Gold," and overlay 

With toil their pleasure ; 
He held some hmd, and dwelt theivon, — 
Where, I foi-g»>t, — the house is gone ; 
His Christian name, t think, was John, — 

His surname. Leisure. 

Reynolds has painteil him, — a face 
Fillet! with a fine, old-fashioned gi-ace, 
Fi«sh-color«d, frank, without a trace 
Of care to shade it ; 



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DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



655 



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The eyes are blue, the hair is drest 
111 pliiincBt way, • — one hand ia jirest 
Deep in a flapped canary vest, 
With buds brocaded. 

J Ik wears a brown old Brunswick coat. 
With silver buttons, — round his throat 
A soft cravat ; in all you uot<; 

A bygone fashion, — 
A strangeness which to us who shine 
In sliajjely liats, whose coats combine 
All harmonies of hue and line, 

lns]iire9 compassion. 

He lived so long ago, you sec ; 
Men were untraveled then, but we. 
Like Ariel, [lOst by land and sea. 

With careless parting ; 
He found it luite enough for him 
To smoke his pipe in "gardens trim," 
And watch, about the fish-tank's brim, 

The swallows darting. 

He liked the well-wheel's creaking tongue, 
He liked the thrush that stopped and sung. 
He liked the drone of flies among 

His netted peaches ; 
lie likeil to watf'h the sunlight fall 
Athwart hLs ivied orchard wall. 
Or pause to catch the cuckoo's call 

Beyond the beeches. 

His were the times of paint and patch. 
And yet no Kanelagh could match 
The sober doves that round his thatch 

Spread tails and sidled ; 
He liked their rufliing, pufled content, — 
For him their drowsy wheelings meant 
More than a Mall of Iwaux that bent. 

Or belles that bridled. 

Not that, in truth, when life began 
He shunned the flutter of the fan ; 
He, too, had maybe "pinked his man" 

In beauty's fjuarrel ; 
But now his " fervent youth " had flo^vn 
Where lost things go ; and he was grown 
As staid and slow-paced as his own 

Old hunter, SorreL 

Yet still he loved the chase, and held 

That no composer's score excelled 

The merry hom, when Sweetlip swelled 

The jovial riot ; 
But most his measured words of praise 



I Caressed the angler's easy ways, — 

Hii idly meditative days, 
; His rustic diet. 

Not that his " meditating " rose 
Beyond a sunny summer doze ; 
He never troubled his refiose 

With fruitless prj'ing ; 
But hehl, as law for high and low. 
What Oorl conceaU no man can know, 
And smiied away iiiquiiy so. 

Without replying. 

We read — alas, how much we rea<l ! 
The jumbled strifes of creed and creed. 
With endless controversies feed 

Our groaning tables : 
His books — and they suflice^l him — were 
Cotton's "Montaigne," "The Grave" of Blair, 
A " Walton," — much the worse for wear, — 

And "^Esop's Fables." 

One more, — the Bible. Not that he 
Had searched its page as deep as we ; 
No sophistries could make him see 

Its slender credit ; 
It may be that he could not count 
The race of Kings to Jesse's fount, — 
He liked the "Sennon on the Mount," — 

And more, he read it. 

Once he had loved, but failed to wed, 
A red-checked bss who long was dead ; 
His ways were far too slow, he said. 

To rjuite forget her ; 
And still when Time had turned him gray. 
The earliest hawthorn buds in May 
Would find his lingering feet astray 

Where first he met her. 

" In Co'lo Quies" hea<ls the stone * 
On Leisure's grave, — now little known, 
A tangle of wild-rose has grown 

So thick across it : 
The " Benefactions " still declare 
He left the clerk an ellmw-chair. 
And " 12 I'ence yearly to prepare 

A Christmas Posset." 

Lie softly, Leisure ! Doubtless you 

With too sj-rene a conscience drew 

Your placid breath, and slumbered through 

The gravest issue ; 
But we, to whom our creed allows 
Scarce space to wip*; our weary brows. 
Look down upon your narrow hou.se. 

Old friend, and miss you ! 



J 



cQ- 



GiJO 



/ yt:sciiiPTirE pokms. 



THK 



.•UlHM.MlSriiKSt 



Mki! onp, fiir wliilor (liaii iho ihivou snow, 
lMi>l>U'm rijilil nnH't of iloooiu-y iloos vioUl : 
IK'V iniu>n ilyoil in jjmin, ns lihio. 1 livwo. 
As IS tin' luiivUoU linil inUnns tho liol.l : 
An.l in h.M- lum.l. I'of sooptov, she iloos \vi,'l,l 
Tw.w liiivln'n sin-sivs ; with iiiixions iViii' on- 

'twin.Hl, 
W itli ilmk ilistvnst. ;>n>l sini iviH>iit!>noi< lilloil : 
Ami sli'inUiist hi>ti>, rtinl shuip allliotion joim-il, 
Anil ftiiy nitwnliMllod, sunl ohitstisotm'nl \mkiml. 

A inssot stolp was o'or hor sliouKloi's thivwiv ; 
A rtissot kivllo I'oiiood tlu> i\i|>i>iiij; «ii' ; 
"1" w;>s sintplo nissot, l«it il was ln>i- own ; 
"r was hot- own oonntiy Invil Ihc Hock so fair, 
"r was lu'i' own lalH>i' liiil llio llooi'o ii|x>|>niv ; 
Ami, siKith to say. lu'v pmiils, ninj^'il atvunvl, 
'riiiMiijsli pioiis awo, iliil l<'ri\> it (vissins! ini-i- ; 
Kof llioy ill s^l'^'S womloinn-nl aK>nml, 
An>l lliink, iuivlonl>t, sln> Kvn tlio givatosl wi^jht 
on i;i\>«inl. 

AUvit tio tlatti'vy iliil oorrnjit liov tiutli. 
No iMiniHUis titlo iliil doKtnoh hot' ear ; 
tiooily, j^ivvlwoniatt. _i;\vssi|\, n'aunt fotsooth. 
Or >l;iu\<-, tin' solo additions sho diil hoar ; 
Vol tlioso sht< ohalloiijrvHl, thoso sin- hold riijht 

d««r ; 
No wouUl ostivin liiin aot as n\ouj;ht K'how, 
Who should not honoixsl old with thoso ivwix' : 
l"ov novor titlo yot so in«>n oonUl i>i\>vo, 
l>nt thoiv was oko a iniml whioli did that titlo 

lovo. 

Olio aiioiont lion sho took doliglit to iVwl, 
Tho |>U>.ldiii}; (wltorn of tlu> hnsy daino ; 
Whi.'h. ovoraud anon, iintwlUnl l>y uood. 
Into hor solnn^l, iH'jjirt with ohiokons, oamo ! 
Snoli favor vlid lior (vist doivnt nn-nt olaim ; 
Ami. iftCoiiUvt had lavishod on tho givnnd 
Krasniont of Umid. slio would wlhvt tho ssuuo ; 
Kor woU slio know, and >inaintly oould ex- 

)VUIld, 
What sin it woiv to w;tsto tlio smallost ornml> sho 

found. 

llorKs too sho know, and woU of oaoli oonld 

s,H-ak 
rh:it in hor jpuxlon siiiiH>l tho silvory dow ; 
Whoiv no vain llowor disoUvsod a jpiuvl^v stns^k ; 
TMit liorKs for uso. and physio, not a tow. 
t>f jjniy ivuown, within tlnvso Iwwloi-s givw : 
Tho tultinl Kisil. iMiii-pivvokinj; thyiuo. 
Kix'sli Kinin. and mavvsjold of oluvrlul huo ; 
Tho lowly jsill. that uowr daivs to oliwh ; 
And inoiv 1 fain \wuld siiijj^ disdainiiij; how t\i 

rhvino. 



f&^- 



Yot ouiihrasy inny not ho left uiiaung, 
'I'liat givoa dim oyos to waudor loajjnos imiuiid ; 
.And imnj^nl fiidish. hiting infant's tonguo ; 
And plantain rilihod, that hoals tho ivapoi's 

wound ; 
And inarjonun swoot, in sliophoixl's posy found, 
Anil lavondor, wlioso spikos of a/.uiv Ivlooni 
Shall bo. oivwhilo, in arid Imndlos hound, 
To lurk amidst tJio laKu's of hor loom, 
.\nd oiMwn hor koivhiofs oloan with inioklo niro 

porfiimo. 



■niK .101. l.\ 01. 1> I'KUAlHHSl'K. 

"T w.\s a jolly old podaj^iguo, long ago, 

'l\ill and slondor. and sallow and dry ; 
I lis form was hoiit and his gait was slow, 
His long thin hair was as wliito as snow, 

Unt a wondorfiil twinklo shono in his oyo ; 
.\ud ho sang ovory nighl as ho wont to liod, 

" Lot us 1h> happy down hoi\' holow ; 
Tho living should livo. though tliodoad liodojul," 

Said tho jolly old prtlagoguo, long ago. 

llo taught his soliolai's tho rulo of tliivo. 

Writing, and ivading. and liislvuy too ; 
llo took tho litllo Olios up on his kiioo, 
Kor a kind old lioart in his bivast had ho. 

.\nd tho wants of tlio liltlost oliild ho know ; 
•' l,»>)iru whilo nni 'iv young," ho oftou Siiid, 

"Thoro's muoh to oiyoy down lioiv Ih>1ow; 
l.ifo for tho living and ivst for tho dt>nd ! " 

Sjvid tho jolly old piHlag\>guo, long agi>. 

With tho stupidost Inn-s ho was kind and oool. 

Siwiking only in goutlost timos ; 
Tho ivd was haixlly known in his siluHil, — 
Whipping, to him, was a KuKirous rulo. 

And ttH< haixl work for his pixir old Kmos ; 
■■ lWidi>s. it is ivunful," ho somotimos ssiid ; 

••■Wo should mako lifo ploas;>nt down lier« 
Kdow. 
Tho living not^^ oharity moiv than tho dojid," 

S;vid tho jolly old [vdagviguo, long agv>. 

llo liwd in tho houso hy tho hawthorn lano. 

With t\>sos and wiHvUnno ovor tho door ; 
His i\Kuns won> ipiiot and n«\t tuid plain, 
lint a spirit of comfort thotv hold n'ign. 

And mado him foi-got ho wtis oUl and (Hwr ; 
" 1 uoihI sv> littlo." ho oltou s;iid : 

■■ .\nd my frioiids and ivlatiws lioiv Mow 
Won't litig!>to ovor mo whon 1 am doad." 

Siiid tho jolly old jwdagxiguo, long agiv 

Hut tho ploasiUitost timos that ho had, of -ill. 
AVoiv tho so^'iaWo hours ho usoil to j\'\ss. 



a- 



DEHaUll'TIVE I'OEMB. 



-ni 



057 



With lii» cfiair tij.ix:/) lw;k t/) a iii:\^\i\/,\ 
Milking an iiinxnuioniiiiui <:all, 

Over a j;ifx; aH<l friendly gla«i» : 
'rhi« wait till: fini.fit )iI«aKur«, li'; Kaiil, 

Of till! many In; iimtiA lien: \k:\iiv/ ; 
" Wlio liiiM no i:iiiiii(:H li-vl l»<;tl/;r Ix; i\'m\," 

Hail! till; jolly oM \i':i\iiii/ijpii:, \<>uii,!ig<>. 

'\'hi:u till! jolly ol'l j«;'lag()({uij'H wrinkli;<l fa/;« 

.MclUr'i all over in (iiinoliiny oniilBii ; 
IJi; utirri^l lii» ;(la(iit witli an olii-w;li'Xil gni/a;, 
(yiiw.k\i-A, anil Bijijx'il, anil jirattltil nyMM, 

Till till; lioijw; jjTfiw mi-.ny, from cellar t/< tili,n. 
" 1 'm a (iretty old rnan," lie gently «aid, 

" I liave lingwwl a long while here tudow ; 
I'lit my heart in freoli, if my youth vt fled," 

Said the jolly old iiwlagogue, long ago, 

lie (tniokwl hi» pifiu in the lialmy air 

Kvi.ry night when the iiun went down, 
While the w<ft wind {Anyi-A in hi» ((ilvery hair, 
I>eaving hi» Umihnut Wmvvsh there. 

On the jolly old \iiAhii<ij:^u:m yiWy iM erown ; 
And filling the ki»i*eH, he Mmiled, and wiid, 

"1' was a glorioUD world, down here liclow ; 
" Why wait for hai»i<li)i«K till we are d*Kul ? " 

Said the jolly old j*ikgogue, long ago, 

lie j);it ;it hin door, one niidJtiininier night. 

After the nun lia/l iiiink in the wiMt, 
And the lingering heam.i of golden light 
Maile hi» kindly old fai* look warm and hrighl. 

While the wloroun uiglit - wind whi»jK;riyl, 
" JJ/;Ht ! " 
<ii:\itiy, gi.-ntly, Jie bowed hi» hiaul, — 

There were angel» wailing for him, 1 know; 
He wan aiire of haii[iini»;<, living or diail, — 

'I'liiit jolly old |>i:dagogue, long ago ! 



THB KEI-L8, 

IIkak the idwlgi^ with the Ixdla, — 
Silver tiellx, — 
What a world of merriment their meliylyforetftllji! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. 

In the ley air of night ! 
While the ntun that ovensjirinkle 
All the Insivena w^rn to twinkle 
With a eryntalline delight, — 
Keejiing time, time, time. 
In a Mirt of Kiinir; rhyme. 
To the tintinnahillati//n that »o rnuisi'ally wel!.^ 
From the hellst, V;ll!(, Ixdlw, lx;ll!f, 

li.:ll»„ helh, h<;ll«, — 

From the jinj^ling and the tinkling of the lielk. 



©^- 



ilear the mellow wwlding l>e!l«, 
Oolden l«Ui« I 



a world of hajij/infcftit their hamiony f'/re- 
t/dU ! 
Through the l^lmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 
From the inolt<;n-golden not*a. 

And all in tune. 
What a liijuid ditty f|i«U 
To the turtli^-dove that iixUmH, while iihe g|i/at» 
On the ni'wn ! 
0, from out the Hounding '^IIji, 
What a gijjih of euphony voluininoujily welU I 
How it Bwelln ! 
Howitdwellc. 
On the Future I how it t^dla 
^Jf the raiiture that im|ii:l)> 
To the ifwinging and the ringing 

Of the Win, l,ell», Ull),, 
Of the l«ll«, lxdl«, lx:l|.,, lx:lU, 
Del lit, txdix, U:\h, - 
To the rhyming and the ehiming of the Ixillii, 

Hear the loud alarum Ixdiif, — 
I'jniyj;!! lx:ll«! 
What a tale of ti;rror, now, their turl/ulen'ryt<;ll>i! 
In the HiJtrtUA i-nr of night 
How they H'tr'-Mii out their affright ! 
Tof) rnueli homi'uA Ui (sixsik, 
They can only nhriek, ohriek. 
Out of tune, 
In the elarnoroijK apfx^iling t'l the merey of the 

fire, 
In a mail exixMulation with the diaf and frantie 
fire 
f>rfifiing higher, higher, higher, 
With a di.-»jxrrat>: desiire. 
And a reftolute endisjvor, 
Kow — now t/i i>it, or never, 
/5y the Hide of the fxile-fn/.e/l moon. 
O the Ixdlf), Ixdl/, Ixllx, 
What a tale their terror Vdlf) 
Of d<«<f(air ! 
How they elang and ela«h and r'/ar I 
What a horror they outjx^ur 
On the Ix/iom of the jifiljiit-iting air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
liy the twanging, 
And the elanging. 
How the danger el<I« and flowii ; 
Yet the '«ir diatinetly ttll/. 
In the jangling. 
And the wrangling, 
How the ilanger stinkK and dwello, 
Ijy the sinking or the swelling in the anger of 
the Wis,— ' 
Of the Ixdift, — 
Of the Ixdls, Wis, lx;llx, Jxdh(, 
fellx, l*llf), l«ll)t, — 
In the elamor ami the ekngor of thfc bella I 



^ 



c>:k^ 



J)N$CliWriVS i\)AM8. 



-fi 



\U\\V iho ^^^lUll!! of tin? U'lls, • - 
Uvu l>o\ls! 
Wliai ;( wwW of s\<lomn thoiijjhl tUoiv ihvmuhIj' 
>v«HHvls ! 
h\ tl\i> silouv-o of tix' uijjlx. 
How wv sUivx'v wilU artVijjht 
.\( tl\o iwi'tsmoUvilj' «u'«\iuv of tUinr Uwo ! 
Vov ONi'iy SviuHvl (U;»t ll>«ts 
W>i» vUo vust within tluMV tl>i\v<ts 

Is ;> glWdl. 
A«vl tl>o (Hvixio c>l>, tho {Hvulo — 
Thov tlial >l\voH \ii> v« the stwplo. 

All rtlo>v.\ 
An>l who totiiivj!, toUiiij!. tvilUtvj;, 

In thivt murtlvHl i«o«otoiu\ 
Wl A jsl^^'y '" '"^^ ix'Uiivi; 

^^n tllO 1>«1H;«\ hlMlt !> stv\>vo, — 
Thoy aw Hoillioi' man nor \\\>i\ia«, — 
Thoy ;MV iwitliov lM~nt<> nor Uuinan, — 

Tlu\v i«v jjl»v>«ls ; 
And t)>ovr kiivj; \i is who tv>lls f 
An>i lu< ivlls, ivxlls, iwlls, 
Kolk . 
A i\\\'«i\ l\vn> the W>Us ! 
Aiivl his inorry K^sv^m swvWs 

With tUo |vt»'^>n of tUo \vl\s ! 
Aiul l\o dsnvX'S au>.l Uo >^>lls ; 
Kivninj; limo, timi\ tim<\ 
In .\ «>r( of Ku\>io vl\,vnu\ 
To \\\<.' \«.\\\\ of tl\o Wlls, — 
Of tl<o Ivlls ; 
K<vj>i\>g tinus timo. tuniv. 
In ;« sort of l\«>\io rl>yu\<\ 

To thi' tliivhhinjt of tlio Mis, — 
Of tUo Mis, Mis. Mis, - 

IV tlio soWnnji of tlto Ivlls ; 
K<v\>i>\jj ti«ni\ timo, tiwo. 

As Uo knolls, knolls, kiioUs. 
In .A l>:>vvy l!«i>i>' vl>,vino. 

To tUo tvllins of tho Mis, - 
i>f tho Ivlls. IvUs, Ivlls. 

To tho toUittj; of tho Mis, 
Of tho Mis. Ivlls. Mis, Ivlls. — 
IV-Us, Ivlls. Mis. — 
To tho nuMttinj; .-(nd tho j;i\v»ninjf of tl\o Mis, 



t^5^•«»■>'1\^^• ,\N as o».ii Ukvx. 



h. 



AVu'ti »Uvj> .^iKvtion 
An,l swwlhvtioti 
I oStou th\\<k v\f 
Thvvso Sli.-«ul«\ Mis, 



\\ hvvio s\>mnls svi wihl w\niUl, 
In tho (lays of ohiUlhiHnl, 
Vliivjt ivuuvl inj" ORuUo 
Thoir mitjsio s\vlls, 

On this 1 (vnvlov 
\Vl\oiv'or I wandor, 
Anil thus j;ivw fondor, 

Sw^vt Cork, of th^s — 
With Ihy Ivlls of Shanilon, 
That soniul s>> jjr-anvl on 
Tho (ilwisanl wxtors 

i>f tho rivor 1 .<v, 

I 'vo ho:u\l Ivlls ohitninj; 
bHtll n\any a olin\o in. 
Tv^Uiuj! snhliino in 

t^lth^^l>-.^l shril\o. 
Whilo at a glih K»to 
Ukuss ton,i5n<>s W%>«1>1 vihi-sito ; 
Ihit all thoir ninsio 

t>\vko nan^jjht liko thino, 

Kor momory. vlwvUinj; 
t'>n ivioh pwn.l swvllitij; 
tM' thy IvllVy. knoUitig 

Its IvW i\otx\s IW. 
Mailo tho Mis of i>ha\i.loi» 
Soutul far tnvMv grsuul on 
Tho j»Ui;>s;«nt wators 

Of tho rixtn- l,o«>, 

I '\\< lios«\l Ivlls Mliitg 
iMvl Adrian's Molo in. 
Thoiv tlnniiloi- wUittj; 

W^n tho Vatican, — 
Auvl ovmlwls j;loriovvs 
Swinjtinj; «\M\v>rious 
In tho jifirgtMns tnrrots 

Of Kottv Oatno : 

l^tt tlvy svMttuls wvw swxvtvr 
Thau tho (lonto of IVttr 
Flinjis o'or tlio IHlvr. 

Toalitij; Svxhnnnly, 
0. tho Ivlls of Shan.lon 
tv^utiJ far mow grand vmi 
Tho pUvjsant wsitors 
< Of tlio vivvr Iav. 

Thow 's a Ml in >U\svV\v ; 
Whilo on towvv and kiivsk O 
In St, Sv»\>hia 

Tho l^lrkn\au g<^t«. 
And U»nd in air 
l^ills mou to jM-ayor, 
tVnn tho t!»\vrins sumutit 

Of tsdl Hunsirets. 



-^ 



a- 



JjJiHOUtl'TJ l/JC roHMH. 



'jiA) 



& 



rtu/;)i miijily fiUmiUiIii 
I tniniy uriiiil 'i;iii ; 
lirit tii<!/<; '« tt(i tt(it>/i!i/i 

"I' iff tti<; («dla <(f HiiMnUm, 
'Ili/il, w/iiml w< ((laicl 0)1 
'I'lic |il<:(Wil/lt Wftt/.Tif 
01 ill'! riv<,-f l>;<;, 

( i<>ni',/5 Mah'/«/ ll'/tiiipn j'»'/i;t). 



ciry nKJjJi, 

P«'/M "I KB (,AV '/(■ =•(. AUyfH' 

l'i'/(fi tti'; Ht, Ni>;)i»la» U/WW, 'rtj tie; Ws'.i'm'iuil, ] 

ear, I 

Wild fnihiiiii tiwiM, I 

I'Vuii/t Vi till: i/it\i; a f't)ii<ri;>l kuRll ; 
Ao'l Iwrk I at, it» ifiuiiii, 

W)i<;;i )i<; </j«!<i(i, at wicft <MWM a)) t)l<! y'llll/g 

or tldj 'Ty to j;iit, ifi yi'fir l««< dijijMi-A yilim, 

H<, t)«« litH., t/«ll» a)), 

So matter tiow siKiall, 
Ki'/r/i tin; uliKfiU* tx/th iri»l(l<; ati'l »/tJt«l'Ii) tin; 
wall, 

Willi l/<rll-i(i<,-t.al thr</at 

Ji<;8/«yl/'l t*/ tin: ll'/t,*:, 

A«(J join t)i« laioirnl that a jirnhU; fi \iii/iiii ix 
VarcjA tliiix t/) l<;av<; Jii?, iVuv.'iliX'ihti; •Vl'i'*:*';, 

Or, a» |{|'/i«' \/iti\ SUy'r 

t* li<;ar'l t/( iU-/;)ari:, 
" Hhou]il hiivn tl)i» h'rn; worl'l for to go t// tJiat 
tli<!r<;," 



CAKIIA/jS. 

l» tlr<; ari'-i'r/it t//y/ri of ({rilj{<;)t, 
In tli<; ((uaiiil ol<) Kl'^niisili ';)ty, 
Aa IIk; 'ivcninj/ v.lia/lci <\k>j:ikuiM, 
i/ivi «n'l lorid anil a/,</rtl y l<l<;n'l/yl, 
I//W at tif/K^t an'l loii'l at \!iiw;H, 
An') ':tian((in« Ifkf; a (xM'* t\iymm, 
liinin tli<- l-wiitifnl wild ';)iini>nt 
Fr'/iii tli<! i'liMry in the iimrU'^, 
Of th<; ai/»:i(rnt ti/wn of f'nis/'-tt- 

Tli';;i, v/itli 'Iwrfz ivtii'ir'ittii ';lanj{or 
f-'altnly imnvtt.niiii tlx.-ir k-wijiA itiifi/rr, 
WJi<;n tb<! vmiifi\iiiK t«;lls li«/l iiuiM, 
Hlowly xtnir.U tin; >:i'n:ii •■\iivirti, 
An'l, fr'rtn out Uk; ail'mt ))'«j'/<,'n, 

W\\':U'J; 1,11 tlic fyWM 'loc^t-wlcj. 



HiUmi'i:, mUwa: Bv<!ryt»l)';r<!, 
On till: '-artd an'l in tin: air, 
H/iV: tliat fooltl'tjM )i'!r'i aid tt/'rcj 
Of ftoi/ii; l/ijr(/li';r )i'/;n<; r'AniiiiiiK^ 
)'-■/ tl": .-.tf':t laoic-.-, falnl.l-/ I'lii/iinj^, 
Foi a M,.,(n.:nt wok-: tli- .-),',.■» 
Of till: ao'.'i'.iit l/'*n ol \'.>Hiii'., 

J'.nl arni'l tny l/rok';n ii|iiinlj<fr« 
Hlill I li'ar'l tli'w: iiitij/)': iiinitiurm, 
':■: )),.•, loii'l (,r''';laini'y) tti<- (Il({)it 
Ar, I ;i'.|.:n mac:)!'---; ''f til'- nij/.tit ; 
'l;il !l.-ii ':liini':? in >.-MfM\. i<,\\U\„u 
Min;^l':'l v/iHi '-a/li wan'lc/in}/ ■/i:i,m, 
Mlf,!'l.-l wiH, t|,.- f'/r"..'..- t'-llir,j; 



;;cij/':ii, 

"iiy. 



An') I t)i'<ij;()it ))ow liki! tti'iw: cSiUium 
Art; ill': icxdV. airy rliyiiimi, 
A)l Ilia rliymi* an'l riimnlnWyit, 
ll'iH iniiiiMU, an') :/.ri;/-, ;ir,'( 'fiuUm, 
Fro/n tt.'r ix^Kry .' 

Hi.nt.Uff/l 'l"wn '■ 'ain. 

On III'; r'»«f« an') 
Kor 1^ ni({)it t)i« 'lfo*»y car 
Hiiiinr ita i;iirUiiiin cannot )i<»ir, 
A /I') t'y ')ay («';n j{o tli'-ir way;i, 
ll'arin({ tin; niiiai'; a» tin:/ |,;i-,i, 
I'lit i\wiiiiiiK it no ni'<r';, al.i-; : 
'I'lian til'; lioilow wnn'l of li>a;H, 

Y';t \fri;\inui:i; a ?i]i-/;f,UH>i wi({(it, 

l/Aifinif at ic/ni'; Imnil/I'; inn 

In til'; iiiirri/w hin-it 'i{ lif';, 

W)ii;n til'; .|ij«k an'l final, of ni;;l,t 

Kllllt out tl;'; ill''J:/.Vilit 'lin 

Of ')ayli;;)it an') in t/,il an-) ^trif';, 

M;iy )iat':n witji a ';alni lUMniil 

'I'll til'; ^nitA'it rn';l'/(|i'», 

7'ill 1"; li<»ir», or')r';arfia I"; )ii;^n, 

InVtriiiiiiijiUA 'Aitli tin; »";i«, 

'\'\iiinv)iU fliat I)'; )i;i». 'rli'rriili'y) lon;<; 

ll'ar», aini'l tin; cliini'; an') niiiff)iiil, 

'till: U:]\.; i,( iiix iiv/ii •AWniii- riiinihH, 

An'l v/ak',-91, an'l fin')); liia >.liinil/<;r'/iw <;y<! 

W'rt witli tn'/ct ')«li';ioria t/ar<!, 

Tlinsi ilriMif/i I, tin \ry ii\v)iX I lay 
In iJm;^';,!, at t)i« Kl«.jr.'l';-I;|/;, 
l.iaUiiUin "*■'*'' * ""'''J ')';I<i(t't 
'I'o til'; i:h'iuii-M tl/at, t.hri,iii/h tin; ni(())t, 
Itan;^ tln;ir i^inufiif. tr/tii tin; lJ';Ifry 
or lliat 'juaint ol'l yii:iiii»U nhy. 

HKUUY ^Mhi/^-tfiV til \JfU',VVAAJf». 



^ 



i 660 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



--n 



THE PASSING-BELL. 

FROM "AIRS OF PALESTINE." 

Hakk ! — 't is a conveufs bell, —its midnight 

cliiine ; 
For music nieiisures even the iiuiroh of time : 
O'er bemling trees, that fringe the distant shore, 
Gray turrets rise ; the eye can catch no more. 
Tlie boatman, listening to the tolling bell, 
SusiK^nds his oar ; — a low and solemn swell. 
From the deep shade that round the cloister lies, 
Kulls through the air, and on the water dies. 
What melting song wakes the cold ear of night ? 
A funeral dirge that pale nuns, robed in white. 
Chant round a sister's dark and narrow bed. 
To charm the parting spirit of the dead. 
Triumphant is the spell ! with raptured ear 
The uncai^ed spirit, hovering, lingers near ; — 
Why should she mount ! why pant for brighter 

"bliss, 
A lovelier scene, a sweeter song, than this ? 

John fierpomt. 



PASSING AWAY. 



W.\s it the chime of a tiny bell 

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, 
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell 
That he winds, on the beach, so mellow and 
clear. 
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, 
AndtheMoonandtheFairyarewatchingthedeep, 
She dispensing her silvery light, 
And he his notes as sUvery qnite. 
While the boatman listens and ships his oar. 
To catch the music that comes from the shore ? 
Hark ! the notes on my ear that play 
Are set to words ; as they float, they say, 
"Passing away ! passing away ! " 



i 



But no ; it was not a fairy's shell, 

Blown on the Iwach, so mellow and clear ; 
Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell. 
Striking the hour, that filled my ear, 
As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime 
That told of the How of the stream of time. 
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung. 
And a phimp little giri, for a pendulum, swung 
(As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring 
That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing) ; 
And she held to her bosom a budding bou<iuet, 
.\nd, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, 
"Passing away ! passing away ! " 

0, how bright were the wheels, that told 
(If the lapse of time, as they moved round 
slow ! 



And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold. 
Seemed to point to the girl below. 
And lo ! she had changed : in a few short hours 
Her bouquet had become a garland of llowers, 
That she held in her outstretched hands, and 

Hung 
This way and that, as she, dancing, swung 
In the fullness of grace and of womanly pride, 
That told me she soon was to be a bride ; 
Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, 
In the same sweet voice I heard her say, 
"Passing away ! passing away ! " 

While 1 givzed at that fair one's check, a shade 

Of thought or care stole softly over. 
Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made. 
Looking down on a field of blossoming I'lover. 
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush 
Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; 
And the light in her eye, and the light on the 
wheels 
That marched so calmly round above her. 
Was a little dimmed, —as when Evening steals 
Upon Noon's hot face. Yet one could n't 
but love her, 
For she looked like a motherwhose first babe lay 
Kocked on her breast, as she swung all day ; 
And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say, 
' ' Passing away ! passing away ! " 

AVhilo yet 1 looked, what a change there came ! 
Hereyewasquenched, and her cheek was wan ; 
Stooping and staffed was her withered frame. 
Yet just as busily swung she on ; 
The givrland beneath her had fallen to dust ; 
The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; 
The hands, that over the dial swept, 
Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept. 
And still there came that silver tone 
From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone 
(Let me ne^er forget till my dying day 
The tone or the burden of her lay), 

"Passing away ! passing away ! " 

JOH.S riERPONT. 



THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 

fROM "THE BIRTHDAV.' 

Bi-T chief— surpassing all — a cuckoo clock ! 
That crowning wonder ! miracle of art ! 
How have I stood entranced uncounted luinutes 
With held-in breath, and eyes intently fixed 
On that smaU magic door, that when complete 
The expiring hour — the in-eversible — 
Flew open with a stiutUng suddenness 
That, though expected, sent the rushing blood 
In mantling flushes o'er my upturned face ■ 



ff 



f 



DEtiClilPTI VE POEMS. 



6G1 



-a 



Aiul as tlie bird (that more than mortal fowl !), 
With perfect mimicry of natural tone, 
Note after note exact Time's message told, 
I low my heart's pulse kept time with the charmed 

voice ! 
Arul when it ceased made simultaneous pause 
A^ the small door clapt to, and all was still. 

Caroline Bowles (Mrs. Socthey). 



t& 



OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT. 

I MET a traveler from an antique land 
Who said : Two vast and trnnkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, 
ll:dr sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown 
.\iid wrinkled lip and .sneer of cold command 
■i'tU that its sculptor well those passions read 
\Vliichyetsurvive,stamped on the.se lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them and the heart that 

fed; 
.\nd on the pedestal these words appear : 
" iVIy name is Ozymandias, king of kings : 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! " 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare. 
The lone and level .sands stretch far away. 

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONIS 
EXHIBITION. 

.\nii thou hastwalked about (how strange a story !) 
I n Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, 

W'licn the Memnoniuni was in all its glory, 
.Viid time had not begun to overthrow 

'I'linsc triiiiiles, palaces, and piles .stupendous, 

I H' whirh the very ruins are tremendous. 

.S|)eak ! for thon long enough hast acted dummy ; 
Thou lia.st a tongue, — come, letushear its tune ; 
Tliou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, 
mummy ! 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, — 
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures. 
But with thy bones and flesh and limbs and 
features. 

Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect — 
To whom should we assign the Sphin.x's fame ? 

Was Cheops or C'ephrenes architect 

Of eitlier pyramid that bears his name ? 

Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer > 

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? 

Perhaj)S thou wert a Mason, anil forbidden 
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade, — 



Then say what secret melody was hidden 

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? 
Perhaps thou wert a priest, — if so, my struggles 
Are vain, for iiriestcraft never owns its juggles. 

Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat, 
Has hob-a-uobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass ; 

Or dropped a halfjienny in Homer's hat ; 
Or dolfed thine own to let C^ueen Dido pass ; 

Or held, by .Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch at the great temple's dedication. 

I need not a.sk thee if that hand, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled ; 

For thou wert deiul and burieil and embalmed 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled ; 

Antiquity appears to have begun 

Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou couldst develop — if that withered tongue 
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have 
seen — 

How the world looked when itwasfreshandyoung. 
And the great deluge still had left it green ; 

Or was it then so old that history's pages 

Contained no record of its early ages ? 

Still .silent ! incommunicative elf ! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows ; 
But prithee tell us something of thyself, 

Reveal the secrets of thy jiri-son-house ; 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered. 
What liast thou seen, wliat strange adv<-nt>n-es 
immbered ? 

Since first thy form was in this V>ox extended 
We have, above ground, seen some strange 
mutations ; 
The Roman empire has begun and ended. 

New worlds have risen, we have lost old na- 
tions ; 
And countless kings have into dust lieen humbled. 
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head. 
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 

Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering 
tread, — 
O'erthrew 0.siris, Oi-us, Apis, Isis ; 

.\nd shook the pjTamids with fear and wonder, 

When tlie gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

If th(^ tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 
The nature of thy yjrivate life unfold : 

A heart has throbbed l)eneath that leathern breast. 
And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled ; 

Have children climbed those knees, and kissed 
that face ? 

What was thy name and station, age and race ? 



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Fh 



662 



DESClilPTIVE POEMS. 






6 



Stiitiio of tUish, - iiumortid of tlio doiul ! 

Imin'risliiililn lyjii^ of ovftjiosconoe ! 
I'osiluimims mini, — wlm ijiiit'st tliy niiri'ow Iwil, 

Ami slaiuK'st uiuioeaved within our inusunci' ! 
Tlum wilt ln'iiriiotliiiiL;' till tlicjinlgmont moniiiij;, 
Wlhu the- j,'iviit tnimp .sliiiU thrill thw with ita 



Why slunilil this worthless ti'j;inin<ul (MuUhv, 
ir its luulyhii; jfiK'st W lost Ibii'Vi-r / 

O, li'l us kooi" tliu soul cujhvlimHl niul jiuiw 
111 li\iiij; vii'tuo, that wluin both iiiiist scvoi', 

Although iMi'rujitiou luivy our tVmuo oousuiue, 

Tko iuuiioital siiirit in thy skios may hlooui ! 

llUKACU SMITH. 



ANSWKU OK THK MUMMY AT BELZONI'S 
KXmiUTION. 

Cnii,i> ol' ilk' hui'i- lUiys ! thy words have brokmi 
A sjii'll that long luis bound thesy Inngs ol'clay. 

For siiuo this smoko-driod touguo of miiio hath 
siiokon 
Thico Ihousand tedious yoara have rolled away. 

Unswathed at length, 1 " staml at ease " belbro yo. 

List, then, O list, while 1 untold my story. 

Thebes was my birthiilaee, —an unrivaled eity 
With many gates, — but here I might deelaiv 

Some stninge, plain truths, exeept that itweivpity 
To blow a poet's I'abrie into air ; 

0, I eould read you quite a Theban leetuni, 

And give a deadly linish to conjecture. 

Hut then you would not have uui thnw disoi-edit 
On gnive historians, or on him who sung 

The Iliad, true it is 1 never i-eiul it. 

But heaiil it ivad, when I was very young. 

An old liliiid minstivl lor a trilling protlt 

lieeited parts. — I think the author of it. 

All that 1 know about the town of Homer 
Is that they seareo would own him in his day, 

Weill glad, too, when he proudly turned a ronmer. 
Because by this they saved their parish pay. 

His townsmen would have liocii asluxmed to tlout 
him. 

Had they loreseeii the fuss since made about him. 

One bhmder 1 can fairly set at i-est ; 

He says that men were once moit> big and bony 
Than now, which is u bouncer at the U>st ; 

1 '11 just ivfer you to our friend Belzoni, 
Near seven feet high ; in truth, a lofty figure. 
Kow look at mo, and tell me, — am 1 bigger ? 

Not half the size, but then I 'in sadly dwindled. 
Three thousand years with that enilwlmingglue 



Have made a serious dill'erence, and have swindled 

My face of all its beauty ; theiti were lew 
Kgyplian youths moi'ogay, — behold the sequel I 
Nay, smilo not ; you ajul 1 may soon bo eipial. 

For this lean hand did ono day Iniil the lance 
With mortal aim j this light, fantastic toe 

Threaded the my.stic mazes of tlic dance ; 

Tlushcaithastlirublicilat talesof love and woe ; 

These shreds of raven liair once set the fashion ; 

This withered foiin ill^pilvd the tender passien. 

In vain; the skillful hand ami feelings warm. 
The fool that ligured in the liright ipiadrillo, 

The palm of genius and the manly form, 

All bowed at once to Uealh's mysterious will, 

Who sealed nu) up where mummies sound are 
sleeping, 

In cereclolh and in tolerable keeping ; 

Where cows and monkeys si|uat in rich brocade, 

And well-dressed crocodiles in painted cases, 
Kats, Imts, alul owls, and cats in niasquerade. 

With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces ; 
Then birds, brutes, reptiles, lish, all crammed 

together. 
With ladies that might pass for well-tanned 
leather ; 

Where Ramescs and Sabacon lie down. 
And splendid rsammis in his hide of crust, 

Princes and heroes, — men of high renown. 
Who in their day kicked np a mighty dust. 

Theirswarthy mummies kicked updust ill number, 

When huge Uelzoni came to scare their slunihcr. 

Who 'd think these rusty liams of mine were seated 
At IMdo's table, when the wondrous tale 

Of ".luno's hatred" was so well repeated ( 
.\nd ever and anon the Queen turned ^wle. 

Meanwhile the brilliant gaslights hung above her 

Threw a wild glare upon her shipwrecked lover. 

Ay, gaslights I Mock ine not, — we men of yore 
Were vei-sed in all the knowlcdgi< yon can men- 
tion ; 

Who hath not heanl of Egypt's ^x'erless lore, 
Her patient toil, aeuteuess of invention ! 

Survey the proofs, — the pynunids are thriving. 

Old Memuon still looksyonng, and 1 'm surviving. 

A land in arts and sciences pivlilic. 

Of blocks gigiintic building up her fame ! 

Crowded with signs and Icttci-s liieroglyphic. 
Temples and obelisks her skill proclaim ! 

Yet, though her art and toil unearthly seem. 

Those blocks wei* brought on railixmds and by 
steam ! 



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a- 



DESCRIPTIVE POEMS. 



6G3 



,*-a 



How, when, and why our ipeo|ile came to rear 
The pyramid of Cheops — niiglity pile ! — 

Tliis, and tlie other secrets, thou shalt hear; 
1 will uufuld, if thou wilt stay awhile. 

The history of the Sphinx, and who began it. 

Our mystic works, and monsters made of granite. 

We'll, then, in gi'ievous times, when King Ce- 
phrenes, 
liut ah I — What's this? the shades of bards 
and kings 
Press on inylips their fingers! What they mean is, 

I am not to reveal these hidden tilings. 
Mortal, farewell ! Till .Seience' self unbind them, 
Men nm.st e'en take these secrets as they find them. 

ANONYMOUS. 



ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SARCOPH- 
AGUS 

LAlIiLV OK['USITl;D IN THE liRITISIl MUSKUM. 

TiKiu alabaster relic ! wliile I hold 

My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, 
Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold, 
Mightst thou relate the changes thou ha.st 
known, 
For thou wert [jrimitive in thy formation. 
Launched from the Almighty's liand at the Crea- 
tion. 

Yes, — thou wert present when the stars and skies 
And worlds unnumbereil rolled into theirplaces ; 

When God from Chaos bade the spheres arise, 
And fixed the blazing sun ujxjn its Itasis, 

And with his finger on the bounds of sjrace 

Marked out each 2<Ianet'8 everlasting race. 

How many thousand ages from tliy birth 

Thou slejit'st in darkness, it were vain to ask, 

Till Egypt's sons upheaved thee from the earth, 
Anrl year by year pursued their patient task ; 

Till thou wert carved and decorated thas, 

Worthy to be a king's sarcophagus. 

What time Elijah to the skies ascended, 
Or David reigned in holy Palestine, 

.Some ancient Theban monarch wa.s extended 
Ueneath the liil of this emblazoned shrine. 

And to that subterranean palace borne 

\VT)ich toiling ages in the rock liad worn. 

Thebes from her hundred portals filled the plain 
To .see the car on which thou wert upheld : 

What funeral pomps extended in thy train. 
What banners waved, what miglity music 
swelled, 



fB^- 



1 As armies, jmests, and crowds Ixjwailed in chorus 
Their King, — their God, — their .Serapi.s, — their 
Orus! 

Thus to thy second quarry did they trust 
Thee and the Lord of all the nations round. 

firim King of Silence ! Monarch of the Dust ! 
Embalmed, anointed, jeweled, sceptered, 
crowned. 

Here did he lie in state, cold, stitf, and stark, 

A li.-uthern I'haraoh grinning in the dark. 

1'hus ages rolled, but their dissolving breath 
Could only blacken that imprisoned thing 
j M'hich wore a ghastly royalty in death, 
As if it struggled still to Ix; a king ; 
And each revolving century, like the last. 
Just dropped its dust upon thy lid — and passed. 

The Persian connueror o'er Egy))t poured 
His devastating host, — a motley crew ; 

Thestecl-clad horseman, — the iKirbarian horde, — 
JIusic an<l men of every sound and hue, — 

Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines, and 
brutes, — 

Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes. 

Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away 

The ponderous rock that si-aled the sacred tomb ; 

Then diil the slowly pcnetmting ray 

Kcdeem thee from long c<iituries of gloom, 

And lowered torches Hashed against thy side 

As Asia's king thy blazoned trophies eyed. 

Plucked from his grave, with sacrilegious taunt. 
The features of the royal corpse they si.anned ; — 

Dashing the diadem from his t<ni]ile gaunt. 
They tore the scepter from his graspless haml. 

And on those fields where once his will was law, 

J^eft him for winds to waste and beasts to gnaw. 

Some pious Thebans, when the storm was past, 
Unclosed the sepulchei' with cunning skill. 

And nature, aiiiing their devotion, cast 
Over its entrance a concealing rill. 

Then thy third darkness came, and thoudidst sleep 

Twenty-three centuries in silence deep. 

Hut he from whom nor pyramid nor .Sjihinx 
Can hide its secrecies, Ui-lzoni, came ; 

From the tomb'smouth unloosed the granite links. 
Gave thee again to light and life and fame. 

And brought thee from the sands and desert forth 

To charm the pallid children of the Xorth. 

Thou art in London, which, when thou wert new, 
Was, what Thebes is, a wihieniess an 



! waste, T 

— ^ 



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ll(>4 



iihi^vjtumyii jMUMif. 



-ct 



Whow sax-Hj!** IwMsts w»«v sav»j;:«> <«>'« )>«rsu<\ — 

Nv>\v, 't is tho WKi'M's mt>ti\>i>»>\is Uio l>i>;l> 
l^Hwn ixf arms, l<MV»i>\|;. !>i'ts, aiivl lv\,\u>v, 

IU'\\\ wl\>Mx> I l\o\vl u>\' hiiovl, 't is stit«>)5»' to Ihiuk 
W'lud oUiov Uiuivls |x>»vhmnv ('iwx^Usl u>itu>; 

Otlu'i's liavo tUsv< stvHHl KviivU- l\v l>iii>k, 
Auvl vai«\v vsvmn^l tl>o invM-stliiiiij;; U»«>, 

Kin^ifs, ssj^vs oUiot's, tl>al txuohwl lliis stvvno. lik# 

\Vlu>>v aw y<> u»\v ? — WUo>v all u>«st sl>i>>'lly K< ! 

All is luntatiivu ; - l><< within this stv>i\o 
Was mivv ilio jjw-Jtti^st \ui>\«uvh i>l'tlu> hour; 

His Knuvs aiv \l«st, Uis vwy <\»»up ««km»\vu, 
t<v\ U^vu t\\>\ii liiin tl><> vauity of \h>\voi'; 

8wk not tl>o l\tuue's iwrHi>tiou t<> ivi\t>\vl, 

l»ut l>uiUl a lastinjc luausivm lor tliy sovil. 



Ani>uow. nnwilwl. tliotiiilot sismils ilisiUajtul, 
l\avU silvi>v vaso iu u\_vslio oi\loi laivl. 
l-Hi'st, ivKhI i\i whitts tl>o uymivU iutoiit adow'si. 
With l>«wl hkawi'whI. tl»t> >^>s«u>tio jHrtwi's, 
A l\«>v<>Hly im!^J^> i» tho jjlass »(>|hs>\'s. 
To that slu> K>mls, to that hov ovis* slio >•<>»»« ; 
'rin> iufpcior \vji<\stoss, at hov altar's siilo, 
'IVuihliuj; Ivgius tho s)>oii\l rit>-s of juivlo, 
r»u«>»K-i\sl li^isuivs v>(H' al oinv, aiivl how 
Tho various oll'oriujrs of tho worhl ai>|H\'>r ; 
VV«\i o;u'U s\io iiioi'lv oiiUs wilh ouvious toil. 



Ami d«H'k» tho g»xW«» with tho j{Uttorl>»)j suhJI, 
This oaskot India's };lowii>j? g«'i»s unlooks. 
Ami all AitiWa Ui'<>«th<>s tVxo yv«\ilor K>\. 
Tho tortoiso how ai\il olo\>hai>l uuito, 
Tra«sforu»sltoooniKs,ihos(Hvkli'ilaiultho\vhiIv 
How lihvs of nius o\to\nl thoir shioiiij; i\>\\s, 
IMIl's, iHWiloi's. (viloluvs, IvihUs. UiUols >h»\\, 
Now a\\l\ll K'avity |>uts ou all its arms ; 
Tho fair otioh <i\omout ris<vs in hor oharms, 
l!<>l«ii's hor smilos, awakons ovory j;r<»as 
Ami lulls I'orlh all tho womloi-s of hor faoo ; 
So<>s hy ilo^'Wtw a |>uwr hlosh «ris\\ 
Ami kivnor U^nhtiiinjrs .(uiokou iu hor oyiw, 
Tho l>«sy syl(>hs suii\nn\il thoir vlarlius oar<\ 
Thwo sot tho hoad. auvl thiwo lUvido tho hair, 
So>«o foUl tho .sliH'Vo, « hilo ot hors ulait t ho ,i!^>w u i 
Au>l IWlty 's )»t(isvHl Vol' lal>o\'s uoi hor owu. 



riiK rKl>(>l K'KS cvrK, 

rSOM "(UK WMKrUK'S fMX," 

Xutti' Amvi.voi's, ,«t'i»,i;t'i»)*, 

\.A\vs as whito as vlrivou suow ; 

t\vnr«s IJaok as o'or was oww ; 

tSlovos as swoot as damask iwwvs ; 

Masks for faoo.s and f^>r i\>vs<>s ; 

l>Uj;h> hraoolot. \uvklaoo-au>l>(>v, 

IVvftimo for a lady's ohaiuK-v ; 

Ooldv'U >i«oifs auil stomaohors, 

Kor \uy lads tv< j«ivo thoir divira ; 

ritis ami iMking-stUks of stivl, 

What maids lack fi\'m hoad to ho<-l ; 
tVi\>o, huy of u\o, I'oiuo ; oo»u> huy, oomo huy ; 
Ihvv, lads, or ols«> vour la,s,sos orv ; iviuo li\iY , 



^ 



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IIJ^- 



^ 






'MI-.MS 01- SI-.\'JIMI-,\'l ANIJ RI-.MJ/;iIO\, 






k^ 



^ 



©-*- 



■a 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^- 



THE TRTTE GROWTH. 

It is not growing like a tree 
In liulk, (loth make man better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, three hnndred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear : 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night, — 
It was the plant and flower of Light. 
In small jiroportions we just beautiej see, 
And in shoi't measures life may ]icrfect be. 

BliN JONSON. 

HONOR. 

Say, what is Honor ? 'Tis the finest sense 
I )i jiisliix which the human mind ean frame. 
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim. 
And guard the way of life from all offense 
Suffered or done. 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 

Mv minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As faiTC exceeds all earthly blisse 

That God or nature hath assignde ; 
Though much I want that most would hav( 
Yet still my minde forbids to crave. 

Content I live ; this is my stay, — 
I seek no more thau may suffice. 

I jiresse to beare no haiightie sway ; 
Look, wliat I lack my mind supplies. 

Loe, thus I triumph like a king, 

(Jontcnt with that my mind doth bring. 

I see how plentie surfets oft, 

And ha.stie clymbers soonest fall ; 

I see that such as sit aloft 

Mishap doth threaten most of all. 

These get with toile, and keepe with feare ; 

Such cares mv mind could never beare. 



Xo princely poini)e nor welthie store. 

No force to win the victorie, 
No wylie wit to salve a sore, 

No shape to winne a lover's eye, — 
To none of these I yeeld as thrall ; 
For wliy, my mind despLseth all. 

Some have too much, yet still they crave ; 

I little have, yet seek no more. 
They are but poore, though much they have, 

And I am rich with little store. 
They ])Oor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacko, I lend ; they pine, I live. 

I laugh not at another's losse, 
I grudge not at another's gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse ; 
I hrooke that is another's bani'. 

1 feare no foe, nor fawne on frieml ; 

1 lothe not life, nor dicad mine end. 

I joy not in no earthly blis.se ; 

1 weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw ; 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortune's fatal law : 
My mind is such as may not move 
For beautic bright, or force of lovi-. 

I wish but wlint I hav(^ at will ; 

I wander not to secke fur more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hill ; 

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore. 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe. 

I kisse not where I wish to kill ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate ; 
I breake no sleepe to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mightic's gate. 
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much. 

Tlie court ne cart I like ne loath. — 
Extreames are counted worst of nil ; 

The golden meane betwixt tliein both 
Doth surest sit, and feares no fall ; 



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66G 



POEMS OF SEXTIMENT AXD EEFLECTIOX. 



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k 



This is my t-hoyce ; for why, I fiude 
No wealth is like & *nuet luinde. 

My wealth is health and jwrfeot ease ; 

My conscience clei-e my chiefe defense ; 
I never seeke by bril>es to please, 

Nor hv desert to give otl'ense. 
Thus do" I live. thus\vill I die ; 
Would all did so jis well as 1 ! 

SIK EDWARD DYER. 



OF MYSELF. 

This only gitint me, that my means may lie 
Too low for envy, for contempt too high. 

Some honor I would have, 
Not from great deeds, hut good alone ; 
The unknown are better than ill known : 

Kmuor can ofw the grave. 
Acquaintance 1 wovUd have, but when 't depends 
Not on the number, but the choice, of friends. 

Books should, not business, entertain the light. 
And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night. 

My house a cottage more 
Than pilace ; and should fitting be 
For all my use, no luxury. 

My gaixlen jxiinted o'er 
■With Nature'shand, not Art's; and pleasures yield, 
Horace might envy in his Sabine field. 

Thus Avould I double my life's fading space ; 
For he that runs it well twice runs his race. 

.\ud in this true delight. 
These unbought sports, this happy state, 
1 would not fear, nor wish, my fate ; 

But Iwldly say each night. 
To-morrow let my sun his lieams display. 
Or in clouds hide them ; I have lived to-day. 

.\KR.\H.\M COWLEY. 



BEAUTY. 

'T IS much immortal beauty to admire. 
But more immortal beauty to withstand ; 
The perfect soul can overcome desire. 
If beauty with divine delight be scanned. 
For what is beauty but the blooming child 
Of fair Olpnpus, that in night must end. 
And be forever from that bliss exiled. 
If admiration stand too much its friend ? 
The wiud may be enamored of a flower. 
The ocean of the green juid laughing shore, 
The silver lightning of a lofty tower, — 
Bnt must not with too near a love adore ; 
Or flower and margin and cloud-capped tower 
Love and delight sh.nll with delight devour ! 

LORD EDWARD THURLOW. 



THOUGHT. 

THoraur is deeper than all sjwech. 
Feeling deefwr than all thought ; 

Souls to souls can never teach 

AVhat unto themselves was taught 

We are spirits clad in veils ; 

Man by man was never seen ; 
All our deep communing fails 

To remove the shadowy screen. 

Heart to heart was never known ; 

Mind with mind did never meet ; 
"We are colunms left alone 

Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stai^ that gem the sky, 
Far ajwrt, though seeming near. 

In our light we scattered lie ; 
.•\U is thus but starlight here. 

What is social compsmy 

But a babbling summer stream ? 
What our wise philosophy 

But the glancing of a dream ? 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought. 
Only when we live above 

What the dim-eyed world hath tavight. 

Only when our souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth, 
And by inspiration led 

AVhich they never drew from eiuth. 

We, like pirted drops of rain. 
Swelling till they meet and run, 

Shall be all alisorbed ngjiin. 
Melting, flowing into one. 



THE IDLE SIXGEE. 



• PARADISE." 



Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, 
I cannot ease the burden of your fears, 
Or make ipiick-coming deatli a little thing, 
Or bring again the pleasure of jvist years. 
Nor for my \voi\ls shall ye foi^t your tears. 
Or hope again for aught that I can say, 
The idle singer of an empty day. 

But rather, when awearj- of your mirth. 
From full heart.s still unsatisfied ye sigh, 
.\nd, feeling kindly unto all the earth. 
Grudge every minute as it jiasses by, 



^ 



f 



POEMS OF HENTIMKSr AND REFLECTION. 



667 



fi 



M;uli' I 111- iiior.; iiiiinlful tliat the sweet days 
• .lie,— 
Ijciueiiilier Tiic a little tlii'ii, I ]iray, 
Till- idle siiigir 1)1' all c-niiity day. 

Till- hciivy IkiuIjIc, tint liewilderiiig care 

'I'lial wiigli.s us down who live and earn our 

hiead, 
These idle verses have no power to bear ; 
So let me sing of names reniemberkl, 
I'.ccause they, living not, can ne'er be dead, 
< Ir long time take tlieir memory (juite away 
From us poor singers of an empty day. 

Dreaiiii-r of dreams, born out of my due time. 
Why slic;uld 1 strive to set the erooked straight ? 
Let it sufhee me that my murmuring rhyme 
Heats with light wing against the ivory gate, 
'I'ldling a tale not too importunate 
'r<i lliose who ill the sleepy region stay, 
Lulled ))y the singer of an empty day. 

Folk say, a wizard to a Northern king 
At rhristiiias-tidesuch wondrous tilings didshow, 
'I'liat through one window men Itcheld the spring. 
And through another saw the summer glow. 
And througb a third the fruited vines arow. 
While still unheard, but in its wonted way, 
l'i[ied the drear wind of that Deec'inber day. 

So with tills Kartlily I'aradi.se it is 

If ye do read aright, and jiardon me 

Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss 

.Miilmost the beating of the steely sea. 

Where tossed about all hearts of men must be ; 

Whose ravening monsters miglity men shall slay. 

Not the poor singer of the enijity day. 



y-- 



THE INNER VISION. 

'.ST sweet it is with unuplifti-d i-yes 
I paee the ground, if path there be or none. 
Idle a fair region round the traveler lies 
hl('h he forbears again to look upon ; 
eased rather with some .soft ideal scene, 
le work of fancy, or some happy tone 

lui'ditation, slipping in between 

e beauty coming and the beauty gone. 
Thought and Love desert us, from that day 
t us break otf all commerce with the M use : 
itli Thoughtand Lovecompanionsof ourway, — 
hate'er the senses take or may refuse, — 

e mind's internal Heaven shall shed her dews 

inspiration on the humblest lay. 

William wordswoktii. 



THE POET'S REWARD. 



Thanks untraced to lips unknown 
Shall greet me like the odors blown 
From unseen meadows newly mown. 
Or lilies floating in some pond, 
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; 
The traveler owns the grateful sense 
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence', 
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare 
The benediction of the air. 

JOH.V GRKKNLEAF WHnTllI 



IMAGINATION. 



Theseus. More strange than true : I never 
may believe 
These antiiiue fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething ln'ains, 
.Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, — 
That is, the madman ; the lover, all as frantic, 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt ; 
The poet's eye. In a fine frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 

heaven ; 
And, as imagination bodies forth 
The fonns of things unknown, the poet's ]ien 
Turns them to sha]ie.s, and gives to airy nothiii;,' 
A local habitation and a name. 



CONTENTMENT. 

1 WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile 
1 joy not much in earthly joys ; 

I seek not state, I reck not style ; 
I am not fond of fancy's toys : 

I rest so pleased with what I have, 

I wish no more, no more 1 crave. 

I f|uake not at the thunder's crack ; 

1 tremble not at news of war ; 
I swound not at the news of wrack ; 

I shrink not at a blazing star ; 
I fear not loss, I hojie not gain, 
I envy none, I none disdain. 

I see ambition never pleased ; 

I see some Tantals starved in store 



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GC8 



rOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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I H(^ii golil's dropsy si'Ulom eased ; 

1 si'ii I'VcMi Midas yu|iii I'or moro ; 
1 iicillic'V WiUit nor y<'t ulicmiid, — 
Kii(iii{,di 's a IVast, coiilcMit is LTowiu'd. 

1 rri,t<i, not lii,H.l-,liiii wla'i-f 1 liatf ; 

I lattii mil uii lliii f(ii»il (.ill slmw) ; 
1 prize, 1 praiso ii nieaii ustatts — 

N fit her ton lofty nor too low ; 
'I'liis, this Im all my choicu, my cheer, — 
A mind cnntiiil, a conseiouee idear. 

JOSnUA SYLVESTH 



Sweet are the thouf^lits that savor of content ; 

The iiuiel mind is richer than a crown ; 
Sweet are the niyhts in careless sliunlier spent, — 

The poor estate scorns Kortime's angry frown : 
Sucdi sweet contt^nt, su(di minds, such sleep, such 

bliss, 
Beggars enjoy, when princes oil do nnss. 

The homely house that harbors (piiet rest. 
Till' cottage that atlbrds no pride or care, 

The mean, that 'grees with country nuisie best, 
The sweet consort of mirth's and music's faro. 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss j 

A mind content botli crown and kingdom is. 

Kom KT GRUQNH. 



IN PKLSON. 

Heat on, proud billows ; Boreas, blow ; 

,Swell, curlfeil waves, high as Jove's roof; 
Your incivility doth show 

That innocence is tempest proof ; 
'I'honghsurlyNereus frown, my thoughts arc calm; 
Then strike," Allliclion, lor thy wouiidsarc l«dm. 



That which the world nuscalls a jail 

A (aivate closet is to me ; 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail. 

And innocence my liberty : 
Locks, bars, and solitude together met. 
Make me no prisoner, hut an anchoret. 



I, wliilst 1 wisht to be retired, 

Into this private room was turned ; 

As if their wisdoms had conspired 
The salamander should be burned ; 

Orliki^ those sophists, that would drown a fish, 
1 am constrained to sull'er what I wish. 



e- 



The eyiiic loves his poverty ; 

The i)eli<-an her wilderness ; 
And 't is the Indian's pride to ho 

Naki'd on frozen Caucasus ; 
Contentment cannot smart ; stoics we soe 
Make torments easier to their apathy. 

These manacles \ipon my arm 

1 as my nnstress' favors wear; 
.\nd lor to keep my ankles warm 

I have some iron shackles there : 
These walls arc but my garrison: this cell, 
Which men c^dl juil, .loth prove my citadel. 

I 'ni in the cabinet lockt uji, 

Like some high-prized margarite. 

Or, like the Great Mogid or Toiie, 
.\m cloistered up from public sight : 

lietircdness is n piece of majesty. 

And thus, proud sidtan, I 'm as groat ns thee. 

Sir ROCP.k LTSTRANGB. 



CLEON AND I. 

Clkon hath a million acres, ne'er a one have I ; 
Cleon dwelleth in a palace, in a cottage I ; 
Cleon hath n dozen fortunes, not a penny 1 ; 
Yet the poorer of the tw'ain is Cleon, and not 1. 

Cleon, true, possosaeth acres, but the landscape I ; 

Half tlio eharins to me it yieldeth money can- 
not buy. 

Cloon harbors shitli and dullness, freshening 
vigor I ; 

He in velvet, I in fustian, richer man am I. 

Cleon is a shive to grandeur, free as thought am 1 ; 
Cleon fees a scoiv of doetore, need of none have I ; 
Wealth-surroundod, eare-onvironed, Cleon fears 

to di.' ; 
Oealh may come, he'll lind me ready, — happier 

man am I. 

Cloon sees no charms in nature, in a daisy I ; 
Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky ; 
Naturi^ sings to me forever, earnest listener 1 ; 
State for state, with all attendants, who wmdd 
change i Not I. 



THE WANTS OF MAN. 

" Man wants but little hci-e bebw. 
Nor wants that little long." 

'T is not with mc exactly so ; 
lint 't is so in the song. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



669 



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Mil «'ants are many and, if told, 

Willi Id muatcr many a score ; 
And wiTi! eauli wish a mint of gold, 

I still should long for more. 

Wlial. lirst I want is daily broad — 

And canvas-backs — and wine — 
Anil all the realms of nature s|)read 

I'efore me, when I dine. 
Four courses scarcely can [irovide 

My appetite to (|uell ; 
With lour clioice cooks from France beside, 

To dress my dinner well. 

What ne.\t 1 want, at princely cost. 

Is elegant attire : 
Black sable furs for winter's frost. 

And silks for summer's lire, 
And Cashmere shawls, and 15ru.ssels lace 

My bosom's front to deck, — 
And diamond rings my hands to gi-ace. 

And rubies for my neck. 

I want (who does not want ?) a wife, — 

Alfcctionato and fair ; 
To solace all the woes of life. 

And all its joys to share. 
(.)f temper sweet, of yielding will. 

Of lirm, yet placid mind, — 
Willi all my faults to love me still 

Willi .sentiment relined. 

And as Time's car incessant runs. 

And Fortune fills my store, 
I want of daughters and of sons 

From eight to lialf a score. 
I want (alas ! can mortal dare 

Such bliss on earth to crave ') 
That all the girls bo chaste and lair, 

Tlic boys all wise and brave. 

I want a warm ami faithful friend, 

To I'hcer the adverse hour ; 
Who ne'er to flatter will descend. 

Nor liond the knee to power, — 
A friend to chide me when I 'm wrong. 

My inmost soul to .see ; 
And tliat my friondshiyi prove as strong 

I'l.r liini as liis for me. 

I want the seals of power and place, 

The ensigns of command ; 
Charged by the Peojile's unbought grace 

To rule my nativi^ land. 
Nor crown nor scepter would I a.sk 

But from my country's will, 
By day, by niglit, to jily the tasl; 

Her cup of bliss to fill. 



I want the voice of honest praise 

To fi.llow me behind, 
And to be thought in future days 

The friend of human kind. 
That after ages, as they rise. 

Exulting may proclaim 
In choral union to the skies 

Their blessings on my name. 

These are the Wants of mortal Man, — 

I cannot w.ant them long. 
For life itself is lait a sjian. 

And earthly bli.ss — a song. 
My last great Want — absorbing all — 

Is, when beneath the sod. 
And .summoneil to mv linal call. 

The Mrrc)/ i,f in;i <!,«l, 

John Quincy Adam 



CONTENTMENT. 

•• M.1II wants but little here below." 

l.riTi.f, I ask ; my wants are few ; 

I only wi.sli a hut of .stone, 
(A r.cr II plain brown stone will do,) 

That I may call my own ; 
Anil close at hand is such a one. 
In yiindcr street tliat fronts the sun. 

I'lain food is ([uitc enough for me ; 

Tliree courses are as good as ton ; — 
If nature can subsist on three, 

Thank Heaven for tlirce. Amen ! 
I always thought cold victual nice ; — 
My chtiici'. would be vanilla-ice. 

I care not much for gnld or land ; — 

(live me a mortgage here and there, — 
Siimc good bank-stock, — .some note of li.and. 

Or trilling railroad sh.arc, — 
I only ask that Fortune send 
A lillh- more than I shall spend. 

Honors are silly toys, 1 know. 

And titles are but emjity n.ames ; 
I would, prrhdpK, be Plenipo, — 

But only near St. .lames ; 
I 'm very sure I should not care 
To (ill our Cubi'inator's chair. 

.Towels are liawbles ; 't is a sin 

'l"o care for such unfruitful things ; — 
One good-sized diamond in a pin, — 
Some, not, so Inrr/r, in rings, — 
A ruby, and a pearl or so. 
Will do for mo ; — I laugh at show. 



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670 



POEMS OF S£N1'IMENT AND BEFLECTION. 



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My tlame should di'ess in olieap attii-e ; 

(Good heavy silks an' never dear ;) — 
I own perhaps 1 might desiro 

Some shawls of true t'ashinere, — 
Some marrowy erafies of I'hina silk, 
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 

1 would not have the hoi'sc 1 drive 

So last that folks must stop and stare ; 
An etisy gait — two, forty-live — 
Suits me ; 1 do not eare ; — 
IVrhajw, for just a siiKj/e afiurt. 
Some seeouds less would do no hurt. 

Of pietures, 1 should like to own 

Titians and Raphaels tluve or four — 
1 love so mueh their style and tone — 

One Turner, and no more, 
(A landscape — forejn'ouud golden dirt — 
The sunsliiue painted with a snuirt.) 

Of Kioks hut few, — some fifty score 
For daily use, and luiund for weal' ; 
The rest upon an upper tloor ; — 

Some little luxury there 
Of red morocco's gilded gleam. 
And vellum rich as country cream. 

Busts, cameos, gems, — such things as these, 

Which othere often show for pride, 
/ value for their power to please. 

And seltish churls deride ; 
One Stradivarius, I confess. 
Two meei-schauuis, I would fain possess. 

Wealth's wasteful tricks 1 will not learn, 

Nor ape the glittering upstart fool ; 
Shall not carved tables serve my turn. 

But all must Ix' of buhl ? 
Give grasping pomp its donhle share, — 
I ask but one recumbent chair. 

Tluis humble let me live and die. 

Nor long for Midas' golden touch ; 
If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 
I shall not miss them vt in-h, — 
Too grateful for the blessing lent 
Of simple tastes and mind content ! 

OLlVtK WENDELL HOLMES. 



CONTENTATION. 



u 



Hkaven', what an age is this.! what race 
Of giants are sprung up, that dare 

Thus fly in the Almighty's face. 
And with his providence make war ! 



1 can go nowhere but 1 meet 

With malcontents and mutineei's, 

.Vs if in life was nothing sweet. 

And we must blessings reap in teai-s. 

senseless man ! that murmurs still 
For happiness, and does not know, 

Even though he might enjoy his will, 
What he would have to make him so. 

Is it true li.ippine.f.'i to l* 

By niulisifvuing Fortune placed 

In the most cniiucut degree. 

Where few arrive, and none stand fast! 

Titles and wealth are Fortune's toils. 
Wherewith the vain themselves insnare: 

The great are proud of borrowed spoils, 
The miser's plenty breeds his care. 

The one supinely yawns at rei.'st, 

The other eternally doth toil ; 
Each of them e<iually a beast, 

A pampered hoi-se, or laboring moil : 

The titulado 's oft disgraced 
By public hate or private frown, 

And he whose hand the creature raised 
Has yet a foot to kick him down. 

The drudge who would all get, all save. 
Like a brute beast, both feeds and lies ; 

Pvone to the earth, he digs his grave. 
And in the very labor dies. 

E.xeess of ill-got, ill-kept pelf 

r)oes only death and dang>-r breed ; 

Whilst one rich worldling starves himself 
With what would thousand othere feed. 

By which we see that wealth and power, 
Although they make men rich aud great. 

The sweets of life do often sour, 
And gull ambition with a cheat. 

Nor is he happier than these. 

Who, in a moderate estate. 
Where he might safely live at ease. 

Has lusts that are immoderate. 

For he, by those desires misled. 

Quits his own vino's securing shade. 

To expose his naked, empty head 
To all the storms man's j>eace invade. 

Nor is he happy who is trim. 
Tricked up in favors of the fair, 

Mirroi-s, with every breath made dim, 
Binls, caught in every wanton sun 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



071 



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Woman, man's greatest woe or bliss, 
Dues oftener far than serve, enslave. 

And with the magic of a kiss 

Destroys whom she was made to save. 

fruitful grief, the world's disease ! 

And vainer man, to make it so, 
Wlio gives liLs mLseries increase 

by cultivating his own woe ! 

'I'heie are no ills but what we make 

By giving shapes and names to things, — 

Which is the dangerous mistake 
That causes all our sufferings. 

We call that sickness which is health. 
That jiersecution which is grace. 

That poverty which is true wealth. 
And that dishonor which is praise. 

Alas ! our time is here so short 

That in what state soe'er 't is spent. 

Of joy or woe, does not import. 
Provided it be innocent. 

But we may make it pleasant too, 
If we will take our measures right, 

And not what Heaven has done undo 
By an unruly appetite. 

The world is full of beaten roads. 

But yet so slippery withal, 
That where one walks secure 't is odds 

A hundred and a hundred fall. 

Untrodden paths are then the best, 
Where the frer^uented are unsure ; 

And he comes soonest to hLs rest 

Whose journey has been most secure. 

It is content alone that makes 
Our pilgrimage a pleasure here ; 

And who buys soiTOW cheapest takes 
An ill commodity too dear. 

; COTTO.N. 



&-- 



TO DAVIE SILLAE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

It 's hardly in a body's pow'r 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' duels are whUes in want, 
^^^lile coofs on countless thousands rank, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head 

Tho' we hae little gear. 
We 're fit to win our daily bread 

As lang 's we 're hale and fier : 



" Mair spier na, nor fear na," 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg. 

The last o't, the waret o't. 
Is only for to beg. 

What tho', like commoners of air. 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hall ? 
Yet nature's clianns, the hills and woods. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground. 

And blackbirds whistle clear. 
With honest joy our liearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We '11 sit an' sowth a tune ; 
Sjaie rhyme till 't, we '11 time till 't, 
And sing when we ha« done. 

It 's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Loii'on Viank, 

To purcha.se peace and rest ; 
It 's no in mankin inuckle mair : 
It 's no in books ; it 's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And center in the breast. 
We may be wise, or lich, or great. 
But never can l>e blest : 
Nae treasures nor pleasures 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay 's the part ay 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I , here wha sit, hae mid wi' .some, 

An 's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken ourscl : 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses and crosses 

Be lessons right severe. 
There 's wit there, ye '11 get there 
Ye '11 find nae other where. 

R'JUriRT BURNS. 



LIFE I I KNOW NOT WHAT THOU ART. 

Life ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me 's a secret yet. 



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072 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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liifo ! \vt> 'vo IxH'U long togoUioi- 
ThnnigU nloixsaiit ami tlavugh oloudy woatlior, 
"r is hiuil to i«ut wlum fiieiuls nixi doar, — 
I\nluii>s "t will cost a sigh, a toai- ; 
— Tliou steal away, givo little warning, 

Choiwo tliino own timo ; 
Shy not C!ood Niglit, — Imt in sonu' biiglitor 
I'limo 

Uid uie I'lOod Morning. 

ANNH LivnriA Uakuaoliv 



ON HIS OWN BUNDNKSS. 

1X> CVRIACK SKINNBK. 

Cyriack, this three yoai-s" day, those oyos, 
though cl«\r, 
To ontwa\xl view, of hleniish or ol' spot, 
IVuvft of light, their seeing havo forgvt ; 
Nor to their iillo orhs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, thivnghout the year, 
Or man or woman, yet I ai'gue not 
Ag!>iust Heaven's hand or will, nor Iwlo a jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still boar up and steer 
Right onwanl. What supports nie, dost thou 

ask ; 
The conseieuce, friend, to have lost them over- 
plied 
In Liberty's defense, my noble task, 
Of whii'h all Kuivpo rings fivni side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the world's 

vain mask. 
Content, though blind, had 1 no better guide. 



To miss one favor whioli their ueighlwi-s fuid ;> 
Yet far was he fi\>ni Stoio pride removed ; 
He felt humaiu^ly, and ho warmly lovuil. 
1 marked his action, when his infant died, 
.\nd his old neighlwv for otVense was tried ; 
The still teai-s, stealing down that furrowed 

eheek, 
Spoke pity plainer than the tongue enn speak. 
If pride weiv his, 'twas not their vulgar pride 
Who in their base contempt the givat deride ; 
Nor pride in leaniiug, though my clerk agit'cd. 
If fate sliouhl call hin>, Ashfoixl might succeed ; 
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knov 
None his superior, and his eipials few ; — 
But if that spirit in his sold had place, 
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace ; 
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained 
In stui-dy Iwys to virtuous laboi-s trained : 
Tride in the power that gnaixls his comitry's 

coast. 
And all that Englishmen ciyoy and boast ; 
I'ride in a life that slander's tongue defied, — 
In fact, a noble passion misnamed pride. 

Ci:oKc.i^ Crabrr. 



& 



THE PEASANT. 



«V NOBLE peasant, Isaac Ashfonl, died. 

Noble he was, coutenniing all things n>ean, 

llis truth unnuestioncd and his soul seitMU'. 

0( no man's presence Isaac felt afiiud ; 

.\t no msm's .juestion Isaac looked dismayed ; 

Shauu' knew him not, he divaded no disgrac;< ; 

Truth, simple truth, was written in his face ; 

Yet while the serious thought his sonl approved. 

Cheerful he seemed, and g<-utleuess he loved ; 

To bliss domestic he his heart ix'signed. 

And with the firmest lia.l the fondest mind ; 

AVei-o othci-s joyful, he looked smiling on. 

And gjive allowance where he ncded mine ; 

Good he ivfuse.l with futuiv ill to buy. 

Nor knew a joy that caused ivtleetion's sigh ; 

A friend to virtue, his nncloudeil bivast 

No envy stung, iui jealousy distivssed ; 

(Bane of the jHior ! it wounds tlwir w<aker mind 



THE HAFFY MAN. 



Hk is the happy man whose life even imw 
Shows souunvhat of that hajipier life to come : 
^Vho, doomed to an oliscni-e but tninnuil state, 
Is pleased with it, and, wei-e he fi-ee to choose. 
\Vould make his fate his choice ; whom peace, 

the fruit 
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 
IVpare for happiness ; K'speak him one 
Content indeed to sojourn while he mu.st 
Below the skies, but having there his homo. 
The world o'erlooks him in her busy seaivh 
Of objects, more illustrious in her view ; 
And, occupied as earnestly as she. 
Though umre sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 
She scorns his pleasui-es, forshe knows them not ; 
He seeks not hei-s, for he has jiroved them vain. 
He cannot skim the ground like sunuuer biixis 
Bui-suing gilded flies ; and such he deems 
Her honoi's, her emoluments, her joys. 
Theivfoi-e in eontemi>lalion is his blis-s, 
^Yhose power is such that whom she lifts from 

earth 
She makes familiar with a heaven unseen. 
And shows hin> glories yet to Ih> i-evealed. 
Not slothfid he, though seeming unemployed. 
And censured oft iis useless. Stillest streams 
Oft water l'ain<st meadows, and the biiil 
That llutters least is longest on the wing. 

WlLI.lASl COWPBK. 



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J'OKMS OF HKSTIMEM AND llEt'LECTlOX. 



fJTi 



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THE PROBLEM. 

1 I.IKK a (.hiircli ; I like a cowl ; 

I )i)Vi; a i)r<)i>h''t of tin; Boul ; 
.\ij<l oij my lii:art moiiastii; aisles 

Kali like sweet strains or pensive smiles ; 
Vet not for all his faitli can sec 
Woulil 1 that cowlwl chureliinan be. 
Wliv sliould llie vest on him allure, 
Which I could not on me endure f 

Not from a vain or shallow thought 
His awful .Jove young Phidias brought ; 
Never from lips of cunning fell 
The thrilling Delj.hie oracle : 
Out from the heart of nature rolled 
Tlic burdens of the IJilJe oH ; 
'I'he litanies of nations came, 
Like the volcano's Ujngne of flame, 
l']i from the burning core below, — 
Tlje canticles of love and woe. 
The hand that rounded I'eter's dome. 
And groined the aisles of Christian Itome, 
Wrouglit iu a sad sincerity ; 
Miniself from God he could not free ; 

II • builded better than he knew ; — 
'i'lie conscious stone to Iwauty grew. 

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nest 
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ; 
f)r how the fisli outbuilt her shell, 
I'ainting witli moin each annual cell ? 
Or how the sacred ](ine-trcc a<lds 
To her oM leaves new inyria<ls ? 
.Such and so grew these holy piles. 
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
Karth proudly wears the Parthenon, 
As the best gem ujion her zone ; 
And Morning opes with haste her liils. 
To gaze ujion the Pyramids ; 
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, 
As on its fricmls, with kindred eye ; 
I'or, out of Thought's interior sphere, 
Thi:se wonders rose to upjKjr air ; 
Ati<l Nature gbadly gave them piaffe, 
Adojited them into her race. 
And granted them an equal date 
With Andes and with Ararat. 

The.se temples grew as glows the grass ; 
Art might oljey, but not surpass, 
'i'he passive Mast<;r lent his liand 
To the vast Soul tliat o'er him phinned ; 
And the same power that rcarc<l the shrine 
liestrodc the tribes that knelt within. 
Kver the fiery Pentecost 
Girds witli one flame the countless host. 
Trances the heart through chanting choirs. 
And through the priest the mind inspires. 



The word unto the prophet sjKjken 
Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; 
The word by seers or sibyls Ujld, 
In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, 
Still floats u[Kjn the morning winil. 
Still whis|K;rs Ut the willing niiiuL 
One accent of the Holy Ghost 
The heedless world hath never lost. 
I know what say the fathers wise, — 
The I>f)ok itself l*fore me lies, — 
Old Cliri/sonlimi, lj<;st Augustine, 
And he who blent Iwth in his line, 
The younger (Joldf/n. h'qm or mines, 
Tayloi', tlie Shakesis^arc of divines. 
His wonls are music in njy ear, 
1 see his cowled jwrtrait dear ; 
And yet, for all hLs faith could see, 
I would not the good bishop Ix-. 

KALl'Jl W'AI.L.0 HUERSON. 



UAPPIMESS. 



H.M"r'iNE>>s '. our lacing's end and aim ! 
Good, Pleasure, Ea»(;, Content ! whatc'er thy 

name : 
That s<jmething still which promjits the eternal 

sigh. 
For which wc Wir to live or <lare Xfi die. 
Which still so jiear us, yet l«yond us lies, 
O'erlooked, seen double, by the fool, and wis<!. 
Plant of celestial seed I if dro]>|<ed lj<;low. 
Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to glow f 
Fair 0{;<:ning to some court's propitious shine, 
Or deeji with diamonds in the flaming mine ? 
i Twined with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield, 
Oi- reai»l in iron harvests of the field ? 
Where grows? — where grows it not? If vain 

our toil. 
We ought \fi blame the culture, not the soil : 
Fixed to no sjjot is happiness sincere ; 
'T is nowhere to l>c founil, or everywhere : 
'T is never to Ix; l<ought, but always free. 
And, fled from monarchs, St. John ! dwells with 

thee. 
.(\sk of the learned the way ? The learnd are 

blind ; 
This biibi to serve, and that to shun, mankind ; 
Some pla£;e the bliss in action, some in caw;, 
Thosi; call it pleasure, and contentment these : 
Some, sunk to Ixjasts, find pleasure end in pain ; 
Some, swelled to gods, confess even virtue vain ; 
Or, indolent, to each extreme they fall, — 
To trust in everything, or doubt of all. 

Who thus define it, say they more or less 
Thau this, that liappincss is happiness ! 



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674 



I'OKMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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Take Nature's path, aiul mad Opinion's leave 
All states can reach it, anil all heads conceive ; 
Obvious her goods, in no extreme tliey dwell ; 
There ueedsbutthinkingright, and meaningwell 
And, mourn oxir various portions as we please. 
Equal is common sense and common ease. 

POPK. 



L 



A HAPPY LITE. 

How happy is he horn and taught 
That serveth not another's will ; 

AVliose armor is liis honest thought. 
And simple trath his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are ; 

Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Not tied unto the world with care 

Of public fame or private breath ; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise. 
Or vice ; who never understood 

How deejiest wounds arii given by praise, 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

AVho hath his life from rumors freed ; 

\\Tiose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 

Nor ruin make accusers great ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
Jlore of his grace than gifts to lend, 

And entertains the harmless day 

With a well-chosen book or friend, — 

This man is freed from serWle bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 

Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And, having nothing, yet hatli all. 

SIK llENKV WOTTUN. 



THE HERMIT. 

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, 
Wlien naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, 
And naught butthenightingale'ssongin thegrove, 
'T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, 
AVhilehisharprungsymiphonious, ahermitbegiin ; 
No more with himself or with nature at war. 
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man : 

" Ah ! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, 
AMiy, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ? 
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthrall. 



But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, — 
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls theo to 

mourn ! 
0, soothehim whose pleasureslikethinepassaway ; 
Full ipuekly they pass, — but they never return. 

"Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, 
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent dis- 
plays ; 
But lately I marked when majestic on high 
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 
The path that conducts thee to splendor again ! 
liut man's faded glory what change shall renew ? 
Ah, fool ! to e.\ult in a glory so vain ! 

" 'T is night, and the landscape is lovely no more. 
Imourn, — but, ye woodlands, I mourn notfor you ; 
For morn is approaching your charms to restore. 
Perfumed with fresh fragi'ance, and glittering 

with dew. 
Xor yet for the ravage of winter 1 mourn, — 
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save ; 
But when shall spring visit the molderingurn ? 
0, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave ? 

"'Twas thus, by theglare of false science betrayed. 
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind. 
My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to 

shade, 
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 
'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 
'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from 

thee ! 
I.o, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ; 
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst 

free.' 

' ' And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; 
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. 
So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray, 
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 
See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending. 
And nature all glowing in F.den's first bloom ! 
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are 

blending. 
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 
James beattie. 



THE RETIREMENT. 

Farewell, thou Inisy world, and may 
We never meet again ; 
Here I can eat and sleep and pray. 
And do more good in one short day 
Than he who Ids whole age outwears 
Upon the most conspicuous theatei's. 
Where naught but vanity and vice appears. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^rQ 



G75 



te^- 



Good God ! how sweet are all things here ! 
How beautiful the fields appear ! 

How cleanly do we feed and lie ! 
Lord ! what good hours do we keep ! 
How quietly we sleep ! 

What peace, what unanimity ! 
How innocent from the lewd fashion 
Is ail our business, all our recreation ! 

O, how hapjjy here 's our leisure ! 
0, how innocent our pleasure ! 
ye valleys ! ye mountains ! 
ye groves and crystal fountains ! 
How 1 love, at liberty, 
By turns to come and visit ye ! 

Dear solitude, the soul's best friend, 

That man acquainted with himself dost make. 

And all his Maker's wonders to intend. 

With thee I here converse at will. 

And would be glad to do so still. 

For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake. 

How calm and quiet a delight 

Is it, alone. 
To read and meditate and write. 

By none offended, and offending none ! 
To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease ; 
And, pleasinga man's self, none other to disple;ise. 

my beloved nymph, fair Dove, 
Princess of rivers, how I love 

Upon thy flowery banks to lie, 
And view thy silver stream, 
Wlien gilded by a summer's beam ! 
And in it all thy wanton fiy 
Playing at liberty, 
And witli my angle upon them 
The all of treachery 

1 ever learned, industriously to try ! 

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show, 
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po ; 
Tlie Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine, 
Ale puddle-water, all, compared with thine ; 
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are 
With thine, much purer, to compare ; 
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine 
Are both too mean, 

BelovM Dove, with thee 

To vie priority ; 
Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit. 
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet. 

my beloved rocks, that rise 
To awe the earth and brave the skies ! 
From some aspiring mountain's crown 
How dearlv do I love, 



Giddy with pleasure, to look down, 
And from the vales to view the noble heights 
above ! 
my beloved caves ! from dog-star's heat, 
And all anxieties, my safe retreat ; 
AV'hat safety, privacy, what true delight, 
In the artifudal night 
Your gloomy entrails make. 
Have I taken, do I take ! 
How oft, when grief has made me fly, 
To hide me from society 
E'en of my dearest friends, have I, 

In your recesses' friendly shade, 
All my sorrows open laid. 
And my most secret woes intrusted to your 
privacy ! 

Lord ! would men let me alone, 
What an over-happy one 

Should 1 think myself to be, — 
Jlight 1 in this desert place 
(Whicli*most men in discourae disgrace) 

Live but undisturbed and free ! 
Here in this despLseil recess. 

Would 1, mauger winter's cold 
And the summer's worst e-xcess, 
Try to live out to sixty full years old ; 
And, all the while, 

Without an envious eye 
On any thriving under Fortune's smile, 
Contented live, and then contented die. 

CHARLES Cotton. 



SUPPOSED TO 
FERNANDF.Z. 



I AM monarch of all 1 survey, — 
My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the center all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl an<l the brute. 

Solitude ! where are tlx' channs 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach ; 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of spe:-ch, — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the ])lain 

My form with indifl'erpnc(' see ; 
Tliey are so unacquainted with man. 

Their tameness Is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and love, 
Di^^nely "oestowed ujion man I 



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0- 



676 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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^ 



0, liad I the wings of a dove. 

How soon would I taste you again ! 

My sorrows I then might sissuage 
In tlie ways of religion and truth, — 

Might learn from the wisdom of age. 
And lie idieered l>y the sallies of youth. 

Religion I what treasure untold 

Kesides in that heavenly wonl ! — 
Mole lireeioiis than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can atlbixl ; 
But the sound of the ehuirh-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard'. 
Never sighed at the sound of a knell. 

Or smiled when a Sablmth appeared. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial, endearing report 

Of a laud I shall visit no more ! 
My friends, — do they now and tljj'U send 

A wish or a thought after me .' 
0, lell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift-wingfed arrows of light. 
AVlii 11 I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to lie there ; 
But, alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest. 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There 's mercy in every place. 

And mercy — encouraging thought ! — 
Gives even affliction a grace. 

And reconciles man to his lot. 

William Cowper. 



THE GOOD GREAT MAN. 

How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits 
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains ! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
When any man obtains that whicdi he merits. 
Or any merits that which he obtains. 

For shame, my friend ! renounce this idle strain ! 
What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain ? 
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
Or heap of coi-ses which his swoiti hath slain ? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. 



Hath he not always treasures, always friends, — 
The great good man ? Three treasures, — love, 
and light. 
And calm thoughts, eiiuable as infant's breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day or 
night, — 
Himself, bis Maker, and the angel Death. 

SAMVtL T.\VLOK COLEKIDCE. 



EXAMPLE. 

We scatter seeds with careless hand, 

And dream we ne'er shall see them more ; 
But for a thousand yeai-s 
Their fruit appeal's. 
In weeds that luar the land. 
Or healthful store. 

The deeds we do, the words we say, — 
Into -still air they seem to fleet, 
We count them ever past ; 
But they shall last, — 
In the dread judgment they 
And we shall meet. 

I charge thee by the years gone by, 

For the love's sake of brethren dear. 
Keep thou the one true way. 
In work and play. 
Lest in that world their cry 
Of woe thou hear. 

John keble. 



PERFECTION. 

from "king JOHN." 

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
' To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
1 Unto the niinbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to 
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 



REPTJTATION. 



Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 

Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 

Who steals my purse, steals tnish ; 'tis something, 

nothing ; 
'T was mine, "t is his, and has lieen slave to 

thousands ; 
But he that filches from me my good name 
Robs me of that which not enriches him. 
And makes me poor indeed. 



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a-^- 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND UEFLECTIUN. 



Gil 



-a 



FROM "MERCHANT OF VENICE." 

The quality of mercy is not strained, — 

It droppetli as tbe gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed, — 

It blessetli him that gives, and him that takes : 

'T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 

The throned monarch better than liLs crown ; 

His scepter shows the force of temporal power. 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : 

Ijut mercy is above this sceptered sway, — 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 

It is an attribute to God himself ; 

And earthly power doth then sliow likest God's, 

AVhen mercy seasons justice. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



Weei' ye no more, sad fountains ! 

What need you flow so fast ? 
Look how the snowy mountains 
Heaven's sun doth gently waste. 
But my sun's heavenly eyes 
View not your weeping. 
That now lies sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies 
Sleejiing. 

Sleep is a reconciling, — 

A rest that peace begets ; 
Doth not the sun rise smiling, 
Wlien fair at even he sets ? 
Rest you then, rest, .sad eyes, — 
Melt not in weeping. 
While she lies sleeping 
Softly, now softlv lies 
Sleeping. 

John Dowland. 



INVOCATION TO SLEEP. 

Come, Sleep, and witli thy sweet deceiving 
Lock me in delight awhile : 
Let some pleasing dreams beguile 
All my fancies, that from thence 
I may feel an influence, 

All my powers of care bei-enviug ! 

Though but a shadow, but a sliding. 

Let me know some little joy ! 

We that suffer long annoy 

Are contented with a thought. 

Through an idle fancy wrought : 
0, let my joys have some abiding ! 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 



THE BROTHERS. 

Slcmber, Sleep, — they were two brothers, ser- 
vants to the gods above ; 

Kind Prometheus lured them downwards, ever 
tilled with earthly love ; 

But what gods could bear so lightly, pressed too 
hard on men beneath ; 

Slumber did liis brother's duty, — Sleep was 
deepened into Deatli. 

From the German of GOETHE. 



Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep, — 
He, like the world, his ready visits pays 
Where fortune smiles : the wretched he forsakes. 
And lights on lids unsullied by a tear. 

Edward Vounc. 



Come, Sleep, Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release. 
The indifferent judge between the high and low. 
With shield of proof .sliield me from out the prease * 
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw ; 
0, make me in those civil wars to cease : 
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed ; 
A chamber deaf to noise, and blind to light ; 
A rosy garland, and a weary head. 
And if these things, as being thine by right, 
Aleve not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me 
Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



"He giveth his beloved steep. " — Psalm CJCxvi. 2. 

Of all the thoughts of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar. 
Among the Psalmist's music deep, 
Now tell me if that any is. 
For gift or grace, surpassing this, — 
" He giveth his beloved sleep " ? 

\\niat would we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved, — 
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, — 
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, — 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows \ 
"He giveth his beloved sleep." 



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& 



tJ7S 



H>£MS OF &i:JXTmeA'T AND MFtHOrjON. 



■Ql 



What ilo w<> givu tv> yur Wlovetl • 

A Uufe vlust t\> W«X\i«0\\ 
Aud hitter vuemwies, tt> tuake 
Tht> whi.xle esu'th W»st<\l Jw ow SB»ke, 
•• He giveth Ais MovW slwiv" 

'■ jvltf p si^ft, Mv^'evl ! " w<? s^xwethues say, 

Ihit have uo tuue to eha»-u> away 

Ss*vl ih-eauis that thivv(j;h the eyeluls cteep ; 

t>\u uever lUxleful divaiu ajjiiw 

SQjall bivak the hai'{'y dvimbev whea 

•• He giveth Ais WlovM sleejv" 

O i;\-«th, si> full of ihvavy uoisi? .' 
lueu. with waiUuj; lu your voiee : 
O vlelvM j;oW the waile>-s heaj' ' 
st»ife> O cui-se> that o'er it fall 
U<.\1 strikes a sileuw thix>«^h you ail. 
Ami " siveth his MovW sietfiv" 

His dews Uroj> mutely iw the hill. 

His clouU alx>ve it saileth still, 

'f hoHjch on its slv>t>e u>e» sv>w auvl ivaj> ; 

More sotlly thaii the view is shevt. 

Or eloud is tlvvttevl oveiheavl. 

■' He giveth his l>elovts.l slee^v" 

For we, wy heart, that ej'St vUil j;\< 
Mwt like a tiii?il ehiUl at a show. 
That se^s th>vuj;h teal's the luuuuwJrs le«{s 
WouUl MOW its wearieil vision elois«v 
WouUl ehiMUke ow his love jvik>s* 
Who "j^iveth his Mov\l sleefv" 

KVIJ VBSTH B-VKSSTT BROWNINC. 



' lu ci'avUe of the vuUe i»ui>erioHs s«»-gts 

.-Vuvl iu the visitrttiim W' the wiuils, 
j Who take the vutfisui hillows hy the to)s 

CMrliuj; theirmoiistivus heails, ami hau^iuj; thew 
I With vleafeiiiug ekuxoi^ iu the sli|>}>evy eloukls. 

That, » ith the hurly, death itself awakes * 
; t"»ust thou, j>aitial slet>p ! ^ive thy wiH<se 
I 'l\> the wet st>a-lH>y in an hour so ruile ; 
' Autl iu the ealwest and u\iwt stillest ui^j-ht. 

With all avi^iwtees and uunius to Ihi<U, 
! IVuy it to a kiu^i; ? Then, haj>}>y low, lie down ; 
I Vneasy lies the head that wears a or\nvn, 

SROM ■• FIRST PART O* HBNRV IV." 

Gi.isxiH>\vKK. She liids y<>u on the wanton 
rushes lay you dowix, 
\ud rest your gentle hts-id «i>ou her laj\ 
Vud she will siuj; the sojig that pleaseth you, 
Aud vni your eyelids eivw n the go<l of sl«>e\>, 
t^haruiii\$t your MvhhI with )>h\-«sins heaviuess; 
Makinjt sueh diffetvm-* betwixt wake sind s1<h>i> 
As is the ditfeivuee l>etwixt day and ui^ht. 
The hour befoiv the heavenly -haruesse^l team 
Begins his gv>lden pi\)jn>?«s iu the east. 

I IfRWV "CVMSBUNS." 

Weariness 
>.\in snojv n{>OM the flint, when restive sloth 
Kinds the down v>illow luutl, 

I KROM " Sl-VCBETH," 

' Maeb«<th di.vs TOU(\ler sleejx — the iuuocent slee)\ 
Sleejv that knits up the ravelevl sleav* of care. 
The d«ith of ej>oh day's life, si.u'e labor's bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, jivat nature's se<.\md eourse, 

1 Chief uourisher iu life's feast. 



y- 



KROSi " SE\X>NP PART OK USNRY IV, " 

Kise Ukxky, Mow many thousand of n\y 

^wnvst s«bje<-ts 
Aro at this hour asleep I — sleep ; gentle 

sleep ' 
Xature's soft nuriv, how have 1 ft-ighted thet?. 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
-Vud steep my senses iu forgetfuluess ' 
Why rather, slee{\ liest thou iu suKxky cribs, 
Vi\ia uneasy pallets stretehing thee, 
Aud husheil with biiaziug night>tties to th,v 

slumber. 
Than in the i>ei-fttme\l chambei-s of the great, 
Vuder the iiurojues of I'ostlj- state. 
Aud Inl W with sounds of swe«?test mehxly ? 
thou dull gotl ! why liest thou with the vile. 
In Uvithsoiue be\ls, and le«v'st the kingly coueh 
A watoh-eas»« or a common 'larum-liell ' 
Wilt thou upon the high and gidvly mast 
Seal up the shii>-Ki\'s eyes. «md iwk his brains 



We ar« sueh stutf 
As dreiuus ai'e made of, and our little life 
Is i\Hinde<.l with a sWjv 



SHAKKSrSAKB. 



HYMN yo NIQHT. 

Yks! bear them to their resit ; 
The rosy balie, tire\l with the glare of day. 
The i^^attler, fallen »sle<-p t'eu in his play ; 

Clstsp them to thy si>ft Inv.sst. 
night ! 
Bless them in drvjuns with a deep, hnshevl delight. 

Yet must they wake again. 
Wake soon to all the bittevneiss of life. 
The i>ang of soriwv, the temptation strife. 

Aye to th* <.Hxiisi'ieuoe pain ^ 
night ' 
Canst thou not take with them a longer flight ■ 



^ 



fe 



POEMB Otr HENTIMKNT AND UEl!'LE(n'l<jN. 



otT^ 



Til* laijit 'jf »ijj, ils ■i'/as/s'j u«:ju.c« 'rf w<a, 

'J'o wiio* «tiw;j«J, hoiitit, Jiap|>iej' li*%lit '< 

<"><!, '.'r* t!,">'j .')/>* '>f«rtheia up 
'J ■ ,' lioiB ttii phiOfit di" 

/. ■; tiwy sleep, t«> Hiu, 

•rap, 

'I'Ji* <;up cif wratli, for lieaj-U in faith <^.-utnU: ' 

To Jlirn, for tjieic who shrjrt 
A W>; all h/Jy ou his wotJi<jj'» kjit*, 
AuJ Jjou/ Utat houj lo ';r'>SK-<;rowii«5'i CaJ vary, 
J 11 al) <>uj' wrjow »<;jA, 
ijiijht : 
TJjtat on our S'>ul6 wight dawn limYKUi Khixyiii/ 
Ji^t. 

' love djviue 

Jj' ■ ; -lUUX'Jfbil twj.";' 

Aj '>UiiU i ■■•""-, i«& ill; i>/j.v;iic, 

ni^t I 
Ofl th*itt a hrolter's ^ia«<; of Co-i'g own Ixiuir' 
I'sjs lui^t, 

Jyet thwfl hum'jrtd wake 
Aajoijj^ the deathiess flowere of Paradise, 
Where au;{i-l wmij^s of wehxijae with surprise 

This tl- • ay breals, 



lit aX the oj^u <ja»euieut 'j'^^Uu^ juu, 
Aud jouud thy lowly tjed, 

ri:- ■ ■ ' ■■'■ 

i'y.. . head, 

1-.' • -le of raiij, 

'J-h-y ••.■,■,. , 

While the white euitaius, waviu;^ Vj and : 

• 'louie ajid go, 



■.h 1 k.eej/, 



On the fjajT'A : 



' h J kt>ep. 



ai*:'J to utter. 



And \^i • 



kiudied souls iovite. 



Aj:j' 
Th., 
Aju-- 



There <ain oowe xio sorrow ; '>j;- 

The brow fjall >.!ivK ;-v shade, the eye no tears, '-" ' 

Forever y Haven's eternal years Al 

In one •■ . ■■v^v 

Kor sin nor aj^e nor pain theii' ehej-uh Ijtau- 

UJifht. ■ 

Would we <jould sleep as they, j^ 

So stainless and so 'aijiij, — at rest with Thfee, — 
And only wake in inijuoi'lality '. 

liear us with them away, 
nJ^t : 
To that ethereal, holier, buyiAer hei^t. 

OEOt.QE W. BtTHV.V 



Th' 
J'e. 
Al .• 
'J'h.- 



'A pain. 



u-rth diu ; 



■V^'A'KUXSa. 

Sjlkei', love, sleep '. 

The dusty day is done. 

IjO '. from alar- the freshening breezes sweep 

Wide over groves of Wm, 

I><.>wu fi-om the towering jjalm, 



feet 



J;. .■ 
Aii' 
TL. 



vjrt of way 
•is no sin- 



[fi- 



680 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



-fh 



U^ 



As tears were in the sky : 

More heavily the sliadows fall, 

Like the black foldings of a pall, 

Where juts the rough beam from the -n-all ; 

The candles flare 

With fresher gusts of air ; 

The beetle's drone 

Turns to a dirge-like, solitary moan ; 

Night deepens, and I sit, in cheerless doubt, alone. 

EMILY C. JUDSON. 



TO lANTHE, SLEEPING. 



How wonderful is Death ! 

Death and his brother Sleep ! 
One, pale as yonder waning moon, 

With lips of lurid blue ; 

The other, rosy as the morn 
Wlien, throned on ocean's wave, 

It blushes o'er the world : 
Yet both so passing wonderful ! 

Hath then the gloomy Power 
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchers 
Seized on her sinless soul ? 
Must then that peerless form 
Which love and admiration cannot view 
Without a beating heart, those azure veins 
Which steal like streams along a field of snow, 
That lovely outline which is fair 
As breathing mai-ble, perish ? 
Must putrefaction's breath 
Leave nothing of this heavenly sight 

But loathsomeness and ruin ? 
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme. 
On which the lightest heart might moralize ? 
Or is it only a sweet slumber 
Stealing o'er sensation, 
Which the breath of roseate morning 
Chase th into darkness ? 
AVQl lanthe wake again. 
And give that faithful bosom joy. 
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch 
Light, life, and rapture from her smile ? 

Yes ! she will wake again. 
Although her glowing limbs are motionless. 
And silent those sweet lips. 
Once breathing eloquence 
That might have soothed a tiger's rage, 
Or thawed the cold heart of a cont^ueror. 
Her dewy eyes are closed, 
And on their lids, whose texture fine 
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath, 
The baby Sleep is pillowed : 
Her golden tresses shade 
The bosom's stainless prid», 



Curling like tendrils of the parasite 
Around a marble column. 

A gentle start convulsed lanthe's frame : 
Her veiny eyelids quietly unclosed ; 
Moveless awhile the dark blue orbs remained. 
She looked around in wonder, and beheld 
Henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch. 
Watching her sleep with looks of speechless love. 
And the bright-beaming stars 
That through the casement shone. 

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



SLEEPLESSNESS. 

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by 
One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; 
I 've thought of all by turns, and still I lie 
Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies 
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees. 
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 
And could not win thee. Sleep, by any stealth : 
So do not let me wear to-night away : 
Without thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 



THE DREAM. 

OuK life is twofold ; sleep hath its own world, 
A boundary between the things misnamed 

1 Death and existence : sleep hath its own world, 

! And a wide realm of wild reality. 
And dreams in their development have breath. 
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; 
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts. 
They take a weight from off our waking toils, 
They do di\'ide our being ; they become 
A portion of ourselves as of our time. 
And look like heralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; they have power, — 
The tyi'anny of pleasure and of pain ; 
They make us what we were not, — what they 

^vill, 
And shake us with the vision that 's gone by, 
The dread of vanished shadows. — Ai-e they so ? 
Is not the past all shadow ? What are they ? 
Creations of the mind ? — The mind eon make 
Substances, and people planets of its own 
With beiugj brighter than have been, and gir« 



-^ 



e^- 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



681 



■^ 



A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. 
1 woulJ recall a vision which I dreamed 
Perchance in sleep, — for in itself a thought, 
A slumbering thought, is capable of yeai's. 
And curdles a long life into one hour. 

I saw two beings in the hues of youth 

Standing upon a hill, a gentle hUl, 

Green and of a mild declivity, the last 

As 't were the cape of a long ridge of such. 

Save that there was no sea to lave its base. 

But a most living landscape, and the wave 

Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men 

Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke 

Arising from such rustic roofs ; the hill 

Was crowned with a peculiar diadem 

Of trees, in circular array, so fixed. 

Not by the sport of nature, but of man : 

These two, a maiden and a youth, were there 

Gazing, — the one on all that was beneath 

Fair as herself, — but the boy gazed on her ; 

And both were young, and one was beautiful ; 

And both were young, — yet not alike in youth. 

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge. 

The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 

The boy had fewer summers, but his heart 

Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 

Thi're was but one belovfed face on earth, 

Aud that was shining on him ; he had looked 

Upon it till it could not pass away ; 

He had no breath, no being, but in hers ; 

She was his voice ; he did not speak to her. 

But trembled on her words ; she was his sight. 

For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers. 

Which colored all his objects ; — he had ceased 

To live within himself : she was his life, 

The ocean to the river of his thoughts. 

Which terminated all ; upon a tone, 

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow. 

And his cheek change tempestuously, — his heart 

Unknowing of its cause of agony. 

But she in these fond feelings had no share : 

Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was 

Even as a brother, — but no more ; 't was much. 

For brotherless she was, save in the name 

Her infant friendship had bestowed on him ; 

Herself the solitary scion left 

Of .1 tinn-lionore*! race It was a name 

W'liirh I'liiiM'd liim, and yet pleased him not, — 

and why ' 
Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved 
Another ; even noiu she loved another, 
And on the summit of that hill she stood. 
Looking afar if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her exjiectancy, and flew. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 

There was an ancient mansion, and before 



^- 



Its walls there was a steed caparisaned ; 

Within an auticfue oratory stood 

The boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone. 

And pale, and pacing to and fro ; anon 

He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced 

Words which I could not guess of ; then he leaned 

Ilis bowed head on his hands and shook, as 

't were 
With a convulsion, — then arose again. 
And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear 
What he had written, but he shed no tears. 
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of i[uiet ; as he paused. 
The lady of his love re-entered there ; 
She was serene and smiling then, and yet 
She knew she was by him beloved ; she knew — 
For quickly comes such knowledge — that his 

heart 
Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw 
That lie was wretidied, but she saw not all. 
He rose, aud with a cold and gentle grasp 
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 
A tablet of uimtterable thouglits 
Was traced, and then it faded, as it came ; 
He dropped the hand he held, and with slow steps 
Retired, but not as bidding her adieu. 
For they did part with mutual smiles ; he passed 
From out the massy gate of that old Hall, 
And mounting on his steed he went his way ; 
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold nuirc 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The boy was sprung to m-anhood ; in the wilils 
(If fiery climes he made himself a home. 
And his soul drank their sunbeams ; he was gilt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had been ; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer ; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
A part of all ; and in the last he lay 
Reposing from the noontide .sultriness. 
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruined walls that had survived the names 
Of those who reared them ; by his sleeping side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fastened near a fountain ; and a man, 
Clad in a flowing garb, did watch the while. 
While many of his tribe slumbered around : 
And they were canopied by the blue sky, 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful. 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The lady of his love was wed with one 
WTio did not love her better : in her home, 
A thousand leagues from his, — her native home. 
She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy. 



-^ 



ts-^- 



682 



POKMS OF SJiNTLMENT AND JiKFLECriON. 



--Q^ 



DiiujjlittM-s niul sous of lionuty, — l)Ut beliold I 
I' poll hci' I'lH'o tlu'iv was tho tint ol'gviol', 
Tho settlcil shadow of an inwaiil stril'o, 
Ami an uni|iiii't di'oopinj; of the oyo, 
As it' its liii woiv chuijtiHl with umsIuhI teare. 
Wliat oonld horsiiol' bo ?— sho had all slii' loved, 
Ami he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, 
(.>r ill-repressed ulllietiou, her pmv tlioughts. 
What eoiild her grief be? — slie had loved him 

not. 
Nor given liim eause to <leem himself beloved, 
Xor eoiild he be a part of that whieh preyed 
Vpon her mind — a specter of the past. 

A ehangi> eame o'er the spirit of my dream. 

The wanderer was retnrneil. — 1 saw him stand 

Uefore an altnr — with a gentle bride ; 

Her face was fair, but was not that whieh made 

The starlight of his boyhood ; — ns he stood 

Kven at the iiltnr, o'or his brow there eame 

The selfsame aspeet and the ipiivering shook 

That in the antiipie oratory sliook 

His Viosom in its solitude ; and then — 

As in that hour — a moment o'er his faee 

Tho tjiblet of unutterable thoughts 

Was tmoed, — ami then it faded as it eame, 

And he stood calm and quiet, and ho spoke 

Tho littiug vows, but hoard not liis own woixls. 

Ami all things reeled aiwiiul him ; ho eould 

see 
Not that whieh was, nor tiiat whii'h should have 

iH'en, — 
But the old mansion, and the nccnstomod Indl, 
And the remombei-ed ehambei^s, ami the place, 
Tho day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, 
All things pertiuning to tJnvt place and hour. 
And hor who was his destiny, eamo bnek 
And thrust themselves betweenhim and the light ; 
What business had they there at sueh a time ■ 

A change came o'er tho spirit of my drean\. 
Tho Indy of his love ; — 0, she was ehangeil. 
As by the sickness of tho soul ! her niimi 
Had wandeird from its dwelling, and her eyes. 
They had not their own luster, but the look 
Whii'h is not of the earth ; she was become 
The nueon of a fantastic ivalm ; hor thoughts 
Were combinations of ilisjointed things. 
And forms im)>aliiiible and unpereeived 
Of othei's' sight familiar were to hers. 
And this the world calls frenzy ; but the wise 
Have a far deeper madne.ss, and the glance 
Of melancholy is n fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth, 
AVhich strips the distance of its fantasies, 
And brings life near in utter nakedness, 
Making the cold reality too real ! 



A change eame o'er tho spirit of my dream. 
The wamleit'r was alone as herotofou'. 
The beings whieh surrounded him wore gone, 
t)r wei-e at war with him ; ho was a nuirk 
For blight and desolation, compassed round 
With hatreil and contention ; pain was mixed 
In all which was served up to Idm, until. 
Like to the Tontic monarch of old days, 
lie fed on poi.sons, and they had no power, 
ISut wei-o a kind of nutriment ; he lived 
Through that which had been death to many men, 
.'Vnd nnulo him friends of mountains ; with the 

stars 
And the ipiiek Spirit of the universe 
He held his dialogues j ami they did teach 
To him the nnigie of their mysteries ; 
To him the book of Night was opened wide, 
.\nd voices from the deep abyss revealed 
.\ marvel and a secret. — lie it so. 

My dream was past ; it had no further change. 

It was of a strange oixler, that the doom 

Of these two ci'eatui'es shouhl be thus traced out 

.Mmost like a i-eality, — tho one 

To end in madness — both in misery. 

LOKU BVRON. 



CHASTITY. 

Thk morning pearls 

l>ropt in the lilv's spotless Ixisoin 

Are less chastely cold, 

Kre the meridian sun 

Has kis.sed them into heat. 

WILL CUAMUUkLAVNB. 



Wori.D Wisdom for hei'self ho wooed. 

And wake tho foolish from his dream, 
She must bo glad as well as good, 

.\ud must not only be but seem. 
Beauty and joy an' heiN by right ; 

.'\nd, knowing this, 1 wonder less 
That she 's so scorned, when falsely diglit 

In misery and ugliness. 
What 's that which Heaven to man endeai-s, 

.\nd that which eyes no .sooner see 
Than the heart says, with floods of teai-s, 

".Ml ! that's tho thing which 1 would be"? 
Not childhood, full of tears ami fret; 

Not youth, impatient to di-^own 
Those visions high which to forget 

Wero woi^o than never to have known, — 
Not these ; but souls found here ami their, 

Oa.ses in our waste of sin. 



& 



-S 



f 



POEMS OF HKNTIMKNT ASIJ UKFLIiC'l'lON. 



i;83 



■a 



W)ji!(i i;yi!ryUiiii^ Ix wi^ll ;ii«<l I'aii, 

AimI 'j')il ic-Hiila his iliacijiliin!, 
WJujso »wi!<;t »iil>ilu;tl of tl)i; wojI/1 

Till! wo)l<lliii({ w;ar'«( can \ivjtfff\v/M ; 
And ii'Ji':ij|i!, agiiij)*t il liuilwl, 

lJio|j» witti ii tdokeii Mtiug and ili>ja. 
'J'lujy liv<! lyy law, not lik<; l,)i<; lool, 

lint )ik<; tin; ImiiI wIid Cnwly liingn 
III siri' t/'^il, Ik/ii<I« of rliyiii': .ui'l ml';, 

Ami (iiids ill tfii:ni not l)Oiiil« but win;{is. 



Koii wl/y, who writes Bach libitorics a« tlwiw! 
iJoUi oftiiii t)iin({ till! ii.'iKlnr'ii hi«ilt sii<:h i::k*:, 
Aa whi!ii tli<;y nit and S"* wluit In; ilotli noU;, 
Willi fare his lujart, Bay th<!y, thi« l^ook lliat wiot"; 



Uli that many IjokeH ri;'ly», 
<,'iinnyinf{"; hIwII Ik; I«, 
Wy»i;/lonn! i« S'^omj eaiijjht; 
In ni/iny ieui;)* it in wij^ht ; 
lint nloiith, tliat no Ixjki; lK;iight, 
For VV.UVIM tiikelh no thought; 
ilia thiyfUs conuilh l«hynde. 

Amowvmous. 



[g-.- 



liKitnu), till} Fairy cri<;'l, 

I'.ilmyia'rt luini;'! jiala/wii I — 

IJeliold wliuii; gianileur frowncl I 
lielioM when: i)l<;a»ciiij «inil<-^l ! 

What now jeniaina I — tin; memory 
Of wnwIeKunesK and nhami;, — 
What in immoital theie ? 
N'olhiiig, —it Ktaiiilii Ut tcdl 
A inelan';hoIy talc, Uj give 
An awful warning : soon 

Ohlivion will Ht<;al silently 
The remnant of it« fame. 
lHonarelia and wnijueroin the-re 

Prouil over jirostrati; millions ti'^l, — 

The eailh'iijjikes of tlie human iiii:<! ; 

Like them, forgotten when the riii;i 
That nwrks their shoek is jxist. 
IJesido the eUirnal Nile 
The (lyramidx liave ri»«;n. 

Nile shall (dii-sue his ehangehrtis way ; 
Thoss pyramids iihall iail ; 

yi;a, not a stone shall st;»i)d tii tell 
Tlie Bjjot v/iutri-xm they (stood ; 



Their very sit^; sliall U; lorgottwi, 
An hi llu;ir huihl<:r's naim; ! 

There 's not one atom of yon uuHh 

IJut onw was living man ; 
No)' the minutest droji of lain, 
Tliat langeth in its thinnest eWini, 
lint (lowi;il in human veins ; 
And from llix; huining (ilaina 
Wheii- l,yhi;in nioii;>ti:is yell, 
From the most gl</<(iny glenji 
Of 'iiwnland's sunless elime, 
To where tlji; golden lieMs 
Of fertile Knghilid s|)ie;i/l 
Tlii;!! harvi-st t<i the iJay, 
Thou eaiist not find one s|>ot 
When;*/!! no eity stoi^l. 

How strange in hunwn |)iide ! 
I ti;ll thi;!! that thosi; living tilings. 
To whom the fragile hhi/le of grass, 
Tliat springeth in the nioiii 
And jjerishes ere infiii, 
Is an unl<ouiidi,<l world, -- 
I ti;ll thi;<: tlial lliosi; viewless Ixjings, 
Winrn- mansion i* the smallest jjartiele 
Of the iin|Ki»sivc atniimjihere, 
Think, f<«l, and live, like man ; 
Tluit their alfeeti/jiis and antipatlii/js, 
1/ike his, produee the L-iws 
Killing their moral sUrle ; 
And the miniiUfst throh 
That Ihroijgh their frame i|i(fus<;s 
The sliglit/!st, faint/;st motion, 
Is lix<;'l and indLS|K;nsahli; 
A,s the niajiwtie laws 
Tlwt rule yon rolling ort/s. 

I-I.K/;/ Iiy:»SHB HUKU.IiV, 



EKVIVAI. 

How fresh, J/ird, hov/ swei;! and elean 

Aril thy returns ; even lun the flowera in spring ; 

'J'o whieh, Ixjsides theii own demean, 
Tlu! latis-icist frosts tiihut';* 'A plea«ure bring. 

Oi i<;f melts away 

I,iki! SHOW in Jlay, 
Aj) if tliere were no soiih <X)ld thing. 

Who would have thou;;ht my »hrivel<;'l h/«trt 
Could have ni-jiV'tivA gre<;nness ? It was gone 

Quif! underground ; as flowers dejjart 
To M!': their mother root, when they have blown ; 

Where tlxjy together 

All the hard weather, 
Dead Uj the world, keep hoose unknown. 



-3 



lil: 



684 



IVJiMH OF SENTIMENT AND JiJ':FlEvriON. 



tt] 



AikI now in iigo I luitl ii^'iiin ; 
Allor so nmnv ilciitlis 1 Uvo luul writo ; 
1 on>v ni.Mv Miu'll lli,- .l.nv iind lain, 
Aii.l ivlisli MTsniK : O "iv only UfiUt. 
U ,'aiu...l 1.,. 
riial I Mill li.< 
On wlu.ui lliv l,Mi.|u'sts Ml nil niKlitl 



YU880UF. 

A STKANdKU I'liiuo ouo night to Y\is,soiit"s trnl, 
Siiyinj;, " IVlioUl ono oiitou.st ami in divml, 
A^'iiinst wIkwo lit'i' tlu> Ivow of juiwoi' is bent, 
Willi llios. iiml Imtli not wluMo to lay his hoiiil ; 
1 ronii- lo 111.'.' I'or sh.'U,<r im.l foi- I'o'inl, 
To Vussoiir. oiilUM tluouol, „11 ,„„• i,il„.s ''riu. 

loHKi.'" 

"'niistoiit is mint"," said Ynssoiil', ■•luit uonioiv 

'I'lviin it is (uhI's ; oouio in, anil \v ii( pi'iu'i- ; 

Kivi'lv shalt thon iwrliiko of all niv sloiv 

As 1 ot His who huihh.th ovoithi'so 

(Hir Iculs liis jjlorioiis mot' ol' iiifjht iiml ilay, 

An.l at whoso .toor nou.' ovi'i- yrl liciuxl Nay," 

^o Vnssoiif oiitinlaimHl his guost that nij;ht, 
Anil, wukinj; hin\ oiv day, said : •' lloi-<' is gold, 
My sw it'tt'st hoi'so is saddlod lor thy llight, 
Oi'|wit hi't'oro tho piyinj; day gixnv holil." 
As ono lamp lights aiiolhi'i, nor givws loss, 
S(.i uohlonoss onkindloth nohlonoss. 

That inwai\l light tho stmngi'i's I'aotunndogiainl, 
Whiohshiiu'sl'i-oni allsoll'-oomiuost ; knooling low, 
111' I'owod his hiu'lirad njioii Yvissoufs hand, 
Sohhing ; "0 Shi'ik, 1 oaniiol limvo thoo so ; 
1 will ii'|>av thi'o ; all this thon hast dono 
Int.. thai 'll.rahini w ho slrw thy son!" 

" Tako thiii'o thi.gold," said YnssonI', "t'oi' with 

thoo 
Into tho dosovt, nmor to ivtnrn. 
My ono hlaok Ihonght shall ridi> away fivni mo ; 
Kii'st-hoin, foe whom hy day and night I yoarn, 
llaliinoi'd and just an' all of (!od's dtn'ivos ; 
Thon art avi'ng<'il, n\y lii'st-lvrn, sloop in (lonoo !" 
.U^n^s Ki'ssui.i. l.owmx. 



VANITY. 



y- 



TuK SUM I'onu's np and llu' sun g\it's down. 

And day and night aiv tho same as ono ; 

Tho yoai glows givon, and thoyoar givws brown, 

And what is it all, whon all is done I 

11 rains of sonilvr or shining sand. 

Gliding into and out of tho hand. 



And men go down in ships to tho noiu. 
And a hmiilii.il shi|>s art. tho samo as ono ; 
And buikwanl and forward blows tho biiiojo, 
And whul is it till, whon all is donu ( 
A tido « ith noYor a ahoro in aight 
tii'lting stoadily on lo tho night. 

Till. Il-.lur di.'pp.lh his ml ill tho.-tivam. 
And a liiinilri..l stii'Miiis aii. iht' saiiio as ono ; 
Anil tho niaidoii dioamoth hor lovo lit dioani, 
And what is it all, whon all is dono ( 
Tho ml ..r I ho lishor tho bunion broaks, 
And nl«:i\ tho dioaining tho divanior wakos. 



MAHIVIOUD. 

TllKlilt oanio a man, making his hasly moan 
lioi'oro tho Siiltaii Mahnioiid on his liiiouo. 
And orying out, " My sorrow is iiis right. 
And 1 'ii'ill soo tho Si'illiitl, and to-iiighl." 
" Sorrow," sahl Mahmoiid, "is a rovoioiid thing: 
1 ri'oognizo its right, as king with king ; 
Spoak on," "A lionil has got into my hon.so," 
Kxolaiiiiod tho sHiriiig man, '• and tortinos us, — 
0\w of thiuo otlioors ; ho ooiiios, tho abhonvd. 
And tako,s possossion of my lionso, my board. 
My bod ; — 1 havo two danghtora and a w ih', 
;\iid tho wild villain oomos and makos nio imid 

wiih lllo." 
"Is ho Ihon. now (" said Mahmoud. "No; 

ho loft 
'IMio honso whon 1 diil, of my wits bon.ft, 
And laugliod mo down tho stit'ot. booau.so 1 vowoil 
I'd bring tho priiuo himsolf to lay him in his 

shniiid. 
1 'm mad with want, 1 'm ma.l with misorv. 
And, O llum Siilian Mahmoud. (loil olios out for 

thoo!" 

Tho Sultan oomfortod tho man, and said, 
" Do homo, and 1 will sond thoo wino and broad " 
(I'or ho was poor^ " and othor ooinforts. l5o ; 
And should tho wrotoh return, lot Sultan Mah- 
moud know." 

In throo days' timo, with liagganl oyos and beaiti, 

And shakon voioo, tho suitor n'appoarod. 

And said, " llo 's oomo." Mahmoud said not « 

wonl, 
l>ut n>so and took four slavos, oaoh with a sword. 
And wont with tho voxod man. Thov roaoh tho 

plaoo. 
And hoar a voioo, and soo a woman's faoo, 
That to tho window tluttorod in alfright : 
" (Join," .said Mahmoud, " and put out tho light ; 
Uul toll tho fomaloa tirst to loavo tho niom 
And whon thodrunkanl follows thorn. 



, wo oonio. " L 




tlMWfjfjh. 

W/tfK.ljJ% H'jVK At C<M>-,WI>/», 
'■A^<m.laU elm. Mi hun^r.^lh ,mr. Llu,d.^,„. „Mh /,/, f„u^lM, ,^, 

Wh,, vM. an annual ring, ^dl. ,W f/)^^, ^„„ ,;,, J„^,^,„, ,.„,„ 



r 



I'OEMS OF SEXTIMLXT AMJ REfLECTIOS. 



685 \ 



The man went iu. There van a cry, and hark ! 
A talje falls, tlie window i» /struck "Jark ; 
Forth rush the breatblbss women ; and behind 
With curses cornes the fiend in desperate mind. 
In vain : the saUjrs soon cut short the strife, 
And choj) the shrieking wretch, and drink his 
blooily life. 

"Xow li/jhl the light," the Sultan cried aloud ; 
'T was done : he took it in his hand and Ijowed 
Over the coi7>s(;, and !ooke<l uj«n the isux ; 
Then tumcl and kneit, and Pj the throne of gia/,e 
Put up a prayer, and from his lijis then,- crept 
Sf^me gentle words of pleasure, and he wept. 

In reverent silence the beholders wait, 
ITien bring him at his call both wine and meat ; 
And when he ha<l refreshed his noble heart, 
He Wle his host lie blest, and rose up t/j dejart. 

The man amazed, all mildness now and tears. 
Fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers. 
And >xigge<l him to vouchsafe to tell his slave 
The reason first of tbat command he gave 
Alwut the light ; th<m, when he saw the lace. 
Why he knelt down ; and la.stly, how it was 
That fare so poor as his detained him in the place. 

'ITie .Sultan said, with a V^nignant eye, 
".Since first I saw thee come, and heard thy en', 
I could not rid me of a dread, tliat one 
By whom such daring villanies were done, 
Must be some lord of mine, — ay, e'en perhaps 

a*OT. 
For this I had the light put out : but when 
I saw the face, and found a stranger slain, 
f knelt and thanked the sovereign Arbiter, 
Whose work 1 ha/1 performed through jjain and 

fear ; 
And then I rose and was refreshed with fooil. 
The first time since thy voice had marred my 

solitude." 



ABRAM ANT) ZnSBl. 

Abeam and Ziniri own':<i a field together, — 
A level field hid in a happy vale ; 
They plowed it with one plow, and in the spring 
S'jwed, walking side by side, the fruitful seeil. 
In harvest, when the glad earth smileilwith grain. 
Each carried to his home one half the sheaves, 
Anfi stored them with much labor in his Ijams, 
Xow, Abram had a wife and seven sons. 
But Zimri dwelt alone within his house. 



tL 



One night, before the sheaves were 
As Zimri lay upon his lonely be<i 



in. 



And counteti in his mind his little gains, 
He thought uj^'jn his brother Abrams lot, 
;\nd sai'l, " I dwell alone within my hous^ 
liut Abram hath a wife and seven sous. 
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike. 
He surely needeth more for life than I ; 
I will arise, and gird myself, and go 
Down to the field, and add to his from mine." 

So he arose, and girded up his loins, 

And went out softly to the level field ; 

The moon shone out from dusky Ijars of clou'ls. 

The trees stoo<i bla/.k against the cold bUie sky. 

The blanches wavisd and whisjjcred in the winiL 

i>i Zimri, guide<J by the shifting light. 

Went dowTi the mountain j/atli, and found the 

fiel.l. 
Took from his store of sheaves a generotis third. 
And Ijore them gla'lly to his brother's heap, 
And then went t;a<;k t/j sleep and happy dreams. 

Xow, that same ii-,- lay in Wl, 

Thinking ujion hi life. 

He thought u[)on . / ri's lot, 

And saii " He dwells v,Uuui jiis house alone, 
He goeth forth to toil with few to help. 
He goeth home at night Uj a cold house. 
And hath few other frieuils but me and mine " 
fFor these two tilled the liappy vale alone), 
"While I, whom Heaven hath ver)' greatly 

blessed, 
Dwell liappy with my wife and seven sons. 
Who aid me in my toil and make it light. 
And yet we sliare the harvest sheaves alike. 
This surely is not pleasing unto G<A : 
I will arise, and gird myself, and go 
Out to the field, and l/orrow from my store. 
And a<ld unto my brother Zimri's pile." 

.So he arose and ginled up his loins. 
And went down s<jftly to the level field ; 
Tlie moon shone out from silver bars of clouds. 
The trees stoo'l blank against the starry sky. 
The dark lea ves wave<l and whij!j>cre<l in the breeze. 
So Abram, guidcl by the doubtful light, 
Pajised down the mountain jjath and found the 

fiebl. 
Took from his store of .sheaves a generous third. 
And a<lded them unto his brother's heap ; 
Then be went back to sleep and happy 'ireama. 

.So the ne.xt morning with the early sun 
The brothers rose, and went out to their toil ; 
And when they came to see the heavy sheave. 
Each wondered in his heart t'l find his heap. 
Though lie had given a third, was still the same. 

Xow, the next night went Zimri to the fieM, 
Took from his store of sheaves a generous share. 



.^3 



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688 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^-a 



& 



What thougli not bid to knightly halls ? 

Those liiUls liavp missed u eouitly guest ; 
That mansion is not privilegod, 

Which is not open to the best. 

Give honor due when custom asks, 
Nor wrangle for this lesser claim ; 

1 1 is not to he destitute, 
To have the thing without the name. 

Thou dost thou come of gentle blood, 
IMsgracc not thy good company ; 

If lowly born, so lieav thyself 

That gentle blood may come of thoo. 

Strive not with pain to scale the height 
Of some fair garden's petty wall. 

But climb the open mountain side. 
Whose sumndt rises over all. 

E. s. H. 



CORONATION. 

At the king's gate the subtle noon 

Wove filmy yellow nets of sun ; 
Into the drowsy snare too soon 

Tlu' guards fell one by one. 

Through the king's gate, unquestioned then, 
A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings 

Me chance, at last, to see if men 
Fare better, being kings." 

The king sat bowed beneath his crown, 
Propping his face with listless hand ; 

Watching the hour-glass sifting down 
Too slow its shining sand. 

"Poor man, what wouldst tho\i have of me!" 
The beggar turned, and, pitying, 

Keplied, like one in dream, " Of thee. 
Nothing. I want the king." 

Uprose the king, and from his head 
Shook oil" the crown, and threw it by. 

" man ! thou must have known," he said, 
" A greater king than I." 

Through all the gates, unquestioned then. 
Went king and beggar haml in hand. 

Whispered the king, " Shall I know when 
Refore Itis throne I stand ! " 

The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste 
Were wiping from the king's hot brow 

Tlie crimson lines the crown had traced. 
" This is his presence now." 



At the king's gate the crafty noon 

Unwove its yellow nets of sun ; 
Out of their sleep in terror soon 

The guai-ds waked ono by one. 

" Ho here ! Ho there ! Has no man seen 
The king ? " The cry ran to and fro ; 

Beggar and king, they laughed, 1 ween. 
The laugh that free men know. 

On the king's gate the moss grew gray ; 

The king came not. They called him ilcad ; 
And made his cltK'st son one day 

Slave in his liitlicr's stciid. 

HRLKN lU'NT. 



THE DISGUISED MAIDEN. 

FKOM "rHn.ASTER." 

1 voi'NP him sitting by a fountain-side. 
Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, 
.\nd i>aid the nymph again as much in tears. 
.•\ garland lay him by, made by himself. 
Of many several (lowers, bred in the bay, 
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness 
llelighted me : but ever when he turned 
His tender eyes upon them he would weep. 
As if he meant to make them grow again. 
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 
Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story. 
He told me that his parents gentle died. 
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields. 
Which gave him roots ; and of the crystal springs. 
Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun, 
Wliichstill, he thankcdhim, yielded hinihislight. 
Then took he up his garland, and did show 
What every llower, as country people hold. 
Did signify ; and how all, ordered thus. 
Expressed his grief ; and to my thoughts did read 
The prettiest lecture of his country art 
That could be wished ; so thatmetliought 1 could 
Have studied it. 1 gladly entertained him, 
Who was as glad to follow. 

BEAl'MO.NT AND FLUTCHtK. 



'T IS a little thing 
To give a cup of water ; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
May give a shock of jdeasure to the frame 
More exquisite than when nectarean juice 
Kenews the life of joy in happier hours. 
It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
Of common comfort which by daily use 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



689 



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Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear 
Of him who thought to die unmoiinicJ 't will fall 
Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye 
With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand 
To know the honds of fellowship again ; 
And shed on tlie dei)arting soul a sense 
More jjrecious than the henison of friends 
About the honored death -bed of the rich 
To hini who else w«re lonely, that another 
Of the great family is near and feels. 

SIR THOMA-S Nuu.N TALl'QURO. 



FIRST LOVE. 

FROM " DON JUA.N." 

'T IS sweet to hear, 
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, 

The song and oar of Adria's gondolier. 

By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep ; 

'T is sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
'T is sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 

From leaf to leaf ; 't is sweet to view on high 

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 

'T is sweet to hoar the watch dog's honest bark 
Bay ileop-mouthed welcome as we draw near 
liome ; 

'T is sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; 

'T is sweet to be awakened by the lark. 

Or hdled by falling waters ; sweet the hum 

Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of Inrds, 

The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 

Sweet is the vintage, when the showering gra[)e3 
In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth. 

Purple and gushing : sweet are our escapes 
From civic revelry to rural mirth ; 

Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps ; 
Sweet to the father is his (irst-bom's birth ; 

Sweet is revenge, — especially to women. 

Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 

'T is sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels. 
By blood or ink ; 't is sweet to put an end 

Tostrife; 't is sometimessweettoh.aveouniuarrels. 
Particularly with a tiresome friend ; 

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in larrels ; 
Dear is the helpless creature we defend 

Against the world ; and dear the school-boy spot 

We ne'er forget, thougli there we are forgot. 

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all. 
Is first and jiassionate love, — it stands alone. 

Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; 

The tree of knowledge has been plucked, — all 's 
known, — 



And life yields nothing further to recall 

Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown. 
No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven 
Fire which Prometheus filched for us from heaven. 

LORU BVKOA 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST ; OR, THE POWER OF 

MUSIC. 



'T WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won 
liy Philip's warlike son : 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne : 
His valiant peers were placed around. 
Their brows with roses and with niyjtles bound 
(So should ilesert in arms be crowned) ; 
The lovely Thais, by his si.le. 
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, hap[)y, happy pair ! 
None but the brave. 
None Init the brave. 
None but the brave deserves the fair. 



HnppD, hiippii, h-npjnj pair I 
N'nie Imt llw brave, 
None but the fjravc, 
Nmic but the bravn deserves the fair. 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful choir, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre ; 
The trembling notes a.scend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from .Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats almve 
(Such is the power of mighty love). 
A dragon's fiery foi-m belied the goil : 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode. 
When he to fair Olympia (iressed, 
Ami while he sought her snowj' breast ; 
Then roumi her slender waUt he curled, 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign 

of the world. 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, 
A present deity ! they shout around ; 
A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravished ears 
The monarcli hears, 
Assum((S the god, 
AlTects to nod. 
And seems to shake the spheres. 



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690 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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With ravished cars 
The nwnarch hears, 
Assumes the god, 
Affects to nod. 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician 
sung, 
Of Bacchus — ever fair and ever young : 
The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums : 
Flushed with a pm'plo grace 
Ho shows his lionest face : 
Now give the hautboys breath. He comes ! he 
comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and yoimg. 

Drinking joys did fii-st oniain ; 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasuj'e. 

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; 

Kicli the treasure. 

Sweet the pleasure, 

Sweet is pleasure after pain. 



Bacchus' blessings are a treasure. 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; 

liich the treasure. 

Sweet the pleasure. 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound the king grew 
vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'ei' again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he 
slew the slain. 
Tlic master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And, while he heaven and eartli deticd, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 
He chose a mournful muse. 
Soft pity to infuse : 
He sung Darius, great and good, 

By too severe a fate, 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. 
Fallen from his high estate. 

And weltering in his blood ; 
Deserted, at his utmost need, 
By those his former bounty fed ; 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 
Revolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of chance below ; 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 
And tears began to flow. 



Hcvolving in his altered soul 

The varients turns of chance below ; 

And, nme and t/icn, a sigh he stole; 
And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'T was but a kindred sound to move. 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honor, but an empty bubljle ; 

Never ending, still beginning. 
Fighting still, and still destroying : 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, 0, think it worth enjoying ! 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
(iazed on the fair 
Who caused his care. 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked. 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again : 
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 



The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on (he fair 
Jl'ho caused his care. 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked. 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again : 
At length, with love and tcint at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again : 
A louder yet, and yet a lovider strain. 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark, the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head ; 
As awaked from the dead. 
And amazed, he stares around. 
Revenge ! revenge ! Timotheus cries. 
See the furies arise ! 
See tlie snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band. 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
Those areGrcrian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain. 
Inglorious on the jilain : 



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I'UEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



691 



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Give the vengeance due 

To the valiaut crew. 
Behold liow tliey toss their torches on high, 
How they point to tlie Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
The princes applaud with a furious joy ; 
And thekingseizedaflam beau withzealto destroy : 

Thais led the waj'. 

To light him to his prey, 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy ! 



And the kitig seizeda Jiavibcaictcithyjul todestroy ; 

Thais led live way, 

To light him Co his pre;/, 
And, like another Helen, fired aiwt/wr Troy I 

Thus, long ago. 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
WhUe organs yet w'ere mute ; 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute, 
And sounding lyre. 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
I nven tress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds. 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown 
before. 
Let old Timotheus jdeld the piize. 

Or both divide the crown ; 

He raised a mortal to the skies. 

She drew an angel down. 

GKAN'D CHORUS. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from, her scared store. 
Enlarged the former 'narrow bounds, 
And added lemjth to solemn sounds. 
With nature's m/jther-vjit, and arts unknovm 
before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize. 

Or both divide the crovm ; 

He raised a mortal to the skies, 

She drew an angel dozen. 

John dr^tjen. 



INVOCATION. 

FROM "THE DAVIDEIS." 

Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
In sounds that may prevail ; 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : 
Though so exalted slie. 



And I so lowly be, 

Tell her, such different notes make all thy har- 
mony. 

Hark ] how the strings awake : 

And, though the moving hand ajjproach not near. 

Themselves with awful fear 

A kind of numerous trembling make. 

Now all thy forces try ; 

Now all thy charms apply ; 

Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 

Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 

Is useless here, since thou art only found 

To cure, but not to wound. 

And she to wound, but not to cure. 

Too weak, too, wilt thou prove 

.My passion to remove ; 

I'liysic to other ills, thou 'rt nourishment to love. 

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
In sounds that will jirevail. 
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ; 
.VU tliy vain mirth lay by, 
iiid thy strings silent lie. 

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master 
die. 

AijRAHAM Cowley. 



FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT." 

DtTKE. If music be the food of love, play on; 
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, 
The apperite may sicken, and .so die. 
That strain again — it had a dying fall : 
0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south. 
That breathes upon a liank of violets, 
Stealing, and giving odor. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



The soul of music slumbers in the shell. 
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell ; 
And feeling hearts — touch them but rightly — 

pour 
A thousand melodies unheard before ! 

Samuel Rogers. 

from "merchant op venice." 

LoKESzo. How sweet the moonlight sleeps 
upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven 



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692 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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Is tliick iiiluii.1 with piitiiies of bright gold : 
There's not the smnllest orb wliich thou be- 

holii'st, 
But in liis motion lilio iiu iingel sings, 
Still iiuiring to tin' young-eyed eherubins ; 
Such liannony is in immortal souls : 
13ut whilst this muddy vesture of deeny 
Doth grossly close it in, wc cannot hear it. 

JkssICA. 1 am never merry when 1 hear sweet 

nuisic. 
Lou. The rea.son is your sjiirits are attentive. 

Therefore the poet 
Did feign that C'rpheus drew trees, stones, and 

Hoods ; 
Since naught so stoekish, hard, and full of rage. 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man tliat hath no music in himself. 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds. 
Is fit for treasons, striitagems, and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are d\dl a-i niglit, 
And his atl'ections dark as Erebus : 
Let no such man be trusted. 

SHAKESPUAKU. 



Jli'sic, when soft voices die, 
Vibrates in the memory, — 
Odors, when sweet violets sicken, 
Live within the sense they iinicken. 

luise-leaves, when the rose is dead, 
.\re heaped for the beloved's bed ; 
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

rERCY BVSSHB SMELLBV. 



WllKliK music dwells 
Lingering, and wandering on, as loth to die. 
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
That they were born for immortality. 



Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, 
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. 

CONGKBVn. 



THE PASSIONS. 

AN ODE TO MUSIC. 

AViiEN Music, heavenly maid, was young. 
While yet in eai-ly Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft. to hear her shell, 
Tlironged aronuil her magic cell, — 



E.xuUing, Irombling, rnginj^, faintin;;, — 
I'ossessed beyond the muse's painting ; 
By turns lliey felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till oni'e, 't is said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 
Fi'om the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sonnd ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each (lor madness ruh'd the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 

Amid the chords bewildered laid. 
And back recoiled, he knew not why, 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Ne.\t Anger rushed ; his eyes, on tiro. 
In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 

And swept with huriicd hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 

Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled, — 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
'T was sad by lits, by starts 't was wild. 

But thou, Hope, with nyes so fair, — 

What was thy delightful measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail I 
Still wouUl her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 
She calli'd on Echo still, through all the song ; 
And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her 

golden hair. 
And longer had she sung— but, with a frown, 

Kevenge impatient rose ; 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thuiuUr 
down ; 
And, with a withering look. 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
.■\nd blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And ever and anon he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause be- 
tween, 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applicii, 
Yet still he kept his wild, tinaltercd mien, 
While each strained ball of sight seemed burst- 
ing from his head. 

Thy numbers, .Tealousy, to naughtwere ti.xed, — 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; 
And now it courted Love, — now, raving, 
calli-d on Hate. 

Willi eyes ujiraised, as one inspired. 
Pale Melancholy sate retired ; 
And from her wild sequestered seat. 
In notes by distance made more sweet. 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive 
soul : 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
P<ulilpling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through ghulesand glooms tlie mingled meas- 
ure stole ; 
Or o'er some haunteil stream, with fond delay. 
Round an holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing. 
In hollow muiTQurs died away. 

Hut 0, how altered was its sprightlier tone 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 
Her bow across her shoulder flung. 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 
likw an inspiring air, that dale and thicket 
rung, — 
The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known I 
The oak-crowned sisters, and tlieir chaste-eyeil 
queen, 
.Satyrs and sylvan boys, were .seen 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
lirown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
And S]ioit leapt uji, and seized his beechen 
siK-ai-. 

I,.ast came .Joy's ecstatic trial : 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively. pipe his hand addre.st ; 

But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, 
Whosesweet entrancing voice beloved thebcst ; 

They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades. 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing. 

While, as his Hying fingers kis.sed the strings. 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay. 

Shook thou.sand odors from his dewy wings. 

Music ! sphere-descended maid. 
Friend of jileasure, wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess, why, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As, in that loved Athenian bower. 
You hamed an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, nymph endeared. 
Can well recall what then it heard. 



Where is thy native simple heart, 
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 
Arise, a.s in that elder time. 
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime ! 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age. 
Fill thy recording sister's page ; 
'T is said — and I believe the tale — 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail. 
Had more of strength, diviner rage. 
Than all which charms this laggard age, — 
E'en all at once together found, — 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 
0, bid our vain endeavors cease ; 
Kcvive the just designs of Greece ! 
Return in all thy simple state, — 
Confirm the tales her sous relate ! 

wiM.iAH Collins. 



t&-- 



THE OLD VILLAGE CHOIR. 

I HAVE fancied sometimes the Bethel-l«nt beam 
That trembled to earth in the Patriarch's dream 
Was a ladder of song in that wilderness rest 
From the pillow of stone U> the blue of the West, 
And the angels descending to dwell with us here 
" Old Hundred " and " Corinth " and " China " 
and " Mear." 

All the hearts are not dead, nor under the sod. 
That those breaths can blow ojwn to Heaven and 

floil ! 
Ah, ".Silver Street" leads by a bright shining 

nad,— 
0, not to the hymns that in harmony flowed. 
But the sweet human psalms of the old-fashioned 

choir. 
To the girl that sang alto, the girl that sang air. 
" Let us sing to God's prai.se ! " the minister .said ; 
All the psalm-books at once fluttered open at 

" York," 
Sunned their long dotted wings in the words that 

he read. 
While the leader leaped into the tune ju.st ahead. 
And politely picked up the keynote with a fork ; 
And the vicious old viol went growling along 
At the heels of the girls, in the rear of the song. 

0, I need not a wing ; — bid no genii come 
With a wonderful web from Arabi.an loom. 
To bear me .igain up the river of Time, 
When the world was in rhythm and life was its 

rhyme. 
And the stream of the years flowed so noiseless 

and narrow 
That across it there floated the song of a sparrow ; 
For a sprig of green caraway carries me there, 
To the old village church and the old village choir. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMEXT AND REFLECTION. 



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Where dear of tJio lloor my feet slowly swvuig, 
Aud UuuhI the sweet jmlso of the praise as tliey 

suug, 
Till the glory aslant from tlie iiltOTnoon sun 
Seenieil the raftei's of gold in God's temple begun. 

You maysmile at the nasals of old Deacon Bix>wu, 
^\'ho followed by seont till he itm the tune down ; 
And dear Sister Given, with more gvioitness thsui 

grace, 
Ixose and fell on the tunos as slio stood in hor 

place. 
And where ' ' Coivnation " exultantly flows. 
Tried to reach the high notes on the tijis of her 

toes. 
To the land of the leal they have gone with tlioir 

song, 
Where the choir and the cJiorus together belong. 
0, bo lifted, ye Gates I Let me hear themngiiin, — 
Blessed song, blessed singei«, forever ! Amen. 

liU.NJ.\Ml.N 1-. T.\Vl.OK. 



& 



A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687. 

From harmony, fivm heavenly harmony. 
This univei'siil frame Ivgan ; 
When Natin-e underneath a heap 
Of jarring atoms lay. 
And could not heave hor head. 
The tuneful voice was lieanl from high, 

.Arise, ye more than dead ! 
Then cold luui hot, and moist and dry, 
In oi\ler to tlieir stations leap. 
And Music's power obey. 
From hiinnony, fivm heavenly hiu-mony. 
This uuivci-sul fniuui began : 
From harmony to harmony. 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran. 
The diapason closing fnll in man. 

What i«i.ssion cannot Music raise luid iiuell i 
When .Tnlwl struck the chonled shell. 
His listening brethren stood around, 

.■\nd. wondering, on their faces fell. 
To womhip that celcstinl so\ind. 
Less than II God tlu-v thought theivcould not dwell 
Within the liollow of that shell. 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What mssion cannot Music raise and ipiell ! 

The trumpet's loud clangor 

Fxcites ns to arms. 
With shrill notes of anger, 

.\nd mortal alarms. 
The double double double lieat 

Of the thundering drum 

Cries, Hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge, charge, 't is too lato to retreat ! 



The soft complaining lluto 
In dying notes discovers 
The woes of hopeless lovers. 
Whose dirge is whispeu>d by the warbling lute. 

Sharp violins preclaim 
Their jealous jmngs, and desjwration, 
Fnry, fiiiutic indignation, 
DeptJi iif jmius, aud height of jiassion 

For the fair, disdainful dame. 

Hut 0, what art can teach. 
What hnman voice can reach. 

The S)\cred organ's praise ! 
Notes inspiring holy love. 
Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
To nu'ud the choii-s above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race ; 
And ta'ces uprooted loft their place, 

Sequacious of the lyre ; 
Hut bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher ; 
When to her organ vocal breath was given. 
All angil heanl, and straight appeared 

Mistaking earth for Iieaven. 

GltAND CHOKtJS. 

Asfiiym the potver o/saci-ed lays 

The spheres began to move. 
And muntj the ijiviit Creators praise 

To all the blessed above ; 
So, irhcn the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling parieant sliall derour. 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die. 
And Music sh<tll untune the sly. 

John Drvdbn. 



rKOM "NIGHT THOOOHTS." 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
How jmssing wonder Ho who made him such ! 
Who centered in our make such strange extrcuu's. 
From ditl'crcut mitures marvelously mixed. 
Connection cxiiuisite of distant worlds ! 
Uistiuguished link in being's endless chain ! 
Midway from nothing to the l>oity ! 
A beam ethereal, sullied, and al>sorpt 1 
Though sullied and dishonoreil, still divine ! 
Dim miniature of greatness nl>soluto ! 
An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
A worm ! a god ! — 1 tremble at myself. 
And in myself am lost. At home a stranger. 
Thought wandei-s up and down, surprised, aghast, 
.Viul wondering at her own. How re<a,son reels 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND UEFLECTION. 



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0, what a miracle to man is man ! 
Triumpliantlyilistiesseil ! Wliat joy ! wliatdrea<l ! 
Alternately tran«i)orted and alaniicd ! 
Wliat can preserve my life ? or what destroy ? 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
Legions of angels can't confine me there. 

EDWAKD Young. 



MAN — WOMAN. 

Man's home it everyvyhere. On ocean's flooiJ, 
Where the strong ship with storm-defying tether 
Doth link in stonny brotlierliood 
Earth's utmost zones togetlier, 
Where'er the red gold glows, the spice-trccs wave, 
Where the rich diamond ripens, mid the llame 
Of vcrtic suns tliat ope the stranger's grave. 
He with bronzed cheek and daring step doth 
rove ; 
Hi', with sliort pang and slight. 
Doth turn him from the checkered light 
Of the fair moon through his own forests dancing. 
Where music, joy, and love 

Were his young liouis entrancing ; 
And where ambition's thunder-clairn 
Points out his lot. 
Or fitful wealth allures to roam, 
There doth he make his Iiome, 
Repining not. 

II is not thus with Woman. The far halls, 

Though ruinous and lone. 
Where first her plea.sed ear drank a nursing- 
mother's tone ; 
The home witli humble walls, 
Where breathed a parent's prayer around her 
bed; 
The valley where, with playmates true. 
She culled the strawberry, bright witli dew ; 
The bower where I-ove her timid footsteps led ; 
The hcarthsbme where her children grew ; 
The damp soil where she cast 
The flower-seeds of her hope, and saw them bide 
the blast, — 
Affection with imfading tint recalls, 
Lingering round the ivied walls. 
Where every rose hath in its cup a hee. 

Making fi-esh honey of remembered things, — 
Each rose without a thoni, each bee bereft of stings. 

LVDIA II. SlCOURNF.y. 



43-^- 



WOMAN. 

TllEl'.K in tliK fane a beauteous creature stands. 
The first best work of the Creator's lianils. 
Whose slender limbs inadequately bear 
A full-orbed bosom and a weight of care : 



Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like cherries, 

show. 
And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow. 

From the Sanskrit of CaLIDASA, by Wllj><.».N. 



MAN— WOMAN. 

FROM '■ DO.V ;l'A.N"."' 

" Man's love Ls of man's life a thing aj>aH ; 

'T Ls woman's whole existence. .Man may range 
The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, 

.Sword, gown, gain, gloiy, offer in exchange 
I'ride, fame, ambition, to till up hi.s heart. 

And few there are whom these cannot estrange: 
Men have all these resources, we but one, — 
'i'o love again, and be again umlone." 

LORD BYRON. 



Dow.N', down, Ellen, my little one, 

Climbing so tendeily up to my knee ; 

Why should you ad<l to the thoughts that are 

taunting me, 
Dreams of your mother's aims clinging to me ( 

Cease, cease, Ellen, my little one, 

Warbling so fairily close to my ear ; 

Why should you choose. Of all songs that are 

haunting me. 
This that I made for your mother to hear ? 

Hush, hush, Ellen, my little one. 

Wailing so wearily under the stars ; 

Why should I think of her tears, that might 

light to me 
Love that had made life, and sorrow tliat mars ? 

Sleep, sleep, Ellen, my little one ! 

Is she not like her whenever she stirs ? 

Has .she not eyes that will soon \k as bright to me. 

Lips that will some day be honeyed like hers ? 

Yes, yes, Ellen, my little one. 

Though her white bosom is stilled in the grave, 

Something more white than her Ixjsom is spared 

to me, — 
Something to cling to and something to crave. 

Love, love, Ellen my little one 1 

Love indestructible, love undefded. 

Love throughalldeepsofherspiritlies bared to me. 

Oft as I look on the face of her chill. 

ARTHLK J .MCSliV. 



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FOJlMS of SMNTIMEXT AS1> HJit'lKCTIOy. 



■a 



MOTHER AND CHILD. 

Thk wind blew wiilo the caseiumit, and within — 
It was the loveliest inctiu-e ! — a sweet child 
Lay iu its mother's aims, and drew its life, 
In luuisf.i, IVoni the fountain, — the white round 
I'ai't sluidfil by U>ose Hvsses, soft and dark, 
t'oiu-i-aliuj;, hut still showing, the fair i-twhn 
l>f so inuih i-aptuiv, as givt^u sluulowing tives 
With Iwauty sliroud the brooklet. The red lips 
Wero jwrted, and the eheek ujion the breast 
Lay elose, and, like the yonng leaf of the tlower, 
Woro the siuue eolor, rieh and warm and fr«sli : — 
And such aloue aiv Inwutiful. Its eye, 
A full blue gem, most e.v^nisitely set, 
LvH'ked aivhly on its world, — the little iuij), 
.\s if it knew even then that sueh a wreath 
Weiv not for all ; and with its playful hands 
It drew aside the rol>e that hid its realm. 
And peepeil and laughed aloud, and so it laid 
Its head upon the shrine of sueh pure joys. 
And, laughing, ,-Jept. And whiU' it slept, the tears 
0{ the sweet mother fell u[Hin its eheek, — 
'I'eais sueh as fall from April skies, and bring 
The sunlight at^er. They wei>e tetirs of joy ; 
.■\nd the true heart of that young mother then 
(5 row lighter, and site sting uneonseiously 
The silliest Iwllad-song that ever yet 
SuUlued the nursery's voiees, and brought sleep 
To fold her sablnith wings above its eoueh. 

William Uiluokb Siuua 



6- 



lU'r Fortune, like some othera of her se.x, 
Oetiglits in taiitaliaiug and tormenting. 

One day we feed upon their smiles, - the next 
Is sjient in sw«iriiig, sorrowing, and reiienting. 

Eve never walketl in Varadise tnoro puro 
Than on that morn when Satan played the devil 

With her and all her race. A lovesiek wooer 
Ne'er asked a kinder maiden, or more eivil. 

Than (.'leopatra was to Antony 

The day slie left him on the Ionian st>a. 

The seriH'ut — loveliest in his eoihSd ring, 

With eye that eharnis, imd Iwiuty that outvies 

The tints of the iiiinlvw — Ix-ai-s upon his sting 
The deadliest venom. Ero the dolphin dies 

Its hues are brightest. Like an infaul's breath 

Ai-e tropic winds lieforo the voice of deiith 

Is heanl ujx>n the waters, summoning 

Tlie midnight eartlxjuake from its sleep of years 

To do its task of woe. The clouds that fling 
The lightning brighten ere tha Ixdt apiH^ara ; 



The jiantinga of the warrior's heart are pvoud 
Upon that Iwltle-inorn whose night-dews wet his 

shroud ; 
The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest ; 

The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast ; 
The swan's last song is sweetest. 

FlT2-GREliNB IIALIUCK. 



ENID'S SONO. 

FROU " lOYlS Ot' THH KING." 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the 

proud ; 
'I'urn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, 

and cloud ; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or 
frown ; 
With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; 
Onr hoaixl is little, but our hearts aro great. 

Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands ; 
Fivwii and we smile, the lonls of our own hands ; 
For man is man and master of his fate. 

'l^lrn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ; 
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the clowd ; 
Thy wheel and tlu'e wc neither love nor hate. 
ALFKUU Tbsnvson. 



THE QIFfS OF OOD. 

When Ood at tirst made man. 
Having a gla.sa of blessings standing by. 
Let us (.said lle^ pour on him all we can : 
Let the worlds riches, which disperstNd lie, 

Contract into a sjmn. 

So strength tirst made a way ; 
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure: 
When almost all was out, tied made a stay, 
Peroeiving that, alone, of all his ti-easuif, 

IJest in the bottivm lay. 

For il I should (said he) 
liestow this jewel also on my civatui'e, 
He would adore my gifts instead of in(\ 
Atid ivst iu Natuiv, not the GihI of Naturo ; 

So kith .should losei-s be. 

Yet let him keep the rost. 
But keep them with repining rostlcssness : 
Lot him lie rich and weary, that, at least, 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to my bi-east. 

ObOKC.S lib 



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I'OEMH (Jb' HENTIMENT AND REFLECriON. 



697 



■a 



h 



THIi LEriHK " »," 

'T WA« wIjisjiiTrd iiilieriveii, iuni uuitti-rwl in holl, 
Ami cclio i;!iuf,'lit liiiiitly tlie sound as il fell ; 
i)n the confines of earth 't was permitted to rest, 
And thedeptlisoftheoeeaiiitspreseiiceeonfessed ; 
'T was si;en in the lightning, and heard in the 

tliunrlcr ; 
'T will he found in the spheres, when riven 

asunder ; 
'T was given to man with his earlii'sl lireath. 
Assists at hLs birth, and attends him in death ; 
Presides o'er his happiness, lionor, and liealth. 
Is the propof hishouse, and the end of hiswealtli. 

1 1 begins every hope, every wish it must bound, 
And though unassuming, with monarehs is 

erownc-d. 
In the heaps of the miser 't is hoarded with care, 
iiut is sure to he lost in Ids prodigal heir. 
Without it tlie soldier and sailor may roam. 
But woe to the wretch who exjjels it from home ! 
In the whispers of conscience its voice will be 

found. 
Nor e'er in tlie wliirlwind of passion be drowned. 
1 1 softens the heart ; and, though deaf to the ear, 
It will make it acutely and instantly hear. 
Iiut in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower, — 
0, breathe on it softly ; it dies in an hour. 

CATUARINU I-ANSliAWn. 



FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE. 

Ol'H Father Land ! and wouhlst thou know 

Why we should call it Father Land ? 
It is that Adam here telow 

Was made of earth by Nature's hand ; 
An<i lie, our father made of earth, 

J lath peopled eaith on every band ; 
And we, in memory of his bii-th. 

Do call our country Father Land. 

At first, in F.den's bowers, they say. 

No sound of speech had Adam <aught. 
But whistled like a bird all day, — 

And maybe 't was for want of thought : 
But Nature, with I'esistless laws. 

Hade Adam soon surpass the birds ; 
She gave him lovely Eve because 

If be 'd a wife they must Itave vjordt. 

And so the native land, I liold. 
By male descent is proudly mine ; 

The language, as the tale hath told, 
Was given in the female line. 



And thus we .see on either liand 

We name our blessings whence they 've s])rui/g 
Wc call our countiy Father Land, 

We call our language Mother Tongue. 

Samuel lover. 



SMALL BEGINNINGS. 

A TRAVKI.RR through a dusty road strewe<l 

a<;orns on the lea ; 
And one took root and s|>routwl uj), and grew 

into a tree. ' 

Love sought its sha<Je, at evening time, to breath<- 
I its early vows ; 

And age was plea.sed, in heats of noon, \a> bask 
I txjncatli its boughs ; 

I The ilormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds 
sweet music Ijore ; 
It stood a glory in its jihice, a blessing evermore. 

A little spring had lost its way amid the gra.ss 

and fern, 
A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary 

men might turn ; 
He walled it in, and hung with caie a labile at 

the brink ; 
lie thought not of the deed he did, but judgi^i 

that toil might drink. 
He jjassi^d again, and lo ! the well, by summers 

never diied. 
Had cooled U-n thousand parching tongues, and 

saved a life Ijeside. 

A dreamer dro[)p<^d a random thought ; 't was 
old, and yet 't was new ; 

A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being 
ti'ue. 

It shone ujxm a genial mind, and lo 1 its light 
bei'ame 

A lam]» of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame. 

The thought was small ; its issue great ; a watch- 
fire on the hill, 

It slieiLs its radiance far adowii, and clieers the 
valley still ! 

A nameless man, amid a crowd tliat thronged 

the daily mart. 
Let fall a wonl of Hope and I>ove, unstmiied, 

from the heart ; 
A whLsper on the tumult thrown, — a transitory 

breath, — 
It raised a brother from the dust ; it saicd a 

soul from death. 
germ ! O fount ! word of love 1 thought, 

at random cast ! 
Ye were but little at the first, Init miglitv at tho 

la>,t. 



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698 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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THE EVENING CLOUD. 

A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, 

A gleam of ninison tinurd its braided snow ; 
Long had I wat- In d tin L':l'iry moving on 

O'er the still radiam c ul the lake below. 
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow ! 

Even in its very motion there was rest ; 
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow 

Wafted the traveler to the beauteous west. 
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul ! 

To wlio.M- whitr Krbe the gleam of bliss is given. 
And liy till- liiTiitli u^ mercy made to roll 

Right onwards t" the golden gates of heaven. 
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, 
And tells to man his glorious destinies. 

John Wilson. 



INSIGNIFICANT EXISTENCE. 

There are a number of us creep 
Into this world, to eat and sleeji ; 
And know no reason why we 're bom, 
But only to consume the corn, 
Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish. 
And leave behind an empty dish. 
The crows and ravens do the same, 
Unlucky birds of hateful name ; 
Ravens or crows might fill their place. 
And swallow corn and carcasses, 
Then if their tombstone, when they die. 
Be n't taught to flatter and to lie. 
There 's nothing better will be said 
Than that ' ' they 've eat up all their bread. 
Drunk up their drink, and gone to bed." 
ISAAC Watts. 



t 



LIVING WATERS. 

There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed 
and deep 

As ever Summer saw ; 
And cool their water is, — yea, cool and sweet ; — 

But you must come to draw. 
They lioard not, yet they rest in calm content, 

And not unsought will give ; 
They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, 

So self-contained they live. 

And there are some like springs, that bubbling 
burst 

To follow dusty ways. 
And run with offered cup to quench his thii-st 

Where the tired traveler strays ; 
That never ask the meadows if they want 

What is their joy to give ; — 
Unasked, their lives to other life they grant. 

So self-bestowed they live I 



And One is like the ocean, deep and wide. 

Wherein all waters fall ; 
That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, 

Feeding and bearing all ; 
That broods the mists, that sends the clouds 
abroad. 

That takes, again to give ; — 
Even the great and loving heart of God, 

Whereby all love doth live. 

Carolin-e spencer. 



FREEDOM IN DRESS. 

Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powdered, still perfumed, — 

Lady, it is to be presumed. 

Though art 's hid causes are not found, 

AH is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give me a face. 
That makes simplicity a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free, — 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art ; 
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
Ben jonson. 



A SWEET DISORDER IN THE DRESS. 

A .SWEET disorder in the dress 

Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 

A lawn about the shoulders thrown 

Into a fine distraction ; 

An erring lace, which here and there 

Inthralls the crimson stomacher ; 

A cwS neglectful, and thereby 

Ribbons to flow confusedly ; 

A winning wave, deserving note, 

In the tempestuous petticoat ; 

A careless shoestring, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility, — 

Do more bewitch me than when art 

Is too precise in every part. 

ROBERT HERRICK. 



CONTRADICTION. 



Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there 
are, 
And make colloquial happiness your care. 
Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
A duel in the fonn of a debate. 
The clash of arguments and jar of words. 
Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, 



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I'UEMS UF SEM'IMENl' AND REFLECTION. 



699 



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DeoiJe no question with tlieir tedious length, 
For <ii}iiosition gives opinion strength, 
]-ii\-i'rt t)ie champions prodigal of breath, 
And put the peaceably disposed to death. 
0, thwart me not. Sir Sopli, at every turn, 
Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ! 
Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 
I am not surely always in the wrong ; 
' r is hard if all is false that I advance, 
A fool must now and then be right by chance. 
Xot that all freedom of dissent I blame ; 
No, — there I grant the privilege I claim. 
A disputable point is no man's ground ; 
Rove where you please, 't is common all around. 
Discourse may want an animated No, 
To brush the surface, and to make it flow ; 
But still remember, if you mean to please. 
To press your point with modesty and ease. 
The mark at which my juster aim I take, 
Is contradiction for its own dear sake. 
Set your opinion at wliatever pitch, 
Knots and impediments make something hitcli ; 
Adopt his own, 't is equally in vain. 
Your thread of argument is snapped again. 
The wrangler, rather than accord with you, 
Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. 
Vociferated logic kills me ([uitc ; 
A noisy man is always in the right. 
I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, 
Fi.x on the wainscot a distressful stare. 
Ami, when I hope his blunders are all out, 
Keply discreetly, — " To be sure — no doubt ! " 
William Cowper. 



Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife, — 
Some men have surely then a peaceful life. 
Whatever subject occupy discourse. 
The feats of Vestris, or the naval force, 
Asseveration blustering in your face 
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : 
I n every tale they tell, or false or true. 
Well known, or such as no man ever knew. 
They fix attention, heedless of your pain. 
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ; 
And even when sober truth prev.iils throughout, 
They swear it, till aflSrmance breeds a doubt. 
.\ Persian, humble servant of the Sun, 
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, 
[fearing a lawyer, grave in his address. 
With adjurations every word impress, 
.Supposed the man a bishop , or, at least, 
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 
Bowed at the close with all his graceful airs, 
.•\nd begged an interest in his frequent prayers. 



What 's fame? — afancied lifeinothers' breath, 
A thing beyond us, e'en before our death. 
.Just what you hear, you have ; aud what's un- 
known 
The same (my lord) if Tully's, or your own. 
All that we feel of it begins and ends 
In the small circle of om- foes or friends ; 
To all beside, as much an empty shade 
A Eugene living as a Caesar dead ; 
Alike or when or where they shone or shine. 
Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. 
A wit 's a feather, and a chief a rod ; 
An honest man 's the noblest work of God. 
Fame but from death a villain's name can save. 
As justice tears his body from the grave ; 
When what to oblivion better were resigned 
Is hung on high, to poison half mankind. 
All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; 
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart : 
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs 
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas ; 
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels 
Than Ciesar with a senate at his heels. 

ALEXA.NDER POPE, 



FAME. 

Hkr house is all of Echo made 
Where never dies the sound ; 

Anil as her brows the clouds invade. 
Her feet do strike the ground. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

In facile natures fancies quickly grow. 
But surli .piick fancies have but little root. 
Soon tlh niiivi MIS llowers and dies, but slow 
The tri'r whosi' l)lo.ssoms shall mature to fruit. 
Grace is a moment's happy feeling. Power 
A life's slow growth ; and we for many an hour 
Must strain and toil, and wait and wcej), if we 
The perfect fruit of all we arc would see. 



CONSTANCY. 



^- 



One eve of beauty, when the sun 
Was on the streams of Guadalquiver, 

To gold converting, one by one, 
The ri]iplcs of the mighty river. 



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Beside me on the bunk was seated 

A Seville girl, with auburn hair, 
And eyes that niiglit the world have cheated, - 

A wild, bright, wicked, diamond pair ! 

She stooped, and wrote upon the sand, 

Just as the loving sun was going, 
AVith such a soft, small, shining haud, 

I could liave sworn 't was silver flowing. 
Her words were three, and not one more, 

What could Diana's motto be ? 
The siren wrote upon the shore, — - 

" Death, not inconstancy I " 

And then her two large languid eyes 

So turned on mine, that, devil take me ! 
I set the air on fire with sighs. 

And was the fool she chose to make me ! 
Saint Francis woidd have been deceived 

With such an eye and such a hand ; 
But one week more, and I believed 

As much the woman as the sand. 

Anonymous. 



mnynLiTY. 

To me men are for what they are, — 

They wear no masks with me. 

I never sickened at the jar 

Of ai-tuned flattery ; 

I never mourned aflection lent 

In folly or in blindness ; 

The kindness that on me is spent 

Is pure, unasking kindness. 

Richard Monckton Milnes. 



GREATNESS. 



FROM THE "ESSAY ON I 



u 



Honor and shame from no condition rise ; 
Act well your part, there all the honor lies. 
Fortune in men has some small difference made. 
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade ; 
The cobbler aproned, and the parson gowned. 
The friar liooded, and the monarch crowned. 
" What dift"er more (you cry) than crown and 

cowl ? " 
I '11 tell you, friend : a wise man and a fool. 
You '11 find, if once the monarch acts the monk, 
Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, 
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow ; 
The rest is all but leather or prunella. 

Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with 
strings. 
That thou mayst be by kings, or whores of kings ; 
Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race. 



In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece ; 

But by your fathers' worth if yours you rate, 

fount me those only who were good and great. 

Go ! if your ancient but ignoble blood 

Has crept through scoundrels ever since the 

flood. 
Go ! and pretend your family is young. 
Nor own your fathere have been fools so long. 
Wliat cm ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards ? 
Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards. 
Look next on greatness ; say where greatness 

lies? 
" Where, but among the heroes and the wise ? " 
Heroes are much the same, the point 's agreed. 
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede ; 
The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find 
Or make an enemy of all mankind ! 
Not one looks backward, onward still he goes. 
Yet ne'er looks forw'ard farther than his nose. 
No less alike the politic and wise ; 
All sly, slow things, with circumspective eyes : 
Men in their loose, unguarded hours they take. 
Not that themselves are wise, but others weak. 
But grant that those can conquer, these can 

cheat ; 
'T is phrase absurd to call a villain great : 
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, 
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. 
Who noble ends by noble means obtains. 
Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains, 
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. 

ALE.XAiS'DER POPE. 



OPPORTTTNITY. 

FROM •■JULll.-S CESAR." 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
And we must take the current when it serves. 
Or lose oiu- ventures^ 

SHAKESPEARE. 



REASON Airo INSTINCT. 

FROM THE ■' ESSAY ON MAN." 

Whether with reason or with instinct blest. 
Know, all enjoy that power which suits them best ; 
To bliss alike by that direction tend, 
And find the means proportioned to their end. 
Say, where full instinct is the unerring guide, 
^\^lat pope or council can they need beside 
Eea-son, however able, cool at best, 



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POEMS UF SENTIMENT AND UEFLECTWN. 



701 



rfl] 



Cares luit for si'rvire, or but si-rves when prest, 
Stays till we call, aud theu uot often near ; 
But honest instinct comes a volunteer, 
Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit ; 
While still too wide or short is human wit, 
Sure by quick nature happiness to gain, 
Which heavier reason labors at in vain. 
This too serves always, reason never long ; 
(Jno must go right, the other may go wrong. 
See then the acting and comparing powers 
I )ne in theu' nature, which are two in ours ; 
.Viul reason raise o'er instinct as you can, 
111 this 't is God directs, in that 't is man. 

Who taught the nations of the field and wood 
To shun their poison aud to choose their food ? 
Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, 
Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand ? 
Who made the spider parallels design. 
Sure as l)e Molvre, without rule or line ? 
Who bid the stork, Columbus-like, explore 
Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before? 
Who calls the council, states the certain day. 
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ? 
Ale-\ander pope. 



y-- 



THE BROOKLET. 

Sweet brooklet, ever gliding. 
Now high the mountains riding. 
The lone vale now dividing, 

Whither away ? — 
" With pilgrim course I How, 
Or in summer's scorching glow. 
Or o'er moonless wastes of snow, 

Nor stop, nor stay : 
For 0, by high behest. 
To a bright abode of rest 
In my parent Ocean's breast, 

I hasten away ! " 

Many a dark morass, 
Many a craggy mass, 
Thy feoble force must pass ; 

Yet, yet delay ! — 
' ' Though the marsh be dire and deep. 
Though the crag be stern and steep. 
On, on my course must sweep ; 

I may not stay : 
For 0, be it east or west. 
To a home of glorious rest 
In the bright sea's boundless breast, 

I hasten away ! " 

The warbling bowers beside thee, 
The laughing flowers that hide thee, 
AVith soft accord they cliide thee, — 
Sweet Ijrooklct, stay ! 



" I taste of the fragrant flowers, 
I respond to the warbling bowers. 
And sweetly they charm the hours 

Of my winding way ; 
But ceaseless still in quest 
Of that everlasting rest 
In my parent's boumlless breast, 

1 hasten away ! " 

Knowest thou that dread abyss ? 

Is it a scene of bliss ? 

0, rather cling to this, — 

Sweet brooklet, stay ! 
" 0, who shall fitly tell 
What wonders there may dwell ! 
That world of mystery well 

May strike dismay : 
But I know 't is my parent's breast ; 
There held I must needs be blest. 
And with joy to that promised rest 

1 hasten away ! " 

SIR Robert Grant. 



THE SEASIDE WELL. 



One day I wandered where the salt sea-tide 

Backward had drawn its wave. 
And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside 

To wild-flowers gave. 
Freshly it sparkled in the sun's bright look. 

And mid its pebbles strayed. 
As if it thought to join a happy brook 

In some green glade. 

But soon the heavy sea's resistless swell 

Came rolling in once more, 
Spreading its bitter o'er the clear sweet well 

And pebbled shore. 
Like a fair star thick buried in a cloud, 

Or life in the grave's gloom, 
The well, enwrapped in a deep watery shroud, 

Sunk to its tomb. 

As one who by the beach roams far and wide. 

Remnant of wreck to save. 
Again I wandered when the salt sea-tide 

Withdrew its wave ; 
And there, unchanged, no taint in all its sweet, 

No anger in its tone, 
Still as it thought some hajipy brook to meet. 

The spring flowed on. 

While waves of bitterness rolled o'er its head. 

Its heart had folded deep 
Within itself, and quiet fancies led. 

As in a sleep ; 



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POEMS OF SEXriMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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IS- 



rill. « lull till' ooftui loostxi his limivv cliaiii, 

And giivo it liu'k to iltiy, 
L'lUiiily it tui'iii'd to its own lil'o ugsiiii 

And gi'Utlo way. 

lliippy, 1 thought, tliut wliich can draw its life 

Uoep I'l-oni tho lu'tlu'V spiiiigs, 
SalV ueath the juvssiiro, tmiuiiiil mid the stiilo, 

ttl'sHiliioe things. 
SulV — for tho souives of thu uothcr springs 

Up ill tho fai- hills lie ; 
(."aim — for the lifo its power luid IVoshnoss brings 

Down from the sky. 

So, should temptations tliivaten. and should sin 

l\oll in it.i whelmiiij; tlood, 
.Make stivng the fountain of thy grace within 

My soul, God ! 
If bitter scorn, and looks, once kind, grown 
strange. 
With crushing chilliicss fall, 
IVom secivt wells let .sweetness rise, nor change 
my heart to gall ! 

^\'hcn sore thv hand doth pross, and waves of 
thine 

Altlict me like a sea, — 
Peep calling deep, — infuse from souive diviiio 

Thy peace in me ! 
And when death's tide, as with a brimful cup. 

Over my soul dotli pour, 
U't hope survive, — a well that spriiigeth up 

Forevermoro ! 

Above my head the waves may come and go, 

Uong brood the deluge diro, 
lUit life lies hidden in tho depths below 

Till waves ivtire, — 
Till death, that reigns with overflowing tlood, 

At length withdraw its sway, 
.\nd life rise sparkling in the sight of God 

And endless day. 

.WONVMOl'S. 



FROM THE " PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES." 

CrESEi> Ih) the verse, how well soo'er it tlow. 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe. 
Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear. 
Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear ! 
Hut he who hurts a harmless neighbor's peace 
Insults fiUlen worth, or beauty in distivss, 
Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about. 
Who writes a libel, or who copies out ; 
TliJit fop whose pride all'ects a patron's uaine. 



Yet alisont wounds an autJior's honest fame ; 
Who can your merit seltishly approve. 
And show the sense of it without the lovo ; 
Who has tho vanity to call you friend. 
Yet wants the honor, injuivd, to defend ; 
Who tells whate'cr you think, whatc'er you say, 
And, it he lie not, must at least betray ; 
Wno to the l>ean and silver Ih'U can swear, 
And sees at Canons what was never there ; 
Who i-oads but with a lust to misapply. 
Make satiro a lampoon, and liction lie ; 
A lasli like mine no honest man shall dirad, 
Hut all such babbling blockheads in his stead. 



PROFUSION. 



Ar Timon's villa let us [uiss a day. 
Where all cry out, "■SVlmt sums are thrown 

away ! " 
So proud, so grand ; of that stujiendous air. 
Soft and agreeable come never tliciv. 
tireatncss, with Timon, ilwells in such a draught 
.\s brings all lirobdignaj; Iwforc your thought. 
To compass this, his building is a town, 
Mis pond an ocean, his ixirtenv a down : 
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, 
.-\ Jinny insect, shivering at a bivc/,e ! 
Lo, what huge lieajis of littleness around ! 
'I'he whole, a labored ipiarry above ground. 
Two Cupids sijuirt before ; a lake behind 
Improves the keenness of tlie northern wind. 
His gaiilens iie.\t your admiration call. 
On every side you look, behold tlio wall ! 
Xo pleasing intricacies interveno. 
No artful wildness to perplex the scene ; 
I ! rove nods at grove, each alley has a brothor, 
.\nd half tho platform just ivliects the other. 
The sulfcring eye inverted nature sees, 
Tives cut to statues, statues thick as trees ; 
With hero a fountain, never to bo played ; 
.\nd theiv a summer-house, that knows no shade : 
Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers ; 
riiero gladiators light, or die in llowera ; 
I'liwatcred see the drooping sea-horse mourn, 
.Viid swallows most in Nilus' dusty nru. 

My lord advances with majestic mien, 
Smit with the mighty jileasuiv, to be seen ; 
Hut soft — by ivgular appixiach — not yet — 
First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat ; 
.Viid wlicn np ten steep slopes you 've draggeti 

your thighs, 
.lust at his study iloor ho '11 bless your oyos. 

His study ! with what authors is it stort>iI • 
In Iwoks, not authore, curious is my lonl ; 



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703 



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'I'o all their dated backs he turns you round ; 
'i'hesc Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has Ixjurid ! 
Lo, some are vellum, and the rest aa good 
For all his loniship knows, but they are wood. 
For Locke or Milton 't is in vain to look. 
These shelves admit not any modern tiook. 

And now the chapel's silver Ijell you hear, 
That summons you to all the pride of prayer : 
Uglit ([uirks of music, broken and uneven, 
.\fake the soul dance upon a jig to heaven. 
On painted ceilings you devoutly stare. 
Where sprawl tin; saints (jf Verrio oi' Laguerre, 
Or ^'ilded clouds in fair expansion lie, 
Anil liring all ]>aradise before your eye. 
To rest the cushion and soft dean invite, 
Who never mentions hell to cars |)olite. 

But liark ! the chiming clocks to dinner call ; 
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall : 
The rich buffet well-colored ser])ents grai.'c. 
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face. 
1.1 tliis a dinner ? this a genial room ! 
I'io, 't is a temple, and a hei/atoml). 
A solemn sacrifice, performed in slate, 
■^'ou drink by measure, and to miimtea eat. 
!Jo ipiick retires each (lying course, you 'd swear 
Sancho's dread cloctor and his wand were there. 
Between each act the trembling salvers ring, 
From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the king. 
In jdenty starving, tantalized in state. 
And coniplaisantly hclpi'il to all I hate, 
Treated, carci.sed, and tired, 1 take my leave. 
Hick of his civil pride from morn to eve ; 
1 curse such lavish cost, and little .skill. 
And swear no day was ever passed so ill. 

ALH.^A.NOea I'OPE. 



HUMANITY. 



I wori,D not enter on my list of friends 
(Though graced with polished manners and line 

sense, 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a woim. 
An inadvertent st^'p nuiy crusli the snail 
Tliat crawls at evening in the public path ; 
lint he that has humanity, forewarned, 
Will tread asirle, and let the reptile live. 
The creeping vermin, loathsome to tlie sight. 
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 
Sacred lo neatness and repose, the alcove, 
Tlie chamber, or refei-tory, may die : 
A necessary act incius no blame. 
Not so when, held within their proper bounds. 
And guiltless of offense, they range the air. 



Or take their pastime in the spacious field : 
There they are privileged ; and he that hunts 
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
iJislurlw the economy of Nature's realm. 
Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. 
The sum is this : If man's convenience, health, 
Or safety interfere, his riglils and claims 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meaiu'st things that are — 
Ah free to live, and to enjoy that life. 
As God was free to form them at the first. 
Who in his sovereign wisdom made tliem alL 
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
To love it too. „,.,, , , .,, .-..wr.. „ 



OF Cl'.UKLTY TO ANIMALS 



Sir.v.MK upon thee, savage monarch-man, proud 

monopolist of reason ; 
.Shame upon crl^■ltion's lord, thefierce ensanguined 

despot : 
What, man ! are there not enough, hunger and 

diseases and fatigue, — 
And yet must thy goad or thy thong add another 

sorrow to exLstence ? 
What I art thou not content thy sin hath dragf^ed 

down suffering and death 
On the poor ilumb servants of thy comfort, and 

yi;t nmst thou rac;k them with tliy spite ? 
The [irodigal heir of creation hath gambled away 

his all, - 
.Shall he add torment to the bon<lagc that is galling 

his forfeit serfs '! 
The leader in nature's pican himself hath mailed 

her psaltery, — 
•Shall he multiply the din of discord by over- 
straining all the strings ? 
The rebel hath fortified his stronghold, shutting 

in hLs vassals with him, — 
Shall he aggi-avate the woes of the liesiege 1 by 

oppression from within ? 
Thou twice-defonned image of thy .Maker, lliou 

hateful representative of I>ove, 
For very shame be merciful, be kiml unto tlic 

i:reat>ires thou hast ruined ! 
Farthand her million tribes are cursed for thy ..'ki', 
Farth and her million tribes still writlie Ix-ncath 

thy ci-uelty : 
l.iveth there but one among the million that shall 

not bear witness against thee, 
.\ pensioner of land or air or sea that hath not 

wheieof it will af;cU8e thee ? 
From the elephant toiling at a launch, to th« 

shrew-mouse in the harvest-field, 
F'rom the whale which the harpooner hath stricken, 

to the minnow canght upon a pin, 



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704 



POEMS OF SE^frIMEyT AND REFLECTION. 



■a 



43- 



From the albatross wciuied in its flight, to the 

wren in hov covered nest, 
From the death-moth and hue-winged dnigon-tly, 

to the hidy-lui\i and the gnat. 
The verdii't of all things is unanimous, ruuling 

their master eruel : 
The dog, tliy humble friend, thy trusting, honest 

friend ; 
The ass, thine uncomplaining slave, drudging 

from morn to even ; 
The lamb, and the timorous hare, and the laboring 

ox at plow ; 
The speckled trout Imsking in the shallow, and 

the partriilge gleaming in the stubble, 
And the stag at luiy, and the worm in thy 

path, ami the wild binl pining in cap- 
tivity. 
And all things that minister alike to thy life and 

thy comfort and thy piide, 
Testify with one sad voice that man is a cruel 

master. 

Verily, they are all thine : freely mayst thou 

serve thee of them all : 
They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be used 

in all gratitude and kindness ; 
Gratitude to their tnxl and thine, —their Father 

and thy Father, 
Kindness to them who toil for thee, and help thee 

with their all : 
For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying ; for 

burden, but with limits of hnmnnity ; 
For luxury, but not through torture ; for diiiught, 

but according to the strength : 
For a dog cannot ph'ad his own right, nor render 

a reason for exemption. 
Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside 

the undeserved lash ; 
The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate n 

moment's ivspite ; 
The spent hoi-se hideth his distre-ss, till he panteth 

out his spirit at the goal ; 
Also, in the winter of life, when worn by constant 

toil. 
If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring 

them to remembrance : 
liehold, he is faint with hunger : the big tear 

standeth in his eye ; 
His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth 

beneath his bunlen ; 
His limbs are stitT with age, his sinews have lost 

their vigor. 
And pain is stamped upon his face, while he 

wrestleth uneiiually with toil ; 
Yet once more mutely and meekly endureth he 

the crushing blow ; 
That struggle hath cracked his heart-strings, — 
the generous brute is dead ! 



Liveth there no advocate for him ! no judge to 

avenge his wrongs ! 
No voice tliat shall l)e heard in his defense ? no 

sentence to be passed on his oppressor ? 
Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth jmtheti- 

cally for him ; 
Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indig- 
nation at Ids woes ; 
Yea, all the pity \ipon earth shall cull down a 

cui'so upon the cruel ; 
Yea, the burning malice of the wicked is their 

own exceeding punishment. 
Tlie Angel of Mercy stoppeth not to comfort, but 

passeth by on the other side. 
And hath no tear to shed, when a cruel man is 

damued. 

MAKTI.S FARllCHAR TUPl'EK. 



PLEA FOR THE ANIMALS. 

FROM "THE SEASONS," 

Exs.vSGl'lXEn n\an 
Is now become the lion of the plain, 
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold 
Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her 

milk. 
Nor wore her warming fleece ; nor has the steer, 
At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs. 
E'er plowed for liim. They too are tempered 

high, 
With hunger stung and wild necessity ; 
Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. 
Hut man, whom Nature formed of nulder clay, 
With every kind emotion in his heart. 
And taught alone to weep, — while from her lap 
Slie poui-s ten thousand delicacies, herlw. 
And fruits as numerous as the drops of rain 
Or beams that gave them birth, — shall he, fair 

form ! 
Who weai-s sweet smiles, and looks erect on la-avcu. 
E'er stoop to mingle with tlie prowling herd, 
.\nd dip his tongue in gore ? The beast of prey, 
Blood-stained, deserves to bleed ; but you, ye 

flocks. 
What have ye done ? ye peaceful people, what. 
To merit death ? you who have given us milk 
In luscious sti-eams, and lent us yoin- own coat 
Against the winter's cold / And the plain ox, 
Tliat harmless, honest, guileless animal. 
In what has he ofl'ended ? he whose toil. 
Patient and ever-ready, clothes the land 
With all the pomp of harvest, — shall he bleed, 
Auil struggling groan beneath the cruel hand, 
j Even of the clown he feeds ? and that, jHuhaps, 
To swell the riot of the autumnal feast, 
! Won bv his lalw » 



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I'UEMS OF SENTIMENT ANU liEELECTION. 



705 



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FROM '"CONVURSATION." 

TilK point of lioiior has been deemed of use, 
'I'o teach good iiiaiiuers, and to curb abuse ; 
Admit it true, tlie coiiscMjuencc is dear, 
• hir polished majiners are a mask we wear, 
Anil, at tile bottom, barlrarous still and rude, 
W'c are restrained, indeed, but not subdued. 
'I'Ik^ very remedy, liowevcr sure, 
Springs from tlie mischief it intends to cure. 
And savage in its jirinciple apjjcais, 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bivirs. 
'T is hard, indeed, if nolliing will defend 
Mankind from ijuarnds but tli<;ir fatal end ; 
That now and then a hero must decease, 
That the surviving world may live in peace. 
I'erhaps at last close scrutiny may show 
'I'lic i)ractice dastardly and mean and low ; 
'I'liat men engage in it compelled by foi'ce, 
And fear, not courage, is its projier source ; 
'I'be fuiir of tyrant custom, and the fear 
I ;cst fops should censure us, and foolsshouldsneer; 
At least, to trample on our Maker's laws, 
Anil hazard life for any or no cause. 
To rush into a fixed eternal state 
< )nt of the very llanies of rage and liate, 
I »r send another shivering to the bar 
Witli all the guilt of such unnatural war, 
Wliatover Use may urge, or Honor jilead, 
I Ml Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
Am I to set my life upon a tlirow 
I'li-cause a bear is rude and surly ? No, — 
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not affront nie ; and no other can. 
Were I empowered to regulate the lists. 
They should encounter with well-loaded fists ; 
A Trojan combat would be something new. 
Let Dares beat EnteUus black and blue : 
'I'hen each might show, to his admiring friends, 
In honorable bum])S his rich amends, 
.'\nd cany, in contusions of his skull, 
A satisfictiiry rcn-ipt in full. 

Wil.LIAM COWPER. 



Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! 
Bright and yellow, hard and (■old, 
Molten, gi'aven, hammered and rulh'i] ; 
Heavy to get, and light to hold ; 
Hoariled, bartered, bought, and sold. 
Stolen, borrowed, siiuandcrcd, doled : 
Sjiunied by the young, but hugged by the old 
To the very verge of the cliurchyard mold ; 
Price of many a crime untold : 



Gold ! gold I gold ! gold I 
Good or bad a thousand-fold ! 

How widely its agencies vary, — 
To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless, — 
As even its minted coins express, 
Now stamped with the image of good (Jueen Bch 

And now of a Bloody Mary. 



LAW. 



1j.\%vs, a.s W(i read in ancient sage.s. 
Have been like cobwebs in all ages. 
Cobwebs for little flies are spread, 
And laws for little folks are made ; 
But if an insect of renown. 
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone. 
Be caught in ipiest of sport or plunder. 
The llinisy fetter flies in sunder. 

jAin^S UliATT 



THE RULING PASSION. 



RAL ESSAYS." 



In this one passion man can strength enjoy. 
As fits give vigor just when tliey destroy. 
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, 
Yet tames not this ; it sticks to our last sand. 
(;onsist<Mit in our follies and our sins, 
Here lioncst Nature ends as she begins. 

Old politicians chew on wisdom jiast, 
And totter on in business to the last ; 
As weak, as earnest ; and as giavely out. 
As sober Laiiesborow dancing in the gout. 

Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace 
Has made the father of a nameless race, 
.Shoved from the wall jjerhajis, or rud(dy pressed 
By his own son, that passes by unblessed : 
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, 
And envies every spaiTow that he sees. 

A salmon's belly, Hclluo, was thy fate. 
The doctor, called, declares all help too late. 
" Mercy ! " cries Hidluo, " mercy on my soul ! 
Is there no hope? — Alas ! — then bring the jowl." 

The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, 
Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end. 
Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, 
For one puff more, and in that jiufl' expires. 

" Odious ! in woolen ! 't would a saint provoke," 
Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ; 
" No, let a channing chintz and Bmssels lace 
Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : 
One would not, sure, be frightful wlion one '» 

dead, — 
And — Betty — give this cheek a little red." 

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shincd 
An humble servant to all human-kind, 



-S 



\Q- 



70(1 



PUIiMS OF SJiA'TlMJCS'T AND UKFI.KCriON. 



-Hi 



.111, I liriuighl. mil tliin, wlum hoiuvo liin lonsuo 

i-.ml.l Mir. 
•'II wlu'ui 1 'ill (jiilii)?- I mmlil Hdi'vii YOU, Hii-y" 

•■ I ^,'iv.. mill I ili'vi.so " (iiUI Kiu'lio Ni'iiil. 
Anil sij;lii'ih '• my liiiiil.i ami tomiiiioiila In N«l." 
Vmir iiiimi'.v, nil'' " M.V moiii'V, nir ! wliiil, nil 1 
W'liy il' riii\i.sl"(llii'iiwi'iin "Igivoil rmil," 
'riir'nmiior. Mi ' •• 'I'll,' lu.iiii.r ! lioKl," IhmtIoiI, 
•• N,.| ili.il, I niiiiiol pail «illi Hull," mill 

lll.a, MlXAM.l.U I'OI'II. 

'I'lir, AlI'l'lldH'M MISKUlKa, 



Surr. sliul till' ilour, niHxl .lolml liiligiicil I .sulil, 
'I'iii \\Y I 111' kiiookw, my I 'li> »ti'k, I 'm iloiul. 
Till' l>oj,'sliir I'lij^is I uiiy, 't. is ymut n iloulil, 
All Uoillmii, or ruriiiissiis, in lot out. ; 
l''iio in I'lU'li i<yi'. mill pii|ioi's ill nu'li limul, 
Tlu'y nivi', ivi'ili', mul iimililiMi I'lUiiul llu' Imiil. 
W'lial Willis I'lui };uiu'il mo, or wlint .sliiiilmoiiiiluiln/ 
rii..\ |iiiMvo iiiv tliii'Uols, tliioiifjli my guit. t.liov 

Kliil.', 
liy liuiil, liy wiili-r, llioy ii'iiinv llio i'liiivf;ii, 
Tiiry.slol. III.- I'hariol, iiii.l lli.y l.oiiul llio Imi'go. 
No i.liii'o is .smT.1.1, iiol 111.' .■Iiiiivli is I'lvi', 
Kvi'ii Siiiiiliiy sliiiios no .'^iililmlli-iliiy (o iin' : 
Tlii'ii iVoiii llio Mill! wiillvsloiili 111!' inmiolrliynn', 
llii|'liy lo oiiti'li mo, just iil iliimoi-tiiiio. 

Is llioro II imi'soii uiiioli lio-iiiiisoil in lioov, 
.•\ iiiiiiiilliii iiiiotoss, II vliyminj; jh'oi', 
A oli'ik. I'oi'oiloomoil liis I'litlior's soul to cross, 
Willi pons II stmn^ii, wlion lio slionlil oiifjitiss f 
Is llioi-o, wlio. looUoil IVoni ink iiinl pii|ii'V, si'viiwls 
Willi.lospoialoolmmmlroiuiil liisam'koiio.hviills/ 
All llv liiTwit'iimn. mul in liiiiiililo stiiiin 
.\ppl\ 11. 1110, I., k.'op llioiu iiiM.I or viiiii 

A .liroililoninm I oillior wiiy 1 'ni spoil, 

II loos, llioywvito, il'IVioiiils, tlioy vomlmoiloiul, 

Soizoil Hiul tioil ilown to jmlj;o, liow wii-toliod I 1 

Wlio omi't bo siloiit, ami wlio will not lio ; 

To liingli woiv want of j;ooilnoss anil orgriioo, 

Ami to 1.0 j;nivo oxoooils all power of I'aoo. 

I sit vvitli sail oivility, I ivail 

Willi lioiiost anj,'iii.sli anil an aoliing liomi ; 

Anil iliop al last, luit in niuvillinj; oai's, 

Tliis.siiviiij;oouiisiil, '"Koo|iyoiivpioooiiinoy<'ai'»." 

"Ninoyoiu's T'oriosliowho, liijjliinOnu'y l.ivno, 
Lnlloil l.y .soft iopliyisUuMiij?li tlio l.roUoii i>ano, 
Uliynios oio lio wiikos, mill \irintslioron''l'oi'monils, 
lMiU>;oil liy Imnxoi', ami loipiost of IViomls. - 
"Tlio piooo, yon think, is inoori'oot ? why, lakf it, 
I 'mall snUmission ; what you 'illiavo it, niako it," 

Tluoo tilings anothoi''s nuulost wislio.s honinl, 
My IVioiHl»hi\i, ami a proloj;no, ami ton ponml. 

I'illioloonsoinls tonio; "You know liisOraoo, 
1 want II patron ; ask liini fov a ]ilnoo, " 
U_4_ . 



IMtholoon liliolloil ino • " lint horn's a lottor 
Inrnrnis yon, sir, 't waswiioii lio know no luMlor. 
l>aro yiai rornso liini 1 I'mi iiivili-i 1.. iliii.,. 
Ho '11 wrilo iijtiiirHiil, or In U tiun iliviiio." 
lUi'SS mo I a paokol. - " 'T is n HtriingiT alios, 
.•\ virgin tiagoily, an orjiliaii niii,so. " 
II' 1 ilisliko il, " Knrios, iloalli, ami ra^o I" 
If I approvo, "Ciiminoinl il to tlio stii);o." 
Tlioroi,! Iiank my slurs) mv w holo oomminsion omls, 
Tho pliiyors Mii'il I aro, ln.Kil\, no rri.'iiils. 
Kiroil Ihal Ilio liimso ivjo.'l him, •• '.S.loalli, 1 'II 



Willi 



Ami shaiiio Hio loi.ls, Vi.iu iiil.i, 

l.inlot." 
I.iiilol, iliilliiiKiiol will Hunk your pi i.v I'M. iiiu.li: 
" Not, sir, it' you roviso il, ami rolouoh," 
All my (loiiiurs hut ilonhlo his altaoks ; 
At last ho whi.spoi's, " Ho ; ami wo (^o snaoks." 
tllail ol'a i|Uiirrol, straiKht 1 I'hip tlio iloor. 
Sir, lot mo soo your works ami yon no imiii>. 

Who shmiios a siril.l.lor ? I.ioak oiio ool.w.b 

throiiKli. 
lio .spins tho slifjht, soU'-ploasin^; throiul luiow ; 
IVslniy his llli or sophistry, in vain, 
Tho I'lvaturo's at his ilirty work a>!aiii, 
Thronoil in tho ooiitor of his thin ilosijjus, 
I'roml of a vast .'Xloiit of tliinsy linos I 

(If all mail .ivaluios, if Ilio loarii,"! aiv right, 
U is tho .-.lavor kills, ami m.l Ilio l.ilo. 
A fool i|iiilo aiif^ry is (piilio inuoi'ont, 
Alas! 't is ton timos worso whon thoy ii'pont, 

duo iloilioalos in high horoio piiiso, 
.Villi riilionlos lioyoml a liiimlroil I'oos ; 
(hio from all t'.ruh Slii'ot will my fmm. ilofoml, 
Ami, iiioiv ahiisivo, oiills liim.solf my I'rIomI, 
This |.riiils my l.i'llfrs, that oxpoot-s a hrilio, 
Anil olliors mar alonil, '"Siihsorilio, snhsoriho." 

Thoiii aro, who to my poison (iiiy I.hoir ooiirt ; 
I oongh liko 7/ii/'<iir, anil, though loan, luii short -, 
./m«iii/i'.v gii'at son ono slioiihlor hiiil too high. 
Snoh Oi'iil'.i noso, ami "Sir I yon liavo nn oyo," - 
tlo on, ohliging oivaturos, niako mo soo 
All that ili.sgraooil my holtors mot in mo. 
Say for my oomfort, Imigiiisliing in hoil, 
",'liist .so "immortal .l/i"'o liohl his lioml " : 
.\ml whon I llio, ho siiixi you lot mo know 
(iroat //iiiiii^i' ilioil tliivo thoii.saml yoars ago. 

Why dill 1 writo I what sin to mo nnknown 
IHppoil nio in ink, — my imiviits', or my ow ii f 
,\s yol a oliihl, nor yot a I'ool to fanio, 
I lispi'il in luimhor.s, for tho nunihoi's oiinio. 
I loft no oalling for this iillo trinU, 
No ilnty Imiko, no falhor ilisohovoil. 
Tho inuso hill .sorvoil to oii.so sonio fi'ioml, not wifo, 
To liolp llio tJirougli tJiis long ilisonso, my lifo. 

A1.BXANHB 



--& 



[fi- 



I'UKMH OF HKNTIMliNT AND UKb'LEOTWN. 



70 



^ 



^ 



QUACK MKDICINEH. 

IJiri now our llnm-kn iin; giitiiiiiitcru, ttiid lliey 
,,l,,y 
WiUj ciai't ami Hkill to luiii mid Ijclniy ; 
Witli MioiiHlroUH pi'oiiiiw; Uiijy ilclmli: tli« iniriil, 
And llirivi; on all Uiat l-ortuiim liuinun-kind. 

Void ol'all lionor, avaiicioiiN, iuhIi, 
'I'Ikj daiiiig Irilii; i;oin|ioiinil tlii:if lioanlinl traHli, — 
'i'inctuii: or Hyni)i, lotion, drop or |iill ; 
All tonipt tin; Hii-lt to trust tin; lyin;^ Mil ; 
And twr'iity nanii:n of i.-ol)l)lcr« tunnel to w|uireii 
Aid till: liold lanKUiif}!! ol' tlii;»i; MuhIiIimh liiirH. 
'i'lii.'ri! an; aiiion;{ llii;ni tliOHi; who cannot read, 
And ynt tlii;y '11 Ijiiy a |iati;lit, and kii(;(;i'i;i| ; 
Will ilari; to iiroiiiiw; dyiii^ hiiHVicim aid, 
For who, wli(;i) dcail, i;an tlirraitcn or iiphraid ? 
With i;rui;l avariiM' ulill tlii;y ri;(;oiiiini:nd 
Mori;drau((litH, niorcHyrup, to the joiiriii'y'K fiid. 
" I U:k\ it not." "Thi;n taki; it i-vi-ry hour." 
" It rnaki:H nii; worm;." " Why, thi-n it »liown 

itH powi;r." 
" I fcar to dii;." " Li;l not your npiritH Hink, 
You 'ri; alwayHnalVj wliih; you l)i;lii;v<; and drink." 

ilow Htrangi; to add, in tliiH ni;farioUH triuh-. 
That riii;n of partH aro dup(;H hy diiiic:i;H inadi; : 
That creutuiX'M naturu niuaiil, nhould <:h;aii oiir 

Htri;ct» 
Have purchiiHcd landH and mansions, jiarkH and 

H(;at» : 
Wri;t<;hnH with coiiHi;ii;n(;i! ho olitiiw;, tlii'y li;avi; 
'rhi;ir untaiiifht non» thi'ir |)ari;nt» to d<;i:i;ivi; ; 
And when thi'y 'n; laid ii(ion thi;irdyin;< l«;d. 
No Ihoiij^hl of iiiiirdor i;onii;K into llii;ir heinl ; 

And tlinii in ni.iny a pa)M;r llirouf^h tin; y';ai', 
Must i:iiri;H and i;aM(;», oatliB and proof», appear; 
Mi;nHnati;ln;dl'roin({iavi;HaMlhi;y wi;ri;dro[ipiii((in, 
'rin;ir lunf{t) (;ou>;ln;d up, tln-ir bom'H pif;ri,i;d 

throufjli tliidr »kin ; 
Tlii'ir liver all oni; HcirrliiiH, and tin; franio 
I'oiwincd with evilit which tln;y dan; not nann; ; 
Men who Kjieiit all upon phyniciaiiH' fecH, 
Who never Hiejit, nor had a nionient'H eaw;, 
An; now as roachcH Hoiind, and all an hriitk an hecH. 

Ti'ouhled with Honielhin{{ in your hile or lilood. 
You think your doctor doeo you little good ; 
And, grown inipaliciit, you reijuiie in hu«t<; 
Tin- nervous conlial, nor di.slike the taitte ; 
It comforts, liealH, and utrengtlienH ; nay, yon 

think 
11 makes you bettxT every time you drink ; 
Who tipples lirandy will «oine comfort feel, 
iiut will he U) the medicine Kct liin K<;al ? 

No claHH CHcapCH them — from the poor muii'it 

i«'y 



The noHtrum takes no trilling part away ; 

8ee ! tlioite si|iiare patent hottlen from the shop 

Now decoration to tin; eujilioard'H loji ; 

And there a favorite hoani you '11 fiinl within, 

Companions meet t the julep and the gin. 

Hupixjsi! the ciute HurpasHcs liunian Hkill, 
Therv coiiiCH u (|uiu:k to flallc-r wvakneHs still ; 
What greater evil can a llatt(;i';r do. 
Than fioin himself to take the siiHerer's view / 
To turn from sucied thoughtH his reahoning 

jiowers, 
And rol) a Hinner of his dying hours ? 
Vet this they dan;, ami, craving to the last, 
III hojic's Ktroiig lionduge hold their victim fast : 
l''or soul or iKidy no coiicei'ii have they, 
All their inijuiry, "(Jan the patient pay 'I 
And will he swallow draughts until his dying 

day f " 
Olwerve what ills t<j nervous fitmahs Ilow, 
When the heart lliitters and the pulse is low ; 
l( oini- iridiicwi these conlial sips to try, 
All feel the eime, and few the danger Hy ; 
Tor, while ohluined, of drams they 'vi: all IIib 

force. 
And when denied, then ilrainHure the rco iice. 

Who would not lend a Byni|iallii/,iiig sigh, 
To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry I 
Then the good niirH«(wlio, hail she home a hiiiin, 
lla/l sought the cauw; that made her hahe coin- 

phiin) 
Has all her ell'orts, loving soul ! ajiplied 
To set the cry, and not the cause, aside ; 
Kin; gave her powerful sweet without remorse^ 
'/•/«; Hlri:/d,iy mrdml, - - sin; had tried its force, 
Hejieating oft ; the infant, freed from pain, 
Rejected food, but t'lok the dosi' again, 
Sinking to sleep, while she her joy ex[ireHsed, 
That her dear charge could Bweetly take his rest. 
Soon may she sjiare her cordial ; not a doubt 
KemainH hut ijuickly he will rest without. 

What then our liopcs 'I — perhaps there may 

by law 
r<e method found these iiests to curb and awe ; 
Yet, in this land of fjeeiloin, law is slack 
Witli any being to cominence attack ; 
Then let lis trust to w:ience, — th{;re an; those 
Who can t heir falsehoodsand theirfraudsdisclose. 
All their vile trash detect, and theii' low tricks 

expose. 
Perhaps tlnir numbers may in time confound 
Their arts, — aB HcorpionB give themsidves the 

wound ; 
Kor wln-n these eurcrs dwell in every jjacc. 
While of the cured we not a man can trace, 
Htrong truth may then the public mind persu/Kle, 
And sjjoil the fruitH of thin nefarious trade 



1^ 



[fi-*- 



708 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



n 



fr- 



SLEBPLESS DREAMS. 

CiiKT iu dark growths, yet glimmering with one 
stivr, 

nit;ht desirous as the night of youth ! 

Why should my heart within thy si)oll, forsooth, 
Now beat, as the bride's tinger-inilses are 
ii\iirkt'ned within the girdling golden bar ? 

What wings are t hese that fan my pillow smooth? 

And why does Sleep, waved back by Joy and 
Hul'h, 
Tread soflly round and gaze at nie IVoiu far ? 

Nay, night deepdeaved ! Ami would Love feign 
iu thee 
Some shadowy jialpitaliug grove that bears 
Rest for man's eyes and music for his oars ? 
lonely night ! art thou not known to me, 
A thii'ket hung with masks of moekory 

A\id watered with the wasteful warmth of tears ? 

DANTE GAUKIEL KOSSETTI. 



ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. 

TiiK eunning hand that carved this face, 

A little helmeted Minerva, — 
The band, 1 say, ere Phidias wrought, 

Had lost its subtile skill and fervor. 

^\'lla was ho ? Was he glad or sad, 
Who knew to carve in such a fashion ? 

reichance he -shaped this dainty head 

For some brown girl that scorned his passion. 

But ho is dust ; we may not know 

Ills happy or unhappy story : 
Nameless, aud dead these thousand years. 

His work uutlivi's bini, - there 's his glory 

Both man and jewel lay in earth 

Beneath a lava-buried city ; 
'I'lie thousand summers came and went. 

With neither haste nor hate nor pity. 

The years wiped ont the man, but left 

The jewel fresh as any blossom, 
Till some Viseonti dng it up, — 

To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom ! 

O lliiiuan brother ! see how Time 

Vour gracious handiwork has guarded. 

See how yonr loving, patient art 
Has come, at last, to bo rewarded ! 

Who wonld not suffer slights of men, 
And pangs of hopeless jiassion also, 

To have his carveu agate-stone 
On such a bosom rise and fall so ! 

Thomas Bau-ev .\ldrich. 



SILLY FAIIl. 

When Lesbia first I saw so heavenly fair. 
With eyes so bright, and with that awful air, 
1 thought my heart which durst so high aspire 
As bold as his who snatched celestial lire. 
But soon as e'er the beauteous idiot spoke 
Forth from her coral li]is such imnsense brokSj 
Like balm the trickling nonsense healed my 

wound, 
And what her eyes t II tbi ailed her tongue unbound. 
William Concrevb. 



THE TOOTHACHE. 

My curse upon thy venomed stang 
That slioots my tortured gums alaiig ; 
An' through my lugs gies mony a twang, 

vVi' gnawing vengeance ! 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 

Like racking engines. 

AVhen fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
IJheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes. 
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease ue, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
Bvit thee, — tlum hell o' a' diseases. 

Aye mocks our groan. 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ; 
1 throw the wee stools o'er the mickle. 
As round the fire the giglets keckle 

To see me loup ; 
"While, raving mad, 1 wish a heckle 

Were in their doup, 

O' a' the numerous human dools, 

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. 

Or worthy friends raked i' the mods, 

(Sad sight to see ! ) 
The tricks o' knaves or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Robert Burns. 



TO THE UNOO OUID. 

My son. these inaxinis make n rule 
And Iiiiiip tlR-iu rtyt- thcffither: 

The Kiiriil Kii;htcoiis is .I'fool, 
The Rii;iil Wise anithcr ; 

The clcincst corn that e'er w.is dight 
May hae soine pyles o' caff in : 

Sae ne'er n fcllow-crenttire slight 



VK wha are sae guid yourscT, 

Sac pious anil sac holy, 
Ye "ve nought to ilo but mark and tell 

Your neebor's fauts and folly : — 



--ff 



a- 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



709 



-a 



^- 



Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Siipiilied wi' store o' water, 
The lieapet happer 's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals. 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, 

For glaikit Folly's portals ! 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 

Would hc're projioiie defenses, 
Theii' donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mLschances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared. 

And shudder at the niffer ; 
But cast a moment's fair regard. 

What maks the mighty differ ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye jjride in. 
And (what 's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your Ijetter art o' hidin'. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and tlien a wallop. 
What ragings nmst his veins convulse, 

Tluit still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It makes an unco leeway. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Tied up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names. 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination, — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang. 

To step aside is human. 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moWng why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps they i-ue it. 

Who made the heart, 't is He alone 

Decidedly can try us ; 
He knows each chord, — its various tone, 

Each spring, — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let 's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What 's done we partly m.ay compute. 

But know not what 's resisted. 

Robert Burns. 



L' ALLEGRO. 

Hkxce, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born. 

In Stygian cave forlorn, 
'Mongst hoixid shai)es, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 

Find out some uncouth cell. 
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous 

wing.s. 
And the night-raven sings ; 
There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks. 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess fair and free, 
In heaven ycleped Kuphrosyne, 
And, by men, heart-easing Mirth ; 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more, 
To i\'y-crowned Bacchus bore ; 
Or whether (as some .sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing, — 
As he met her once a-Maying, — 
There, on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew. 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful Jollity, — 
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles. 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek, — 
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laughter, holding both liis sides. 
Come ! and trip it, as you go. 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
Anil in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymjih, sweet Liljerty ; 
Ami if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee. 
In unreprove<l pleasures free, — 
To hear tlie lark begin his flight, 
.\nd singing startle the dull Night, 
From his watcli-tower in the skies. 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
And at my window bid good morrow, 
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine. 
Or the twisted eglantine ; 
While the eoek with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
And to the stack, or the bam door, 
Stoutly strata his dames before ; 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 



-^ 



a^, 



710 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



-•^ 



Oheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, 
From the side of some hoar hill 
Through the high wood echoing shrill ; 
Sometime walldng, not unseen, 
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, 
I'Litrht against the eastern gate. 
Whore the great Sun begins his state, 
Robed in ilanies, and amber light. 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the plowman, near at hand. 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 

And the mower whets his scythe. 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath canght new pleasures. 

Whilst the landseape round it measures 

Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 

Where the nibbling flocks do stray, — 

Mountains, on whose barren breast 

Tlic lalwring clouds do often rest, — 

Meadows trim with daisies pied, 

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 

Towers and battlements it sees 

Bosomed high in tufted trees. 

Where perhaps some beauty lies. 

The cynosure of neighboring eyes. 

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 

From betwixt two aged oaks. 

Where Corydon and Tliyrsis, met, 

Are at their savory dinner set 

Of herbs, and other country messes. 

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 

And then in haste her l)Ower she leaves, 

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 

Or, if the earlier season lead, 

To the tanned haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure delight 

The upland hamlets will invito, 

When the merry bells ring round, 

And the jocund rebecks sound 

To many a youth and many a maid. 

Dancing in the checkered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holiday. 

Till the livelong daylight fail ; 

'I'lien to the spicy nut-brown ale 

With stories told of many a feat : 

How fairy Mab the junkets eat, — 

Siie was pinched and pulled, she said. 

And he, by friar's lantern led ; 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set. 

When in one night, ere glimpse of mom. 

His shadowy flail hath thrashed the corn 

That ten day-laborers could not end ; 

Thou lies him down the lubber fiend, 



And, stretched out all the chimney's length. 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
And, crop-full, out of doors he flings 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then. 

And the busy hum of men, 

Wliere throngs of knights and barons bold 

In weeds of peace high tiiumphs hold, — 

With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 

Rain influence, and judge the prize 

Of wit or arms, while both contend 

To win her grace wliom all commend. 

There let Hymen oft appear 

In salfron robe, with taper clear. 

And pomp and feast and revelry. 

With masque, and antique pageantry, — 

Such sights as youthful poets dream 

On summer eves by haunted stream ; 

Then to the well-trod stage anon. 

If .lonson's learned sock be on. 

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 

Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

.^.nd ever, against eating cares, 

Laji me in soft Lydian airs, 

Married to immortal verse, — 

Su(-li as the meeting soul may pierce. 

In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long dra\vii out, 

Witli wanton heed and giddy cunning ^ 

Tlie melting voice through mazes running, 

T'n twisting" all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony, — 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From gohlen slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 

Sueb strains iis would have won the ear 

Of Pluto, to have quite set free 

His half-regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PENSEROSO. 

Hence, vain deluding joys. 

The brood of Folly without father bred ! 

How little you bestead. 
Or fiU the fixM mind with all your toys ! 

Dwell in some idle brain. 
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess. 
As thick and numberless 
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, — 
Or likest hovering dreams. 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' tram. 



&^- 



^ 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



711 



;-& 



B- 



But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy ! 

Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 

Whose saintly visage is too bright 

To hit the sense of human sight. 

And therefore, to our weaker view, 

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue, — 

lilack, but such as in esteem 

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 

Or that starred Ethiop ciueen that strove 

To set her beauty's praise above 

The Sea-Nymjihs, and their powers offended. 

Yet thou art higher far descended ; 

Thee bright-haired Vesta, loug of yore, 

To solitary Saturn bore, — 

His daugliter she (in Saturn's reign 

Such mixture was not held a stain). 

Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 

He met her, and in secret shades 

Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 

While yet there was no fear of Jove. 

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 

Sober, steadfast, and demure. 

All in a rolie of darkest gi'ain 

Flowing with majestic train. 

And sable stole of cyprus-lawn 

Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 

Come, but keep thy wonted state, 

With even step, and musing gait. 

And looks commercing w'ith the skies. 

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes ; 

There held in holy passion still. 

Forget thyself to marble, till 

Witli a sad, leaden, downward cast 

Thou fix them on the earth as fast ; 

And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, - 

Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 

And hears the Muses in a ring 

Aye round about .Jove's altar sing ; 

And add to tliese retired Leisure, 

Th:it in trim gardens takes his pleasure : 

But first .uiil i.'hiefest, with thee bring 

Him that yon soars on golden wing. 

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, — 

The cherub Contemplation ; 

And the mute Silence hist along, 

'Less Philomel will deign a song 

In lirr sweetest, saddest plight, 

Siii.iuthing the rugged brow of Night, 

Whilr Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 

Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 

Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly, — 

Most musical, most melancholy ! 

Thee, ehantress, oft, the woods among, 

I woo, to hear thy even-song : 

And, missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry, smooth-shaven green, 

To behold the wandering moon 



Riding near her highest noon, 

Like one that had been led astray 

Through the heaven's wide pathless way ; 

And oft, as if her head she bowed, 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 

1 liear the far-off curfew soimd 

Over some wide- watered shore. 

Swinging slow with sullen roar ; 

Or if the air will not permit, 

Siinie still removed place will fit. 

Where glowing embers through the room 

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, — 

Far from all resort of mirth, 

Save the cricket on the hearth. 

Or the bellman's drowsy cliarm, 

To bless the doors from nightly harm ; 

Or let my lam]) at midnight hour 

Be seen in some high lonely tower. 

Where I may oft ovit-watch the liear 

With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 

The spirit of Plato, to unfold 

What worlds or what vast regions hold 

Th(! immortal mind that hath for-sook 

Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 

And of those demons that are foimd 

In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 

Whose power hath a true consent 

With planet or with element. 

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 

In sceptered pall come sweeping by. 

Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line. 

Or the talc of Troy divine. 

Or wluit (though rare) of later age 

Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, sad virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musieus from his bower ! 
Or bid the soul of Orjihens sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
And made hell grant what love did seek ! 
Or call up him that left half told 
The story of Canibuscan bold, — 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, — 
And who had Canace to wife. 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass, — 
And of the wondrous horse of brass, 
On wliich the Tartar king did ride ! 
And, if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have .sung, — 
Of tourneys and of trophies hung. 
Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
Where more is meant than meets the car. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. 

Till civil-suited Morn appear, — 

Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont 



-_3 



[& 



71: 



I'OEMS OF SJiNTIMEXT AND BEFLEOTIOy. 



-a 



With the Attif boy to hunt. 

But keirhiefeii iu a coiui'ly cloud. 

While rocking wiuils are iiiiung loud, 

Or ushci-ed with a shower still 

When the gust hath blowu his fill. 

Ending on the rustling leaves. 

With minute drojis from oil" the eaves. 

And when the sun K'gins to tliug 

His tiariug beams, me, goddess, bring 

To aa-hed walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows iirown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of piue, ov monumental oak. 

Where the rude ax with heaved stroke 

Whs never hearvi the Xymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them fivm their hallowe^l haunt. 

There in close covert by some brook. 

Where no profoner eye may look, 

Hiile lue from day's gsirish eye. 

While the bee with honeyed thigh, 

That at her flowery work doth sing. 

And the waters murmuring 

With such consort as they keep. 

Entice the dewy-feathei-ed Sleep ; 

And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings, in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid ; 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath. 

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 

Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious cloisters pale. 

And love the high emlx>wed roof. 

With antic pillai^ massy proof. 

And storied windows, richly dight. 

Casting a dim religious light. 

There let the pealing oi-gan blow 

To the full-voiced quire l>elow. 

In service high and anthems clear. 

As may with sweetness, through mine ear. 

Dissolve me into ecstasies. 

And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hcmiitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heaven doth shew. 
And everj- herb that sips the dew. 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures. Melancholy, give, 
.■\nd I with thee will choose to live. 



& 



HALLOWED GR0T7ND. 

Wh.\t 's halloweil ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be tixxl 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourgeil by Superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

That 's hallowed ground where, mourned and 
I misseil, 

I The lips repose our love has kissed ; — 
But where 's their memory's mansion ? Is 't 

Yon churehyanl's bowers .' 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 
A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecr!»te the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 
The sjKit where love's first links were wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mold ; 

And will not cool. 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's i)ool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap ! 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 

Or Genii t^vine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind, — 

.\nd is he dead, whose gloi-ious mind 

Lifts thine on high > — 
To live in hearts we leave liehind 

Is not to die. 

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right l 
He "s dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And niuiiler sullies in Heaven's sight 

The swoixl he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight ? 

A noble cause ! 

Give that, — and welcome War to brace 
Her drums, and rend heaven's i-eeking space ! 
The colors plante<l face to face. 

The chaining cheer, 
Though Death's pale horee lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 



-4 



©- 



POEMS OF HE Nil ME NT AND BE FLECTION. 



713 



-a 



And pliice our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal ! 
The cause of Truth and human weal, 

O God above ! 
Tran.sfcr it from the sword's appeal 

To IVai e and Love. 

Teace, Love ! the cherubim, that join 
Their Sfiread wings o'er Devotion's slirine. 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine. 

Where they are not, — 
The heart alone can make divine 

Keligion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust, 
Atid pompous rites in domes august ? 
See nioldering stones and metal's rust 

Helie the vaunt. 
That man can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chant. 

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man ! 
Thy temi)les, — creeds themselves grow wan ! 
But thei'e 's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban, — 

Its space is heaven ! 

Its roof, star-pictured Nature's ceiling, 
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, 
And God himself to man revealing. 

The harmonious splieres 
Make music, though unheard their pealing 

By morUd ears. 

Fair stars ! arc not your bcdngs pure ? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds oljscuro ? 
Else wliy so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye must be heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly love ! 

Ami in your harmony sublime 
I read tile doom of distant time ; 
Tliat man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn. 
And reasnii on bis mortal clime 

Imniortid dawn. 

What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your hii,di -priesthood shall make earth 

j-i/l Iiallowcd fjround. 



fy- 



TO BE NO MORE. 

To lie no more — sad cure ; for who would lose 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity. 
To ]ierish rather, swallowed up and lost 
In the wide womb of uncreated night, 
Devoid of sense and motion ? 



INSCRIPTION IN MARBLE IN THE PARISH 
CHURCH OF FAVERSHAM. 

Wiioso him bethoft 
Inwardly and oft. 
How hard it were to flit 
From Ix'd unto the pit, 
From pit unto pain 
That ne'er shall cca.se again, 
He would not do one sin 
All the world to win. 



INVOCA'nON TO RAIN IN SUMMER. 

O riKNTLE, gentle summer rain, 

Let not the silver lily pine, 
The drooping lily pine in vain 

To feel that dewy touch of thine, — 
To drink thy freshness once again, 
gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

In licat the landscape ipiivering lies ; 

Tile cattle pant beneath the tree ; 
Through parching air and purple skies 

The earth looks up, in vain, for thee ; 
For thee, — for thee, it looks in vain, 
gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

Come thou, and brim the meadow streams, 
And soften all the hills with mist, 

falling dew ! from burning dreams 
By thee shall herb and flower be kissed. 

And Earth shall bless thee yet again, 

gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

William Cox bf.nnett. 



THE GARDEN OF LOVE. 

I WENT to the garden of love. 
And saw what I never had seen ; 
A chapel was built in the miilst, 
Where I used to play on the gieen. 

And the gate of this chapel was shut. 
And "thou shalt not" writ over the door ; 



-S 



r 



714 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION. 



--a 



So I tunioil to tlio jj;iir(U'ii of lovo, 
That so many sweot llowois l>ore. 

Aiul 1 saw it was liUod with graves, 

And tiMulistoncs whi-rn llowors shoviUl bo ; 

And [iiioats iu Mark fjowns wimv walkiiis; their 

rounds, 
And hindini; willi liiiors my joys and desires. 



LOVK AGAINST LOVE. 

.\s unto bhnviiig roses summer dews, 

l)r morning's amber to the tree-top elioii's. 

So to my bosom are the beams tliat use 

To rain on me from eyes that love inspires. 

Your love, — vouehsale it, royal-hearted Few, 

And 1 will set no common price thereon ; 

O. 1 will keeii, as heaven his holy blue. 

0\- night her diamonds, that dear treasure won. 

15ut aught ol" inwaixl faith must I forego, 

Or mi.ss one drop from truth's baptismal hand. 

Think poorer thoughts, pray chenper prayers, 

and grow 
Less worthy trust, to meet your heart's dc 

mand, — 
Farewell ! Your wish I for your sake deny : 
Rebel to love, in trutli to love, am 1. 

DAVrn A. Wasson. 



If WOMEN COULD BE FAIR. 

PROM UVKU'S -SONGS AND SONNUTS," 158S. 

li- Hiimen could be fair and never fond, 
Or that their beauty might continue still, 

1 would not marvel though they nmde men bond, 
Uy service long to iiurchase their good-will ; 

Hut when 1 -see how frail these erent>n-es are, 

1 laugh that men forget themselves so far. 

To murk what choice they make, ami how they 
change, 
llow, leaving \iest, tlic worst they choose out 
still, 
.\ud how, like haggards, wild about, they range. 

Scorning tlu> reason to follow after will ; 
Who would not shake sm-h buzzards from the fist, 
And let them lly, fair fools, what way they list.' 

Yet for o\ir sport we fawn and Hatter both, 
To pass the time when nothing else can please, 

.\nd train them on to yield, by subtle oath, 
The sweet content that gives such humor ease ; 

And then we say, when we their follies try, 

To play with fools, O, what a fool was 1 ! 

ANONYMoeS. 



DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINK EVK8 



UniNK to nie only with thine eyes, 

.\nd 1 will ph-dge with ndnc ; 
tir leave a kiss but in the cup. 

And 1 '11 not look for wine 
The thirst that from the soul doth riso 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
Hut ndght I of .love's ncct<u' .sup, 

1 wouhl not change for thiuo. 

I sent thee late a rosy wroath, 

Not so nuich honoring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be ; 
Hot thou thereon didst only breathe 

And scnt'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, 1 swear, 

Not of itself, hut thee ! 

From llK Greek of Pnil.OSTKATUS. 
by Ul.N JONSOtt 



THE M.\HOll.\NY TREE 

CliKlSTMAs is here ; 
Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill, 
I.itllc care we ; 
Little we fear 
Weather without. 
Sheltered about 
The niahogany-troe. 

Once on the boughs 
liirds of rare pUimo 
Sang, in its bloom ; 
Night-birds are wo ; 
Here we earovisc, 
Singing, like them. 
Perched rouml the stoni 
Of the jolly old tree. 

Here let us sport, 
lioys, as we sit, — 
Laughter and wit 
Fhisliing so free. 
Life is luit short, — 
When we arc gone, 
liCt them sing on. 
Kounil the old tree. 

Evenings «e knew, 
Happy as this ; 
Faces we miss. 
Pleasant to seo. 



-^ 



[& 



rOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



715 



^ 



Kind hearts and true, 
Gentle and ju»t, 
Peace to your dust I 
We sing round the tree. 

Care, like a dun, 
i^urku at tlie gate : 
Let the dog wait ; 
Hapjiy we '11 be ! 
Drink, every one ; 
Pill; up the coals ; 
Fill till! red bowls, 
Kound the old tree ! 

Drain we the cup. — 
Friend, art afraid ? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Ked Sea, 
Mantle it up ; 
Eiiility it yet ; 
Let us forget, 
Kound the old tree ! 

Sorrows, begone ! 
Life and its ills. 
Duns and their bills, 
Bid we to flee. 
Come with tlie dawn. 
Blue-devil sprite ; 
Leave us to-niglit, 
Round the old tree ! 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



Vr-^ 



THE ONE GRAY HAIR. 

The wisest of thc^ wise 
Listen to pretty lies. 

And love to hear them told ; 
Doubt not that Solomon 
Listened to many a one, — 
Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. 

I ncvi'r sat among 

The choir of wi.sdonj's -song, 

But pretty lies loved I 
As much as any king, — 
When youth waa on the wing. 
And (must it then be told V) when youth had quite 
gone by. 

Alas ! and I have not 
The pleasant hour forgot. 

When one jiert lady said, — 
"O Landor ! 1 am quite 
Bewildered with affright ; 
I see (sit quiet now !) a white hair on your head ! " 



Another, more benign. 
Drew out that hair of mine. 
And in her own dark hair 
Pretended she hail found 
That one, and twirled it round. — 
Fair as she was, she never wa« so fair. 

WALTEK Savage Landor. 



GROWINO GRAY. 

"On A r.igc dc son cocur."— A o'Hot'DETOT. 

A LITTLE more toward the light. 

Me 'rawerum. Here 's one that 's white, 

And one that 's turning ; 
Adieu to song and "salad days." 
My Muse, let 's go at once to .lay's 

And order mouniing. 

We must refonri our rhymes, my dear. 
Renounce the gay for the severe, — 

Be grave, not witty ; 
We have no more the right to find 
That Pyrrha's hair is neatly twined, 

That Chloe 's |)rctty. 

V'oung Love 's for us a farce that 's played ; 
Light canzonet and serenade 

No more may tempt us ; 
Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams ; 
Fiom aught but sour didactic themes 

fJur years cxc^mjit us. 

"A la bmine hr:arc!" You fancy so ? 
You think for one white streak we grow 

At once satiric I 
A fiddlestii'k ! Each hair 's a string 
To which our graybeard Muse shall sing 

A younger lyric. 

Our heart 's still sound. Shall "cakes and ale 
Grow rare to youth because we rail 

At sehool-boy di.shes ? 
Perish the tliought ! 'T is ours to sing. 
Though neither Time nor Tide can bring 

Belief with wishes. 

AUSTIN DOBSON 



LEAR'S PRAYER. 

PROM "KING LKAR." 

O Heavens, 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
Make it your cause ; send down, and take my 
part ! 



e-: 



716 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^ 



6^ 



GIVE ME THE OLD. 

ro READ. AND OLD FRIENDS TO CONVERSE WllH, 

Old wine to drink ! 
j\y, give the slippery juice 
Tliat drippeth from tlie grape thrown loos( 

Within the tun ; 
I'liu-ked From beneath the olifl" 
Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, 

And ripened 'neath the blink 
Of India's sun ! 
Peat whiskey hot, 
Tempered with well-boiled water ! 
These make the long night shorter, — 

Forgetting not 
Ciood stout old Engli.sh porter. 

OUl wood to burn ! 
Ay, bring the liillside beech 
From whore the owlets meet and screech, 

And ravens croak ; 
The crackling pine, and cedar sweet ; 
liring too a dump of fragrant peat, 
Dug 'neath the fern ; 

The knotted oak, 

A fagot too, perhap, 
Whose l>right flame, dancing, winking, 
Shall light us at our drinking ; 

While the oozing sap 
Shall make sweet music to our thinking. 

Old books to read ! 
Ay, Viring those n.id.-s of wit, 
Tiie brazrn-clasiicd. tin- vcUum-writ, 

Tinic-hoiiorcd tomes ! 
The same my sire scanned before. 
The same my grand.sire tlmnibed o'er. 
The same his sire from college bore. 
The well-earned meed 
Of Oxford's domes ; 
Old Homer blind. 
Old Horace, rake Atutcrcon, by 
Old TuNy, Plaulus, Terence \w ; 
Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie. 
Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay ! 
And Gcrvasc Markhatns venerie, — 

Nor leave behind 
The Holy Book by which we live and die, 

Old friends to talk ! 
Ay, bring those chosen few, 
The wise, the courtly, and the true, 

So rarely found ; 
Him for my wine, him for my stud. 
Him for my easel, distich, bud 

In mountain walk ! 



Bring Walter good : 
AVith soulful Fred; and learned Will, 
And thee, my alter ego (dearer still 
For every mood). 

Robert Hinckley Messenger. 



ATTLD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acciuaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' i 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And days o' lang syne ? 

CHOKUS. 
Far auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang sxjne. 
We 'II tak a cup o' kvndtiess yet 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hao run about the braes, 

And pu't the gowans tine ; 
But we 'vo wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae mornin' sun till diue ; 
But seas between us braid liae roared 

Sin' auld lang .syne. 

And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught 

For auld lang syne. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-3toup. 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kinduess yet 

For auld lang syne. 



" Ah 1 bi la jeuncsse savait — si la vieillcsse pouvait 1 

Theke sat an old man on a rock, 

And unceasing bewailed him of Fate, — 
That concern where we all must take stock, 
Though our vote has no hearing or weight ; 
And the old man sang him an old, old song, — 
Never sang voice so clear and strong 
That it could drown the old man's long. 
For he sang the song " Too late ! too late ! " 

" When we want, we have for our pains 

The promise that if we but wait 
Till the want has burned out of our brains. 

Every means shall be present to sate ; 

While we send for the napkin the soup geta 



cold, 



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9 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



717 



-a 



While the bonnet is trimming the face grows | Sown once for food, but trodden into clay ? 

old, Or golden coins squandered, and still to fay ? 

Wlien we 've matched our buttons the pat- Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet ? 



tern is sold. 
And everything comes too late — too late ! 

" When strawberries seemed like red heavens, 

TeiTapin stew a wild dream, 
Wlien my brain was at sixes and sevens. 
If my mother had ' folks ' and ice-cream, 
Then 1 gazed with a lickerisli hunger 
At the restaurant man and fruit-monger — 
But 0, how I wished I were younger 
When the goodies all came in a stream — 
in a stream ! 

" I 've a splendid blood horse, and — a liver 

That it jars into torture to trot ; 
My row-boat 's the gem of the river, — 
Gout makes every knuckle a knot ! 

I can buy boundless credits on Paris and 

Rome, 
Fiut no palate for menun, no eyes for a dome — 
Thoxc belonged to the youth who must tarry 
at home. 
When no home but an attic he'd got — 
he 'd got ! 

"How I longed, in that lonest of garrets, 

Wliere the tiles baked my brains all July, 
For gi'ound to gi-ow two pecks of can-ots. 
Two pigs of my own in a sty, 

A rosebush — a little thatched cottage — 
Two spoons — love — a basin of pottage ! — 
Now in freestone I sit — and my dotage — 
With a woman's chair eni])ty close by — 
close by ! 

" Ah ! now, though I sit on a rock, 

I have shared one seat with the great ; 
I have sat — knowing naught of the clock — 
On love's high throne of state ; 

But the lips that kissed, and the anns that 

caressed. 
To a mnuth grown stem with delay were 

IMVSSed. 

And riivlid a breast that their clasp had 
l.l.-ssed 
Had they only not come too late — too 
late ! " 

FiTZ Hugh Ludlow. 



y- 



LOST DAYS. 

The lost days of my life until to-day 

Wliat were they, could I see them on tlie 

.street 
Lie as they fell ? Would they bo eai-s of wheat 



Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat 
The throats of men in hell, who thirst alway ? 

1 do not sec them here ; but after death, 
God knows, I know the faces 1 shall see 

Each one a murdered self, with low last breath 
" I am thyself, — what hast thou done to me ? ' 

"And I — and I — thy.self (lo ! each one saith). 
And thou thyself, to all eternity." 

Dantf- gaerill Rossetti. 



THE FOOLISH VIRGLNS. 



The Queen looked up, and said, 
"O maiden, if indeed you list to sing. 
Sing, and unbind my heart, that 1 may weep." 
Whereat full willingly sang tlie little maid ; 

" Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and 
chill ! 
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
Too late, too late ! Ve cannot enter now. 

"No light had we ; for that we do rejient ; 
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. 
Too late, too late ! Ye cannot enter now. 

"No light; so late! and dark and iliiU the 

night ! 
O, let us in, that we may find the light ! 
Too late, too late ! Ye cannot enter now. 

" Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet ? 
O, let us in, though late, to kiss his feet ! 
No, no, too late ! Ye cannot enter now." 

So sang the novice, while full i>assionatcly. 
Her head upon her hands, wei>t the sad Queen. 
.\LFRED Tennyson. 



I MADE a posie, while the day ran by : 

" Here will I smell my renmant out, and tie 

My life within this band." 
But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they 
By noon most cunningly did steal away. 

And withered in my hand. 

My hand was next to them, and then my heart. 
I took, without more thinking, in gootf part 
Time's gentle admonition 



:i 



\Br- 



718 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



-a 



& 



^^'l^o ilid so swoetly litiatli's sail taste convey, 
Making my mind to smell my fatal day, 

Yet sug)uing the suspicion. 

Kai-ewell, dear llo« ois ! sweetly yonr time ye 

spent ; 
Kit, while ye livoil, tor smell or ornament. 

And, alter death, for euivs, 
1 follow straight, withont eomidaints or grief ; 
Since, if my scout be good, 1 eare not if 

It be as short as yours. 

OEOKGS HEKUBKT. 



UFE. 

My life is like the summer rose, 
That opens to the morning sky, 
l>i\t, ere the shades of evening close, 
Is scattered on the gi\iuud — to die ! 
Yet on tlie uise's Immble lied 
The sweetest dews of night are slied, 
.\s if she wept the waste to see, — 
I5ut none shall weep a tear for me ! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 
That trembles in the moon's jmle ray ; 
Its hold is frail, — its date is brief, 
Kestless, and soon to pass away ! 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shiwle, 
The winds liewail the hafless tree, — 
Uut none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 
Have left on Tam|>a's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 
All trace will vanish irom the sand ; 
Yet, as if grieving to elVace 
All vestige of the human race. 
On that loiui shore loud moans the sea, 
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! 



"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOTIRN.' 

0, i>KKM not they are blest alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 

The Power who pities man has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with teai-s ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier yeai-s. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night ; 



And grief may bide lut evening guest. 
But joy shall come with early light. 

And thou who, o'er thy friend's low bier, 
Sheddest the bitter drojw like rain, 

llopi' that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms agsiin. 

>:or let the good man's trust deiwrt. 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though with a pien^ed and bleeding heart. 
Ami spurued of men, he goes to die. 

For liod hath nuirkeil each sorrowing day 
And numliered every secret tear, 

And hea\on's long iige of bliss shall pay 
For idl his children sulfer here. 

WILLIAM CULLON BRVANT. 



THE DOlTBTINa HEART. 

Where are tlie swallows lied ; 

Frozen and doiul 
PerohancB upon some bleak tmd stormy shore. 
doubting heart I 
Far over purple seas 
They wait, in sunny ease. 
The Iwlniy .southern breeze 
To bring tliem to their northern homes once more. 

Why must the flowers die I 

Prisoned they lie 
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. 
O doubting heart ! 
They only .sleep below 
The soft white ermine snow 
While winter winds shall blow. 
To breathe and smile upon yon soon again. 

The sun has hid its rays 

These many days ; 

Will dreary houi-s never leave the earth f 

doubting heart ! 

The stormy clouds on higli 

A'eil the same sunny sky 

That soon, for sjiring is nigh, 

Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. 

Fair hojie is dead, and light 

Is quenched in night ; 
What sound can break the silence of desjwir ! 
doubting heart ! 
The sky is oveixast. 
Yet stars shall rise at last, 
Brighter for darkness past, 
And angels' silver voices stir tlie air. 



IB air. • 

)U .\SNB rSOCTEH. 1^ 



f 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



719 



■a 



fe 



THE RIVER OF LIFE. 

Til K more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages ; 
A day V> childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Kre passion yet disordera. 
Steals lingering like a river smooth 

Along its gi'assy Vwrders. 

But, as till; careworn cheek grows wan, 

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
Ye stars, that measure life to man, 

Vf\\y seem your courses ijuicker ? 

When joys have lost their hhjoni and hrcalh, 

And life itscll' is vapid, 
Why, as we near the Falls of Death, 

Feel we its tide more rapid ? 

It may be strangi-, — yet who would change 
Time's course to slower speeding. 

When one by one our friends have gone. 
And left our bosoms bleeding ? 

Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
And those of youth, a seeming length. 

Proportioned to their sweetness. 



THE VANITY OF THE WORLD. 

False world, thou ly'st : thou canst not lend 

The least delight : 
Thy favors cannot gain a friend. 

They are so slight : 
Tliy morning pleasures make an end 

To please at night : 
Poor are the wants that thou supjdy'st. 
And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet tliou vy'st 
With heaven : fonil eartli, thou boasts ; false 
worlii, thou ly'st. 

Thy bal)bling tongue tells golden tales 

f If endless treasure ; 
Thy bounty ofl'ers easy sales 

Of lasting pleasure ; 
Thou ask'.st tlie conscience what she ails, 

And swear'st to ea.se her ; 
There 's none can want where thou supply' st ; 
Tliere 's none can jrive where thou deny'st. 
Alas ! fond world, thou boasts ; fabse world, thou 
ly'st. 



What well-advised ear regards 

What earth can say ? 
Thy words are gold, but thy rewards 

Are painted clay : 
Thy cunning can but pack the carda. 

Thou canst not play : 
Thy game at weakest, still thou vy'st ; 
If seen, and then revy'd, deny'st : 
Thou art not what thou seem'st ; false world, 
thou ly'st. 

Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint 

Of new-coined treasure ; 
A paradise, that lias no stint, 

No change, no measure ; 
A painted cask, but nothing in 't. 

Nor wealth, nor pleasure ; 
Vain earth I that falsely thus cumply'et 
With man ; vain man I that thou rely'st 
On earth ; vain man, thou dot'sl ; vain earth, 
thou ly'st. 

What mean dull souls, in this high measure. 

To haberdash 
In earth's base wares, whose greatest treasure 

Is dross and trash ? 
The height of whose enchanting pleasure 

Is but a fia-sh ? 
Are these the goods that thou supply's! 
Us moitals with ? Are these the high'st ? 
Can these bring cordial jjcace ? false world, thou 
ly'st. 

FRANCLS I.JUARLES 



Good by, proud world, I 'm going liome : 
Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine. 
Ixing thi'ough thy weary crowds 1 roarn ; 
A river-ark on the ocean brine, 
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, 
Hut now, proud world, I 'm going home. 

Good by to Flattery's fawning face ; 

To Grandeur with his wise grimace ; 

To upstart Wealth's averted eye ; 

To supple Office, low and high ; 

To crowded halls, to court and street ; 

To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; 

To those who go, and those who come ; 

Good by, proud world ! I 'm going home. 

I 'm going to my own hearth-stone. 
Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — 
A secret nook in a pleasant land. 
Whose groves the frolic faiiies planned ; 
Where arches green, the livelong day, 
Echo the blackbird's roundelay, 



^ 



e- 



720 



POEMS OF SJiNTIMJiNT AND Rt:FLJi:orJON. 



-a 



43-- 



Ami vulgor foot hnvo iiovi'V tivil 

A spot that is sjd'ivd to tliouj{lit iilid lunl. 

0, wlioii 1 iim salo in iiiy sylvim homo, 
1 tivrtd on tlio i>viiK> of liivtH'o iiiul Uomn ; 
And whou 1 imi stivtiliod liouonth tlio |nui)a, 
Whoiti tJ\t> ovoiiinj; stav so lioly sliinos, 
I linijsh at tlio loiv and tho jivido ol' man, 
At tlio sopliist schools, and tho U'ainod ilan ; 
l''or what ai-o Ihoy all, in thoic hij;h oonooit, 
Whon man in tho hnsh with (lod may nuH't ? 

KAl r» WaLOO l^MliKSON. 



THE NEVERMORK. 

Look in n\y laoo* my namo is Might -havo-heon ; 

I am also oallod No-nioiv, Too-lato, FaivwoU ; 

t'nto thino oar 1 hold (ho doad-soa shoU 
Cast np thy l.ilo's I'oam-I'ivttcd foot Ivtwoou ; 
Unto thino oyos tho glass whoiv that is soon 

Whioh had l.ifo's form and Lovo's, but hv n\v 

SIH'U 

Is now a shalvon shadow intolorahlo, 
t^f nltinmto things unuttoivd tho frail soroon. 

Mark mo, how slill 1 am I lUit shoidd thoiv dart 
Ouo momont thivngh my sonl lliosoft snrpriso 
0( that wingi'd IVaoo whioh lulls tho Imvith of 
sighs, — 
'rhon shalt thou soo n>o sniilo, and tnru apart 
Thy visagti to \uino aiuhusli at thy hoart 
Sleoploss with oold oonimouiomtivo oyos. 

ixvNiK c.AiiRiKL Rosiin-n. 



THE GENIUS OF DEATH, 

WiiAr is (loath ? 'T is to ho fivo. 
No moiv to lovo or hopo or foiu', 
'l\) join tlio gntit oiiuality ; 

.in, all aliko an- Immilod tlioro, 
Tho mighty giiivo 
Wrsilvs lonl and slave ; 
Nor prido nor poverty daivs oomo 
Within that ivfugodiouso. tho tomh. 

Spirit with tho di-ooping wing 

And the ovor-wooping oyo, 
Thou of all earth's kings art king : 
Kmpiros at thy footstool Ho ; 
beneath theo stivwed. 
Their multitude 
Sink like waves uixiii the shoiv ; 
Storms shuU never muse Uiem more. 



What 's the gnindenr of tho earth 

To the grandeur ixmnd thy thi-ono f 
liiehes, glory, K>auly, liirtli. 
To thy kingdom all have gone, 
liefoiv thee stand 
The wondixms Imnd, — 
Uai-ds, heroes, sages, side hy side. 
Who darkeneil nations whon tliey died. 

Kartli has hosts, hut thou eanst show 

Many a million for her one ; 
Tlutiugli thy gates tlio mortal How 
Hath for I'ounlless yeai-s ivUed on. 
r.aek from tlietomh 
No slo)! has eomo, 
Theiv lixed till the last thunder's sound 
.Shall hid thy prisonei's he unhound. 

C11OK0.U CROI.V. 



iVNOltMNKO Ul niK. 

Mv prime of youth is hut a I'lvst of earoa ; 

My feast of joy is hut a dish of juiin : 
My eivp of eorn is hut a field of taitvs ; 

And all my good is Imt vain hope of gain ; 
Tho day is [lied], and yet 1 saw no sun ; 
And now 1 live, and now my life is dono ! 

Tlio spring is jmst, and yet it hath not sprung ; 

The fruit is dead, and yet the loaves aixi 
given ; 
My youth is ginie, and yet 1 am \>nt young ; 

1 saw the world, and yet 1 was not seen : 
My thread is out, and yet it is not spun ; 
And now 1 live, and now my life is done ! 

1 sought my death, and found it in my womh ; 

1 looked for life, and saw it was a sliadi' ; 
1 tn-d the earth, and know it was my tomh ; 

.\nd now 1 die, and now I am hut made ; 
The glass is full, and now niv glass is run ; 
And now 1 live, and now my life is done ! 

I loiMoci; TveiiiioRN. 



EUTHANASIA. 

Itur souls that of his own g«vid life |vartake, 
Ho loves as his own .self ; dear as his eye 
Thoy are to hin> ; He "11 never them foi-sake : 
When thov shall die, then Ood himself aliall 

die "; 
They live, they live in hlest eternity. 

IIUNKV MOKB. 



-S 




Ki\lKR60N>. HuMK A V CONCORD. 

" t/e.'/ atui cm^, 

IIoi:ou> on f like, hiUsidi ami fiW-arcadf, 
Arf toitckni ~jjith genius" 



f 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



121 



■a 



[&-- 



WRITTEN -IHE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION. 

E'en such is time ; whicli takes on trust 

Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
And i«iys us but witli eartli and dust ; 
Which in the dark and silent grave, 
When we have wandered all our ways, 
Shuts up the story of our days : 
But from this earth, this grave, this dust. 
My God sliall raise me uji, I trust. 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 



THE SOUL'S ERRAND. 

Go, soul, the body's guest. 

Upon a thankless errand ! 
Fear not to touch tlie best. 

The truth shall be thy waiTant : 
Go, since I needs niu.st die. 
And give the world the lie. 

Go, tell the court it glows 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Go, tell the church it .shows 

Wliat 's good, and doth no good. 
If church and court reply, 
Tlien give them both the He. 

Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others' action, 
Not loved unless they give, 
Not strong but by a faction. 
I f potentates reply. 
Give potentates the lie. 

Tell men of high condition 
That nde affairs of state, 
Tlieir purpose is ambition. 
Their practice only hate ; 
And if they once reply. 
Then give them all tlie lie. 

Tell them that brave it most, 

They beg for more by spending, 
MTio in their gi'eatcst cost, 

Seek nothing but commending : 
And if they make reply. 
Then give them all the lie. 

Tell zeal it lacks devotion. 

Tell love it is but lust, 
Tell time it is but motion, 
Tell flesh it is but di-ist ; 
And wish them not reply. 
For thou must give the lie. 



Tell age it daily wasteth. 

Tell lionor how it alters. 
Tell beauty how she blastetli. 
Tell lavor liow it falters : 
And as tliey shall ri'ply, 
Give every one the lie. 

Tell wit liow much it wrangles 
In tickle points of niceness ; 
Tell wisdom she entangles 
Herself in over-wiseness : 
And when they do reply. 
Straight give them botli the lie. 

Tell physic of her Imldncss, 
Tell skill it is pretension, 
Tell charity of coldness. 
Tell law it is contention : 
And as they do reply, 
.So give them still the lie. 

Tell fortune of her blindness, 

Tell nature of decay. 
Tell friendship of unkindness, 
Tell ju.st ice of delay : 
And if they will I'eply, 
Then give them all the lie. 

Tell arts they have no soundness, 

Hut vary by esteeming ; 
Till schools they want profoundness, 
And stand too much on seeming. 
If arts and seliools reply. 
Give arts and schools tlie lie. 

Tell faith it fled the city ; 

Tell liow the country erreth ; 
Tell, manhood shakes off pity ; 
Tell, virtue least [irefcrreth ; 
And if they do re[)ly. 
Spare not to give the lie. 

So when thou hast, as I 

Commanded tliee, done blabbing. 
Although to give the lie 

Deserves no less than st.abbing. 
Yet, stab at thee who will. 
No stab the soul can kill. 

JOSHL'A SVLVriSTER. 



LETTERS. 

Evert day brings a .ship. 
Every ship brings a word ; 
Well for those who have no fear, 
Looking seaward well assured 
That the word the vessel brings 
Is the word they wish to hear. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



-ff 



[fi-r 



1>U£MS UF HEJ^TIUKNT AND REFLECTION. 



■a 



BRAHMA. 

If the red slayer think he slays, 
Or if the slain think he is slain, 

Tliey know not well the subtle ways 
I keep, and pass, and turn ag-ain. 

Far or forgot to me is near ; 

Shadow and sunlight are the same ; 
Tlie vanislied gods to ine appear ; 

And one to nie ai'e shame and fame. 

Tliey reckon ill who leave me out ; 

\\'hen nie they fly, I am the wings ; 
I am the doubter and the doubt. 

And I tlie hymn the Brahmin sings. 

Tlie strong gods pine for my abode, 
Anil pine in vain tlie sacred Seven ; 

Hut thou, meek lover of tlie good ! 
Find me, and turn thv back on heaven. 



BRAHMA'S ANSWER. 

O.VCE, when the days were ages. 
And the old Earth was young, 
The high gods and the sages 
From Nature's golden pages 
Her open secrets wrung. 
Each questioned each to know 
Whence came the Heavens above, and whence 
the Earth below. 

Indra, the endless giver 

Of every gracious thing 
The gods to him deliver. 
Whose liounty is the river 

Of whi('h they are the spring — 
Indra, with an.\ious heart. 
Ventures with Vivochunu where Brahma is a 
part. 

" Brahma ! Supremest Being ! 

By wliom the worlds are made. 
Where wo are bliiul, all-seeing. 
Stable, whore wi: are fleeing. 
Of Life and Death afraid, — 
Instruct us, for mankind, 
Wliat is the IkmIv, Brahma? Brahma! what 
tlie minily " 

Hearing as though he heard not. 

So perfect was his rest, 
So vast the soul that erred not, 
So wise the lips that .stirred not — 

His hand u])on his breast 



He laid, whereat his fai'o 
Was mirrored in the river that girt that holy 
place. 

Tliey ipiestioned each the other 

What Brahma's answer meant. 
Said Vivochunu, "Brother, 
Through Brahma the great Mother 
Hath spoken her intent ; 
Man ends as he began, — 
The shadow on the water is all there is of man ! " 

" The earth with woe is cumbered. 

And no man understjinds ; 
They seo their days are numbered 
By one that never slumbered 

Nor stayed his dreadful hands. 

/ see with Brahma's eyes — 
The body is the shadow that on the water lies. " 

Thus Indra, looking deeper. 

With Brahma's self possessed, 
So dry thine eyes, thou weeper ! 
And rise again, thou sleeper ! 
Tlie hand on Brahma's breast 
Is his divine assent, 
Covering the soul that dies not. This is what 
Brahma lucant. 



RETRIBUTION. 



'Oipc deui' dAc'ovo'l ftuAoi, aAf'ovo'i &i Aenra. 



Tiiorun the mills of God grind slowly, 
Yet they grind exceeding small ; 

Though with patience he stands waiting. 
With exactness grinds he all. 

Henry Wadsworth I-ongfeixou 



THE FUTURE. 



Heaven from all creatures hides the book of 

fate. 
All but tho page prescribed, their present state : 
From brutes what men, from men what spirit-s 

know : 
Or who could suffer being here below ? 
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day. 
Had he thy reason, would he -skip and play ? 
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food. 
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. 
blindness to the future ! kindly given. 
That each mav fill the circle marked by Heaven, 



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e-- 



rOEMS OF SENTIMEST AND MEFLECTIOX. 



723 



-a 



Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
A hero [leiish or a sparrow fall ; 
Atoms or systems into ruin liurleil, 
And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 

Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions 
soar ; 
Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore. 
Wliat future bliss he gives not thee to know, 
Hut gives that hojie to be thy blessing now. 
Hope springs eternal in the human breast : 
Man never is, but always to be blest. 
The soul, uneasy and confined from home, 
Kests and expatiates in a life to come. 

Lo, the poor Inilian ! whcse untutored mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; 
His soul proud science never taught to stray 
Far as the solar walk or milky way ; 
Yet simple nature to his hope has given, 
Behind thecloud-topped hill, an humbler lieaven ; 
Some safer world, in depth of woods enil>raced, 
Some happier island in the wateiy waste. 
Where slaves once more theii- native land behold. 
No liends torment, no Christians thirst for gold : 
To be, contents his natural desire. 
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire ; 
IJut think.s, admitted to tliat equal .sky. 
His faithful dog shall bear him company. 

ALHXA.Ni)LR I'OPE. 



f& 



SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 



All the world 's a stage. 
And all tlie men and women merely playei's : 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant. 
Mewling and puknig in the nurse's anns. 
Then the whining .school-boy, with his satchel. 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover. 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his misti'ess' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
l*'ull of strange oaths, and Ijeardcd like the ])ard, 
.Tealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
.Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the I'aunon's mouth. And then tlie jus- 

ti.'c, 

In fair round belly wilh gooil capon lined, 
Witli eyes severe, and beard of fonnal cut. 
Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
And sn he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and .slippered pantaloon. 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on siiie ; 
His youtliful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and liis big manly voice, 
Tuniing again toward childish treble, pipes 



And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion, — 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



PROCRASTINATION. 



NIGHT THOUGHTS," 



Be wise to-day ; 't is madness to defer ; 
Next day the fatal precedent will |)Iead ; 
Thus on, till wisdom is ])usheil out of life. 
I'rocrastination is the thief of time ; 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled. 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 
If not so frequent, would not this be strange ? 
That 't is so frccpient, this is stranger still. 
Of man's miraculous mistjikes this bears 
The palm, "That all men are about to live," 
Forever on the brink of being boni. 
All pay themselves the conijiliment to think 
They one day shall not drivel : and their pride 
On this reversion takes up ready jiraise ; 
At least, their own ; their future selves ajiplaud : 
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 
Time lodged in their own hiinds is folly's vails ; 
That lodged in Fate's, to wisdom they consign ; 
The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone : 
'T is not in folly not to scorn a fool. 
And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 
All promise is poor dilatory roan. 
And that through everj' .stage. When young, in- 
deed. 
In full content we sometimes nobly rest, 
Unanxious for ourselves, and only wLsh, 
As duteous son.s, our fathers were more wise. 
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool ; 
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
At fifty, chides his infamous delay, 
Pushes his pnulent purjiose to resolve ; 
In all the magnanimity of thought, 
Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same. 

And why ? Because bethinks himselfimmortal. 
All men think all men mortal but themselves ; 
Themselves, when some alanning shock of fate 
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden 

dread ; 
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air. 
Soon close ; where passed the shaft, no trace is 

found. 
As from the wing no scar the sky retains, 
The parted wave no furrow from the keel. 
So dies in human hearts the thought of death : 
Y.ven with the tender tears which Nature sheds 
O'er those we love, we diop it in their grave. 



^ 



a- 



rOKMt! OF Sl'JXTIMFNr AND KKyLECnON. 



Tnv. lull siiiki's ono : wo Uko im iioU'dI' time, 
lUil I'l-ixn il.s loss. 'I\i givo it, tliou, ;> tongiU', 
Is wisii in iii:\ii. As il'im !(ii.i;i'l spoki', 

I (Vol llu' soU'iiiii soiiinl. ir lioiinl iniglil. 
It is tlu' knoll of my iloiwrtoil boui-s ; 
Whoiviiro tlioy I Willi l.ho yoai's Ix'yoiul llio iKuxl. 

II is tlio sij-nal lliat iloinnnils .losiwtoh ; 

llmv niiii'li is to In- ilono ! my liojios imil lisvrs 

Siiirl np :ilannoil, :inil o'or lil'o's naniiw voi'go 

Look ilown • - on what / x\ I'litlioniloss nlij'ss ; 

A <li\'iul otoniity ; lunv snivly mino I 

Anil ran otoniity bolonj; to mo, 

Poor pon.sionor on tlio bountios of an lioiii- ! 

Timo tlio snpvomo ! — Timo is otoinity ; 
I'lvgnanl with all otoinity oan givo ; 
rivi;nant with all llial niakos airlianjfols siiiilo. 
Wlio mni-ilois timo, lio oiushos in tlio liiitli 
A |>o\vi>i' ollioival, only not avloroil. 

All ! liow iin,)iist to Nalnn< ami liiinsilt'. 
Is t.lionj{lillos,s. tliaiikloss incoii.sislonl man I 
l.iko oliiUli-oii Ivilililing iioiisonso in tlioir sinnt*, 
Wo ooiisniv Naliiiv for a si>an loo sliort ; 
'riial siwn too short, wo tax as loilious loo; 
'I'ovtiiro invoiilion, all oxpoilionis iiix>. 
To lash I ho linsjoriii}; moiiionis into s|>ooil. 
Ami whirl us i,l">l'V>' i'i>hhiii>'o !^ froni om-solvos. 
Art, brainloss Art I our I'lirious ohariotoor, 
(,1'or >>alui\<'s voioo, unslillod, would ivoall,) 
Orivos hoiuUoiijj towaixls tlio |>ix'<'i|iioo of ilwitU ! 
Oo.-illi, most our iliwul ; >loath, thus moiv iliviul- 

fill msilo : 
(1. what a ri.hllo of alvsnixlity ! 
l.oisuiv is iKiin ; takos olVonr ohariot whoola : 
llow hoavily wo ilraj; tho hwnt of lifo ! 
Ulost loismv is our oui-so : liko that of Cain, 
It. luakos us waiulor ; wamlor oarth aivuml 
To lly that tyrant. Thought. As Atlas jsiiwuoit 
Tho world liouoath, wo j?i\»iii iH'Uoalh «u hour. 
Wo ory for luoivy to tho uoxt auiusomout : 
Tho noxt ainusomont luorliFigos our liohls ; 
Slij;ht inoonvonioiu'o '. luisons liaiiUy fivwu, 
Ki\uu hatolnl Tiuii' if prisous sot us fivo. 
Yot whou Ooath kimlly tomlors ns ivliof. 
Wo call him oruol ; yoai's to momonts shrink, 
.Vjtivs to yoai-s. Tho tolosoopo is turnoil. 
To man's falso optics (fl-om his folly falsol 
Timo, in advanoo, Ixdiind liiiii liidos his wings, 
.\ud sooms to oivoji, dooivpit with his agt- ; 
liohold him whou past by ; what thou is soon 
Ibit his biwul pillions, swiftor than tho winds 1 
And all mankind, iu contradict ion stivng, 
Kuoful, aghast, cry out ouliis caivor. 



Y« lilios miilo ! who noitlior toil nor .>!]iiii, 
(As sistor-lilios iiiijtbt) if not .so wise 
As Solomon, moiv suni|itiious to tho sii»ht ! 
Yo dolicato ' who nothing oan supiunl, 
Yoursolvos most iiisuiiiiorlablo ! for whom 
Tho winter im.so nuist blow, tho sun [lut on 
A brigblor beam in l.oo; silky-soft 
l''avoiiins, bivalho still softer, or bo chid ; 
.\iid ollior worlds .send odors, siinco, and song, 
And lobos, and notions, franu"d in foivign looms ! 
() yo Loiviizos of our ago ! who doom 
0[w momont unamnsod a niisory 
Not inado for fooblo mail ! who call aloud 
For cvory bawlilo dri\'ollod o'or by .sonso : 
I'or rattles, and ooncoits of ovory cast, 
Kor clniugo of follies and ivlays of joy. 
To drag you jwliont thiinigh tho tedious length 
Of a short wiiitei's day, — sjiy, siigi's I say. 
Wit's onu'les I say, divaiuers of gay dreams ! 
llow will you weather an eternal night, 
Whciv suchexiiedioiils fail > 



TO-MORlunV. 



To-Moi!i;o\v's action ! oan that hojiry wisdom, 
Uoriio down with yoai-s, stilldoat mioii to-iuorivw 1 
The fatal luislivss of the young, tlie la?y. 
Tho cowaitl and tho fixd, eomlomnod to lose 
An useless lifo iu waiting for to-mori\i\\. 
To gaze with longing eyes U|hhi to-mori\>w. 
Till inlii'|iosing death dostmys tho imisiioct. 
Strange that this gi'iioral fraud fiwu day today 
.■Should till the world with wivtchos. uiidelocted ! 
The soldier, laUuiug through a winter's niaivli, 
Still sees to-morix>w divst in rolvs of triunndi ; 
Still to the lover's long-oxpoctiug anus 
To-morrow brings tho visionary bride. 
Uut thou, tiw old Iti bear another cheat, 
l.oarn that the luvsoiit lumr alone is man's, 

S.\\Ulil. JOHNSON. 



OllKlSTM.VS HYMN. 



I'ROM TllF OPF "ON Till* MORNINC. 



HRIST*S NATIVITV; 



^- 



Y« well nrrav»>d ! w lilios of our land ! 



\i> war or Ivittlo's sound 
Was lioaixl the world around : 

The idle siwir and shield woiv high nplmng ; 
The hooked chariot stood 
riislained with hostile blood ; 

The tiunn>et s|>jiko not to (he arm^d throng : 
-And kings sat still with awful eye. 
As if tliov surolv knew their soverovgn t.oul was 
bv. 



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I'lJKMH Oh' HENTIMKNT AND REFLECTION. 



nrj 



-a 



lint ]iKiu:i:fin\ WiiH the iii;<lit, 
Whorciii tlie l'riiii;<; of IJ^^ht 

IIU iftigii of [«;a<;i! ujioii thfi euilli Ijigan : 
Till; wiri(l«, willi wonder wliUt, 
KiiiooUily tin; v,",iU:n kinw-'l, 

U'lii«|>iTiii« ni:w joyn to tin; milil w.i:hu, 
Wlio now li;itli "jiiiti; l'oi((ot to ravi;, 
Wliili: liinl« ol'calin Hit Ijiowiiiigoii tin; cliamitd 

WilVft. 

Tin; DtaiB, with <l<'(;[i amaze, 
Ht-iinl fixeil ill Hteailfiml (jaze, 

r>i;niJiii^ oin; way tlieir prerioiiH ii/(lui;n';c ; 
Ami will not take tln;ii- fliKlit, 
I'or all tin; nioniiiig li^rlit, 

Or (.ueil'i'i', that ol'tJ'n wann;<l them thence ; 
lint in their (glimmering orliH iliil ({low, 
I .ntil their LorilhiniBellheHpake, anil hiiithenigo. 

Anil, though the Hluuly gloom 
lliiil given ilay her room. 

The Hiin hiniKcIf withhelil hit) wont/;iI »[K-eil, 
Anil hill hix lie;ul lor Hhaine, 
As hift iiilerior flame 

The new-enlighti'iieil world no nmre hIioiiIi] 
need ; 
III-, Haw a greater Sun a[i|iear 
Than hix liriglit throne, or liumingaxletree, lonlil 
iK.ar. 

Tlie Nliephenlt on the lawn. 
Or ere (he iioinL of ijawn, 

Sat simjily ehatting in a rustle row ; 
Full little thought they then 
That the mighty I'an 

WaK kinilly eome to live with them helow ; 
riTha|is lljili' loves, or elw; their Hheep, 
WaHdll th;it iliil their silly thoughts so liusy keep. 

When Hueh nnmic sweet 

Thi-ir hearts anil ears iliil greet. 

As never was hy mortal finger strook, 
llivluely warlileil voiee 
Answering the sti'ingfcil noise, 

As all tjjeir souls in hlissful rapture tfjok ; 
The ;iir, sueli pleasure loath to lose, 
Willi tliousanil echoes still prolongs each heav- 
enly elose. 

Nature, that liearil siieh sound, 
lieinalh the hollow round 

or Cynthia's seat, the airy region Ihrilling, 
Now was almost won 
To think her part was done. 

Ami Ihat her reign had here its last I'ullilling ; 
Slie knew sueh harmony alone 
Could hold all heaven and earth in hajipier union. 



"ig. 



ty-^ 



At last surrounds their sight 
A gloh<! of cireular light, 

That with long Ijeanis the sliainela<;ed night 
arrayed ; 
The helmed eheiiibim. 
And sworded seraphim, 
Arc seen in glittering ranks with wings ilis- 
played, 
Har|)ing in loud and sijleinn ijiiire, 
With unexjiressive notes, to Heaven's new-born 
heir. 

Sueh music un 't is said 
IJelore was never made, 

Hut when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
While the Creator gieat 
His constellations set. 

Anil the well-halanced world on liinges h; 
Anil east the dark foundations deep, 
And bid tlie weltering waves their oozy channel 
keep. 

Ring out, ye erj'stal spheres. 
Once l)less our human ears. 

If ye have jstwer to touch our sens<;s so ; 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time ; 

And let the l«iss of Heaven's deep organ blow ; 
And, with your ninefold harmony. 
Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

Rl.vo out, wild Iwlls, U, the wild sky, 
The (lying cloud, the frosty light ; 
The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new ; 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow ; 

The year is going, let him go ; 
Ring out the fal.se, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind. 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the fend of rich and poor. 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring nut a slowly dying cause 

And ancient forms of jiarty strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life. 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
Ring in the love of truth and right. 

Ring in the common love of good. 



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72G 



I'UKMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLEVTIUN. 



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King out old shapes of foul disooso, 
Ring out tliu nnii'owing lust of gold ; 
King out tlie tllousnud wars of oM, 

King iu tbu thousand years of ponce. 

iiiug in tho vnliaut man and free, 
The larger heart, tho kindlier hand ; 
King nut the darkness of tlie land, 

King in the Christ that is to be. 

ALI'RI-D T 



& 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 

'T IS midnight's holy hour, — and silenee now 

Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 

The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the 

winds 
'I'lie l.rll's derp tones are swelling, — 't is the 

knell 
Of the <lepartcd year. No funeral train 
Is sweeping past ; yet, on the stream and wood, 
With nu,'laneholy light, the moonbeams rest 
Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred 
As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon eloud 
That floats so still ami placidly through heaven, 
Tlie spirits of the seasons seem to stand, — 
Yo\ing Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn 

form, 
An.l Winter with its aged hnks, — and breathe. 
In mournful eadenecs that eonie aliroiid 
Like the far wind-harp's wild and toueliing wail, 
A melancholy dirge o'er tho dead year, 
Gone from the earth forever. 

'T is a time 
For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 
Still elnuubers of the heart, a specter dim, 
Wliose tones are like the wizard's voice of Time 
Ilearil fiom tlio tomb of ages, jioints its cold 
And solemn linger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have jiassed away, 
.'\nil left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of life. That spectcu' lifts 
Tli« eoliin-lid of llopi> and .Toy and Love, 
And bending mournfully aliove the pale. 
Sweet f(n-ms that slumber there, scatters dead 

Ibiwers 
( )'<'r what has p.asspd to nothingness. 

Tlie yt-ar 
Has goMi', anil with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
Its shadow iu eai-h heart. In its swift course 
It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful. 
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 
Upon tho strong man, and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and tho Hashing eye is dim. 



It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The briglit and joyous, and the tearful wail 
Of strick(^n ones is heard where erst tho song 
And reckless shout resounded. 

It passed ,i'er 
Till' liatlli'-plain where sword and spear and 

sliield 
Flashed iu the light of midday, and the strength 
Of sei'rieil hosts is shivered, anl the grass, 
(Ireen from the soil of carnage, waves above 
Tlie cruslied and inolderiiig skeleton. It came, 
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ; 
Yet ere it melted in the viewless air 
It herahled its millions to their homo 
In the dim land of dreams. 

Kemorseless Time ! 
Fierce spirit of tlic glass and scythe! — wliat 

power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity ? On, still on. 
lie presses, and forever. The iirouil liird, 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's niifathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And batlie his plumage in the thunder's home, 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks 

down 
To rest upon his mountain crag, — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 
.■\iid night's deep darkness has no chain to liind 
His rushing pinions, 

Kevolutions sweep 
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er tho breast 
Of dreaming sorrow ; cities rise and sink 
Like liubbles on tho water ; fiery isles 
Spring blazing from tho ocean, and go bai;k 
To tlicir mysterious caverns ; mountains rear 
To heaven 'their bald and blnrkcm-d dill's, and 

b,.w 
Their tall heads to the jilaiii ; new empires 

rise, 
Cathering tho strength of hoaiy eeiiturii'S, 
And rush down like the Alpine avalani'lie. 
Startling the nations ; and the very stars, 
Yon bright and Inirning blazonry of God, 
Glitter awhile in their eternal depths. 
And, like the Pleiads, loveliest of their train, 
Sb.iiit from th.nr glorious spheres, and pass 

To daikl,' ill the trackless void, -yet Time, 
Time the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path 
I To sit and muse, like other conquerors 
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. 

Cl'ORr.B D. rRENTICH. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



727 



ra 



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THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 

FiT.L knee-di'i'i) lifs the winter snow, 
Anil the winter winds are wearily sighing : 
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, 
And tread softly and speak low. 
For the old year lies a-dying. 

Old year, you must not die ; 

Vou came to us so readily. 

You lived with us so steadily, 

Old year, you shall not die. 

He lieth still : he doth not move ; 

He: will not see the dawn of day. 

He hath no other life above. 

He gave me a friend, and a true tnie-love. 

And the New-year will take 'em away. 

Old year, you must not go ; 

.So long as you have been with us, 

Such jrjy a.s you liave seen with us. 

Old year, you shall not go. 

Hi- frothed his Vjumpers to the brim ; 
A jollier year we shall not see. 
Hut, though his eyes are waxing dim. 
And though his foes speak ill of him, 
He was a friend to me. 

Old year, you shall not die ; 

We did so laugh and cry with you, 

I 've half a mind to die with you. 

Old year, if you must die. 

He was full of joke and jest, 
P>ut all his merry ijuips are o'er. 
To see him die, across the waste 
His son and lieir doth ride post-liaste. 
But he '11 be dead before. 

F.very one for his own. 

The night is starry and cold, my friend, 

And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend, 

Comes up to take his own. 

How hard he breathes! over tlie snow 
1 beard just now the crowing cock. 
Tlie shadows flicker to and fro : 
The cricket chiqjs : the light bums low : 
T is nearly twelve o'clock. 

Shake hands before you die. 

Old year, we '11 dearly rue for you : 

What is it we can do for you ? 

Speak out before you die. 

His face is growing sharp and thin. 
Alack ! our friend is gone. 
Close uyj his eyes : tie up his chin : 
Step from the corpse, and let him in 
That standeth there alone. 



And waitcth at the door. 
There '» a new foot on the floor, my friend, 
And a new face at the door, my friend, 
A new face at the door. 

Al.rKEO Tensvsum. 



WHEN I DO COUNT THE CLOCK. 

When I do count the clock that tells the tinje, 
And see the brave day sunk in hiileous night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime, 
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
And summer's green all girded uji in sheaves, 
ISorne on the bier with white and bristly Ixjard ; 
Then of thy beauty do 1 ijuestion make. 
That thou among the wastes of time must go. 
Since sweets and beauties ilo themselves forsake. 
And die as fiLSt as they see others grow ; 

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make 
defense, 

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee 
hence. 



TO THE VIRGINS. 

Gatheh the rosebuds while ye may, 

Old Time is still a flying ; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun. 

The higher he 's a getting, 
Tlie sooner will his race Ix; nin. 

And nearer he 's to .setting. 

The age is best which ijs the first. 
When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being si>ent, the worse and worst 
Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time, 
And, while yc may, go marry ; 

For having lost but once your prime, 
You may forever tarry. 

RoUIiRT HiiKRICK. 



TOO LATE I STAYED. 

Too late I stayed, — forgive the crime ; 

Unheeded flew the hours : 
How noiseless falls the foot of Time, 

That only tread-s on flowers ! 

And who, with clear account, remarks 

The ebbings of his glass, 
When all its sands are diamond sjiarks. 

That dazzle as they pass '. 



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728 



ruKMS UF SENTIMENT AND REELEVTION. 



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0, who to sober Mieiisuremwit 
Time's Imjipy swiftness brings, 

Wlicn birds of ])ariuliso have lent 
Tlieir plumage to his wings ? 

William Robert Spencer. 



GOING AND COMING. 

GdiNO — the great round Sun, 

Dragging tlu- captive Day 
Over beliind tlie frowning hill. 

Over beyond the bay, — 
Dying : 
Coming — the ilusky Night, 

Silently stealing in. 
Wrapping himself in the soft warm couch 

Where the golden-haired Day hath been 
Lying. 

Going — the bright, blilhc Sjjring ; 

Hlossoms ! how fast ye fall, 
Shooting out of your starry sky 

Into the darkness all 
mindly ! 
Coming — the midlow days : 

Crimson and yellow leaves ; 
Languishing purple and amber fruits 

Kissing the bearded sheaves 
Kindly ! 

Going — our early friends ; 

Voices we loved are dumb ; 
Footsteps grow dim in the morning dew ; 

Fainter the echoes come 

Ringing : 

Coming to join our march, — 

Shoulder to shoulder pressed, — 
Gray-haired veterans strike their tents 

Kor the far-otf purple West — 
Singing ! 

Going — this old, old life ; 

Beautiful world, farewell ! 
Fonst and meadow ! river and hill ! 

Ring ye a loving knell 
O'er us ! 
Comings a nobler life ; 

Coming — a better land ; 
Coming — a long, long, nightless day ; 

Coming — the grand, gr.and 
Chorus ! 

EDWARD A. JENKS. 



& 



Wk are born ; we laugh ; we weep ; 

We love ; we droop ; we die ! 
Ah ! wherefore do we laugh or weep ? 

Wliy do wo live or die ? 



Who knows that secret deep ? 
Alas, not I ! 

Why doth the violet spring 

Unseen by human eye ? 
Why do the radiant seasons bring 

Sweet thoughts that quickly fly ? 
Why do our fond hearts cling 

To tilings that die ? 

We toil — through pain and wrong; 

Wo fight— and lly ; 
Wc love ; we lose ; and then, ere long. 

Stone-dead we lie. 
Ijfe ! is all thy song 

" Endure and — die " ? 

Bryan W. procti--R (Barry Cornwai. 



TWO PICTURES. 

An old farm-house with meadows wide, 
Anil sweet with clover on each side ; 
K briglit-cyed boy, who looks from out 
Till' diiiir with woodbine wreathed about, 
.\nd wishes his one thought all day: 
" O, if 1 could but fly away 

From this dull spot, the world to see, 
How liajijiv, lijqipv, liappv, 

How happy I shoul.l be ! " 

Amid tile city's constant din, 
A man who round the world has been. 
Who, mid the tumult and the throng. 
Is thinking, thinking all day long ; 
" O, could I only tread once more 
The field-path to the fann-bouse door, 

The old, gi'een meadow could I see. 
How happy, happy, happy. 

How happy I should be ! " 

Marian Douglas. 



"KEEP MY MEMORY ORF.EN."* 

Loiin, keep my memory green ! 

Wliatever intervene. 
How rough so'er life's voyage may prove to me, 
I would not lose remembrance of the good, 
Nor .shrink from thoughts of ills long since with- 
stood, — 

Lord, keep my memory green ! 

Lord, keep my memory green, — 
Tlie boisterous and serene. 
That which hath caused a tear or forced a smile, 

• Soe " The Haunted M;in." a Chnstmas Story, by Charlfs 



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POEMS UF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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&-- 



Let both tbeir true reality impart. 
Anil fix their record deeply in my heart, — 
Lord, keep my memory gi'een ! 

Lord, kee[) my memory gi'een 
Through life's couliieting scene ! 
But should the hand of Time obliterate 
Aught from my mind, and somechaiice ])age3 blot, 
Let friends and benetits be ne'er forgot, — 
Lord, keep my memory green ! 

Anonymous. 



THE ROSE-BUSH. 

A CHILD sleeps under a rose-bush fair, 
The buds swell out in the soft May air ; 
Sweetly it rests, and on dream-wings flies 
To play witli the angels in Paradise. 
And the years glide by. 

A maiden stands by the rose-bush fair. 
The dewy blossoms perfume the air ; 
She presses her hand to her throbbing breast. 
With love's first wonderful rapture blest. 
And the years glide by. 

A mother kneels by the rose-bush fair, 
.Soft sighs the leaves in the evening air ; 
.Sorrowing thoughts of the past arise. 
And tears of anguish beiiim her eyes. 
And the years glide by. 

Naked and lone stands the rose-bush fair. 
Whirled are the leaves in the autumn air. 
Withered and dead they fall to the giound, 
And silently cover a new-made mound. 
And the years glide by. 

Fruni the Gennan. by Wn.LlAM W. CALDWELL. 



WHAT IS TIME? 

1 .4SKED an aged man, with hoary hairs. 
Wrinkled and curved with worldly cares : 
" Titue is the warp of life," said he ; " O, tell 
The young, the fair, the gay, to wea\'e it well ! '' 
I asked the ancient, venerable dead. 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled : 
From the cold gi'ave a hollow murmur flowed, 
" Time sowed the .seed we reap in this abode ! " 
I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 
Of life had left his veins : "Time ! " he replied ; 
" I 've lost it ! ah, the treasure ! " and he died. 
I asked the golden sun and silver spheres, 
Those bright chronometers of days and years : 
They answered, "Time is but a meteor glare," 
And bade me for eternity prepare. 
I asked the Seasons, in their annual round. 



Which beautify or desolate the ground ; 
And they replied (no oracle more wise), 
" 'T is Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest 

prize ! " 
I asked a spirit lost, — but the .shriek 
That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I sjieak. 
It cried, "A particle ! a speck ! a niito 
Of endless years, duration infinite ! " 
Of tilings inanimate my dial I 
Consulted, and it made me this rcjily, — 
" Time is the sea.sou fair ofliving well, 
The jiath of glory or the path of hell." 
I asked my liible, and methinks it said, 
" Time is tlie present hour, the ]iasl lias fled ; 
Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet 
On any human being rose or set." 
I asked old Father Time himself at last ; 
But in a moment he Hew swiftly past ; 
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 
I asked the mighty angel who .shall stand 
One foot on sea and one on .solid land : 
" Mortal ! " he cried, " the mystery now is o'er ; 
Time was. Time is, but Time sliall In- no more ! " 



THE JESTER'S SERMON. 

The .Tester shook his hood and bells, and leaped 
upon a chair ; 

The pages lauglied, the women screain(Ml, and 
tossed their scented hair ; 

The falcon whistled, staghounds bayed, the lap- 
dog barked without, 

The scullion droppeil the jiitclier brown, the 
cook railed at the lout ; 

The steward, counting out his gold, let pouch 
and money fall, — 

And why / because the Jester rose to sav grace 
in the hall ! 

The page idayei! with the heron's plume, the 

steward with his chain ; 
Tlie butler drummed upon the board, anil laughiil 

with might and main ; 
The grooms beat on their metal cans, and loand 

till they were red, — 
But still the .Tester shut his eyes and rolled his 

witty head, 
And when tliey grew a little still, read half a 

yard of text. 
And, waving hand, struck on the desk, then 

frowned like one perplexed. 

"Dear .sinners all," the fool began, "man's life 

is but a jest, 
A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor at the 

best. 



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730 



POEMii OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



•H3> 



t 



Ilia tlunisaiul iiouiuls of law 1 liiul not a siiiglo 

oiiiK'O of love ; 
A blind man killcil the parson's cow in shooting 

at the <lovo ; 
The fool that eats till he is siek must fast till he 

is well ; 
The wooer who ean Hatter most will hear away 

the belle. 

" Let no man halloo he is safe till he is thixniich 

the wood ; 
lie who will not when he may, must tarry when 

he sliould ; 
He who laughs at crooked men sliould need walk 

very stmight ; 
l\ he who oHce has won a name may lie abed 

till eight ; 
Make haste to puirhase house and land, Iw very 

slow to wed ; 
True eoral needs no jviinter's brush, nor neetl Iw 

daubed with red. 

'•The friar, jireaehing, cursed the thii'f \the pud- 
ding in his sleeva ) : 
To lish for sprats with golden hooks is foolish, 

by your leave ; 
To travel well, — an ass's ears, hog's mouth, and 

ostrieh legs ; 
He does not earo a pin for thieves who limps 

about aiul begs ; 
lie always first man at a feast and last man at a 

fmy ; 
The short way round, in spite of all, is still the 

longest way ; 
When the hungry ounite lieks the knife, there 's 

not nuK'h for the elerk ; 
When the pilot, t\irning jwle and siek, looks up 

— the storm grows dark." 

Then loud they laughed : the fat eook's tears ran 
down into the pan ; 

The stewanl shook, that bo was forced to drop 
the brimming ean ; 

And then ag;iin the women screamed, and every 
stflghoniul bayed, — 

And why ? because the motley fool so wise a ser- 
mon made, 

GEORGE Walter Thorxburv. 



LIFE AND ETERNTTT. 

I.IFE is the veil that liiiles eternity. 

Youth strives in vain to pierce it, but the eye 

Of age may catch, tlirough chinks which Time 

lias worn. 
Faint glimpses of that awful world beyond 
Which Death at last reveals. Thus life may be 



Compared to a tree's foliage ; in its prime, 
A mass of dark, impeneti-able shade. 
It veils the distant view ; but day by day, 
.\s autumn's breath is folt, the falling leaves, 
Opening a luissage for the doubtful light, 
Kxhibit to the gazer nioiv and more 
tMthat which lies Ix'yond — till winter conios, 
.\nd through the skeleton bninehes wo behold 
The clear, blue vault of day ! 

ANONYMOUS. 



TllK soul's dark cottage, l«ittered and decayed. 
Lets in new light tlmnigh chinks that time has 
made. 

Edmund Waller. 



THE THREE WARNINGS. 

The tree of deepest root is found 
Least willing still to quit the ground ; 
'T was therefore said by ancient sages. 

That love of life increased with yeiire 
So much, that in our latter stages, 
When imins grow sharp and sieknes.s iiiges, 

The greatest love of life appeal's. 
This great ati'ection to believe, 
Which all confess, but few perceive, 
If old assertions can't prevail. 
He pleasetl to hear a modern talc. 

When siiorts went round, and all were gay. 
On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day. 
Death called aside the jocund groom 
With him into another room, 
And, looking grave, " Vou must," saj's he, 
"Quit your sweet bride, and como with nie." 
" With you ! and ipiit my Susan's side ! 
With you ! " the hapless huslvind cried ; 
" Young as I am, 't is monstixius hard ! 
IV'sides, in truth, 1 'm not preimred : 
My thoughts on other mattei-s go ; 
This is my walding-day, you know." 

What more he urged I have not heaiil, 

His reasons could not well be stronger ; 
So Death the poor deliiujuent spared, 

And left to live a little longer. 
Y'et calling up a serious look. 
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke — 
" Neighbor," he said, " farewell ! no more 
Shall Death ilisturb your mirthful hour ; 
And further, to avoid all blame 
Of cruelty upon my name. 
To give you time for prejiaration. 
And fit you for your future station. 
Three several warnings you shall have. 
Before you 're summoned to the grave ; 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^r^ 



Willing for onco I 'II <|iiit my prny, 

Anil grant ii kiml ri'iirictvi', 
!n hoftcH yoii 'II liavo no inoro to «ay, 
r.iit when t call again this way, 

AVoll [ilcascil the wnrlil will leave." 
To these eon<litions both eonseiitcd, 
And [mrted perfectly contented. 

What next the hero of onr tale hefell, 
Ilow long he lived, how wine, how well, 
I low rniindly he pursued his course, 
And sniolieil his iii|)e, and stroked his horse, 

'I'he willing muse sliall tidl : 
He chad'ercMl, then lie bought and sohl. 
Nor once ]>erceived his growing ohl. 

Nor thought of Death as ncai- ; 
His friends not false, his wife no shrew, 
Many liis gains, his children few, 

lie passed liis hours in jieacc. 
I'.ut while lie viewed his wealth increase. 
While thus along life's dusty road 
'I'he beaten track content he trod. 
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spaies, 
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, 

Drought on liis eightieth year. 
And now, one night, in musing mood, 

As all alone he sate, 
'I'lie unwelcome messenger of Fate ■ 

Once more befori: him stood. 

Half kill.-d with angel and sur|inse, 
".So .soon returned !" Did Uod.son cries. 
" .So soon, d' ye call it ! " Death rcjilies ; 
"Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest ! 

Since I was hero before 
'T is six-and-thirty years at least. 

And you are now fourscore." 

"So much the worse," the clown rejoined ; 
"To spare the aged would be kind : 
However, sec your search be legal ; 
And your authority, — is 't regal ' 
F.lse you are come on a fool's errand. 
With but a secretary's warrant. 
I5eside, you promised mc three warnings, 
Which I h.ave looked for nights and mornings 
But for that loss of time and ease 
I can recover damages." 

" I know," cries Death, " tli.at at the best 
I si-Moni am a welcome guest ; 
But don't be captious, friend, at least : 
I little thought you 'd still be able 
To stump about your farm and stable : 
Your years have run to a gi-cat length ; 
I wish you joy, though, of your strength I " 

"Hold," says the fai-mcr, "not so fast I 
I have been lame these four years past." 



" And no groat wonder," Death replies ; 
" However, you still keep your eyes ; 
And sure, to see one's loves and friends 
For legs and aims would make amends." 

" I'erhaps," says Uod.son, " so it might. 
But latterly I 've lost my sight." 

" This is a shocking tale, 't is true ; 
But still there 's comfort left for you : 
Each strives your .sadness to amuse ; 
I warrant you hear all the; news." 

"There 's none," cries he; "anil if thi 
wiM-e, 
I 'm grown so ilcaf, I could not hear." 

" jN'ay, then," the sjK'Ctre stem lejoined, 
"These arc unjustiliable yearnings : 

If you are lame and deaf and blind. 
You 've had your three suflicient warnings ; 
So eomc along, no more we '11 pait." 
He said, and touched him with his dart. 
And now, Old Dodson, turning jialc. 
Yields to his fate, — so enils my tale. 

llhiTKK t.V.'.cll TIfRALP 



BUSY, CURIOUS, THIRSTY FLY. 

Bl'.sy, curiou.s, thirsty (ly. 
Drink with me, and drink as I ; 
Freely wideome to my ciiji, 
Coiildst thou sip and sip it up. 
Make the most of life you may ; 
Life is short, and wears away. 

Both alike are mine and thine. 
Hastening ipiick to their decline ; 
Thine 's a summer, mine no more. 
Though ntpeated to threescore. 
'Direescore summers, when they 're gone. 
Will appear as short as one. 

Vl.sciwr BOL'K.V: 



An ! jioor intoxicated little knave. 
Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave ; 
Why not content the cakes alone to munch ' 
Dearly thou pay'st for buzzing round the liowl ; 
l/ost to the world, thou busy sweet-lipped soul — 
Thus Death, as well as Pleasure, dwells with 
runeh. 

Now let me take thee out, and moralize, — 
Thus 't is with mortals, as it is with /lies. 
Forever hankering after Pleasure's cup : 
Though Fate, with all his legion.s, be at hand. 
The beasts the draught of Circe can't withstand, 
But in goes eveiy nose, — they must, will sup. 



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731: 



FUEMS OF SENTIME^XT AND liEFLECTIUN. 



-a 



ILul are tile passions, as ii colt uiitiinieil ! 

When I'l'udence mounts their baeks to riile 
them miia, 
Tlicy lling, they snort, they I'oiim, they rise in- 
Ihuned, 
Insisting on their own sole will so wild. 

riadslnui ! my bnz/.ing friend, thou art not dead ; 
The Fates, so kind, have not yet snapped thy 

thread ; 
By heavens, thou mov'st a leg, and now its 

brother, 
And kicking, lo, again, thou mov'st another ! 

And now thy little drunken eyes unclose, 
And now thou feelest for thy little nose, 

And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands, 
Much as to say, " I 'ni glad 1 'ni here again." 
And well mayst thou rejoice, — 't is very ]ilain, 

Tliat near wert thou to Death's unsocial lands. 

And now thou rollest on thy back about, 
Happy to fmd thyself alive, no doubt ; 

Now turnest, — on the table making rings ; 
Now crawling, forming a wet track ; 
Now shaking the rich liquor from thy back ; 

Now fluttering nectar from thy silken wings ; 

Now standing on thy head, thy strengtli to lind. 
And poking out tliy small, long legs behind ; 
And now thy pinions dost thou briskly ply ; 
Preparing now to leave me, — farewell, fly ! 

Oo, join thy brothera on yon .sunny board. 
And rapture to thy family allbrd, — 

There wilt thou meet a mistress, or a wife. 
That saw thee, drunk, drop senseless in the 

stream ; 
Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream. 
Ami now sits groaning for thy precious life. 
Yes, go ami carry comfort to thy friends. 
And wisely tcU tlicni thy imprudence ends. 

Let buns ami sugar for the future charm ; 
These will delight, and feed, and work no harm,— 

While Punch, the grinning, merry imp of sin. 
Invites the unwary wanderer to a kiss. 
Smiles in his face, as though he meant him bliss. 

Then, like an alligator, di-ags him in. 

John wolcott (Petkr Pindar). 



fr- 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 

If every man's internal oare 
Were written on his brow. 

How many would our pity share 
Who raise our cnvr now ? 



The fatal secret, when revealed, 

Of every aching breast, 
Would prove that only while concealed 

Their lot apjieared the best. 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM REC- 
OLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

TiiKUK was a time when meadow, grove, and 

stream, 
The earth, and every common sight, 
To me did seem 
Appareled in celestial light, — ■ 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore : 
Turn whei-esoe'er I may, 
I5y night or day. 
The tilings wliicli 1 have seen I now can see no 
more. 

The rainbow comes and goes, 
And lovely is the rose ; 
The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens ar«^ hare ; 
Waters on a starry night 
Are heantifnl and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go. 
That there hath passed away a glory from tho 
earth. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of gi'ief ; 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief. 

And 1 again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the 

stee)), — 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. 
1 hear the echoes through the mountains throng ; 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves u]) to jollity ; 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — • 
Thou child of joy. 
Shout rounil me, let me hear thy shouts, thou 
happy shepherd boy ! 



Yo blessed creatures ! I have heard the call 
Ye to each other make ; I see 

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival. 
My head hath its coronal, - 



^ 



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fUEMS UF tiENTlMKNT AND UEFLKCTlON. 



T6-i 



■a 



The fulness of your bliss, I IVel, I fuel it all. 

evil day ! if I were siiUi'ii 
While earth herself is adorning, 

This sweet May nioruiiig, 
And Ihe children are culling, 

' )n every side. 
In a thousand valleys far and wide. 
Fresh llowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's ami, — 

1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! — 
But there 's a tree, of many one, 

A single Held which I have looked upon, — 
lioth of them speak of something that is gone ; 

The pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat. 
Wluther is (led the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, tlie glory and thci dream ? 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
The soul tliat rises with us, our life's star, 

Hath h.ad elsewhere its setting, 
And eonieth from afar. 

Not in entire foigetfulness. 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing I'.uy ; 
But he beholds tlie light, ;ind whence it flows, — 

He sees it in his joy. 
The Youth vvlio daily farther from the cast 

Must travel, still is nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die aw.ay. 
And fade into the light of common ilay. 

F.arth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. 

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kiml ; 

And even with something of a mother's minil, 
And no unworthy aim. 
The homely nurse doth all slie can 

To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 
Forget the glories he hath known. 

And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Bcbiilil the iliild .iniong his new-liorn blisses, — 
.4 six years' darling of a pygmy size- ! 
See, where mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. 
With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
.See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly learned art, — 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mounting or a funeral, — 
And this hath now his heart. 



And unto this he frames his song. 
Then will ho fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside. 

Anil with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part, — 
Filling from time to lime his "humorous stage" 
With all the persons, down to palsied age. 
That life brings with her in her eijuipage ; 

As if hi.s whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

T'hou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ! 
Thou best philosopher, who yet "lost keep 
Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted forever by the eternal mind ! — 
Mighty prophet ! Seer blest, 
On whiiH] th(is(' tiaiths do rest 
Which ue are t(jiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkm;ss of the grave ! 
Thou over whom thy immortality 
Bloods like the day, a master o'er a .slave, 
A presence whicli is not to be put by ! 
Tliou little child, yet glorious in the might 
(Jf heaven-liorn freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
Thus l)lindly with thy blessedness at .strife? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon \\wx: witli a weight 
Heavy as frost, and dci'ii almost as life ! 

O joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live; 
That Nature yet remembers 
Wliat was .so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not, indeed. 
For that which is most worthy to be blest, — 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of cliildhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his 
breast : — 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate ((uestionings 
Of sense and outward thing.s, 
Fallings from us, vanishings. 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
H igh instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised, — 
But for those first affections. 
Those shadowy recollections. 
Which, be they what they m.ay. 



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POKJUS or AUSJ^lMJiNT AXD HrFlECTlOy. 



[Q- 



Are yet the l\nmtaiu-lij;ht of all ohi- d»y. 
Are yet a master lij;ht of all our seeing, 

UphoM us, clierisli, ami have ^lower to make 
Our noisy yeai-s seem moments in the K-inj; 
or the eternal silenw : truths that wake. 

To perish never, — 
Whiih neither listlessness, nor mail endeavor. 

Nor man nor Ik\v, 
Kor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolislt or vU>sti-oy ! 

Henee, in a st\-«son of calm weather, 
Thongh iulantl far we be. 
Our souls have sij;ht of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither, — 
Can in a ujoment travel thither. 
And see the ohiUlivn sport uiKin the sliore. 
And hear the mighty watei^ ivUiug evermore. 

Then sing, ye bii\ls, sijig, sing a joyous siwig ! 

And let the young Uuulvs IkhukI 

As to the taK>r's sound ! 
We in thought will join your thivng. 

Ye that pijie and ye that play. 

Ye that tliivugh your hearts ttvday 

yeel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the mdianee which was oMce so 

bright 
He now forever taken fix>m my sight. 

Though nothing can bring Iwck the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, — 

We will grieve not, i-ather tind 

Strength in what remains Whind ; 

In the primal synn>iithy 

Which, having Wen, must ever be ; 

In the swthiug thoughts that spring 

Out of human sutferitig ; 

In the faith that looks threugh death. 
In years that bring the phiKv<ophic mind. 

And ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, 

ForelnKle not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts 1 fwl your might ; 

1 only have reliunuislie<.l one delight 

To live lieneatli your more habitual swav. 

1 love the brexiks which down their ehauuels 

fret, 
Kveu more than when 1 trip]>e»l lightly as they ; 
The innocent brightness of a new-lwu day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The donds tliat gsither round the setting sun 
Oo take a siUH>r wloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another rsu-e hath been, and other i>alnis are won. 
Thanks to the luunan heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and Teal's, — 
To me the meanest tlower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

WiLUAM W\>ltDS\VOKr(l. 



SOULtHJUY; OU IMMl)Kl'.\iaiV. 

fKOM "CtTO." 

t r must be so. — Plato, thou I^i^aso^^est well < 
Else whem^i this jjeasiug hope, this fond desire, 
This longing after immortality < 
Or wheni-e this sei'ret drea»l, and inwanl horror. 
Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul 
I5ack on hei-self, and startles at destruction ? 
'Tis the divinity that stii-s within us ; 
'T is Heaven itself, that iK>ints out a hereafter. 
And intimates eternity to mtui. 

Kternity ! — thou jJeasing, divtidfnl tliought ! 
Through what variety of untrievl Wing, 
Through what new scenes and changes, umst we 

pass ! 
The w ide, the unlK>unde»l pi\is[>e<.t lies l>efore \n»< ; 
l>nt sliadows, clond.s, and tlaikness rest uivn it. 
Here will 1 hold. If there s a tVwer aK<ve us 
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works\ he must delightin virtue; 
And that which he delights in must \v happy. 
But when ' or where ' This woild was made for 

Oa'Siir. 
I 'm weary of eorytvtures, — this must end them. 
[Lat/iHti his hand on hia suvnl. 
Thus am 1 doubly armed : my death anvl life. 
My liaue and antidote, are Wth Wfore me. 
This in a motnent brings tue to an end ; 
But this informs me 1 shall never die. 
The soul, set'urtxl in her e.xistemv, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its jxnnt. 
The stai-s sliall fade away, the sun himself 
Oivw dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt tlourisli in immortal youth. 
Unhurt amid the war of elenumts. 
The wnvk of matter, and the crush of worlds ! 

jOSKPH Ae01Sv>.N. 



PRK-EXISTENCE. 

Whilb SiUinteriug through thecrowdtsl stiwt, 
Some half-reniemberwl face 1 meet. 

AlWut uj>on no mortal shore 

That face, methinks, has smiled Wfore. 

Lost in a gay and festal throng, 
I tremble at some tender song, — 

Set to an air whose golden bars 
I must have heard in other stars. 



In sacitnl aisles 1 pause to share 
The ble.<sings of a priestly prayer. 



^ 



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POKMH Ob' SENTIMENT AND HE FLECTION. 



73: 



T^ 



y^- 



Wlieii tlie wliole scene wliicli greets mine eyes 
In some strange moile I recognize 

As one whose every mystic part 
I feel jirefigureil in my lieart. 

At snnsi-(, :is I eahnly staml, 
A stranger on an alien strand, 

Familiar as my cliil.llioo.rs lionje 

Si-'cms tlie long streleh of wave and foam. 

One sails toward me o'er tlie liay, 
And what lie eonu-s to do and say 

I I an loii'till. A prescient lore 
Spiiiigs from sonie life outlived of yore. 

(I swift, instinctive, startling gleams 
Of deep soul-knowledgc ! not as drmins 

I'm- aye ye vaguely dawn and die, 
l!ut oft with lightning certainty 

I'iiice through the dark, oblivious brain, 

To make old thoughts and memories ]dain, — 

Tliouglits wliieh jiereliance must travel back 
Ari'oss the wild, bewildering track 

Of countless teons ; memories far, 
lligli-reaching as yon i)allid star, 

I'liknown, scarce seen, whose flickering grace 
Faints on llie outmost rings of space ! 

TAUL II. IlAVNfi. 



A LOST CHORD. 

SKA'i'f.i) otie day at the organ, 
1 was weary and ill at ease. 

And my fingers wandered idly 
Over the noi.sy keys. 

1 dn not know what 1 was playing, 
Oi what I was dreaming then, 

Hut I struck one chord of music, 
Like the sound of a great amen. 

It Hooded the crimson twilit;ht, 
Like the cIo.se of an angel's psalm. 

And it lay on my fevered spirit, 
With a touch of infniite calm. 

It (|uieted pain and sorrow, 
Like love overcoming strife ; 



It seemed tlie Iiarmonious echo 
From our discordant lile. 

It linked all perplexed meanings 

Into one perfect jieaee. 
Anil trembled away into silence. 

As if it were loath to cease. 

I have sought, but I seek it vainly, 

Tliat one lost chord divine, 
That came from the soul of the organ. 

And entered into mine. 

It may be that Death's bright angel 
Will s]ieak in that chord again ; 

It may lie th.at only in lieaven 
I shall hear that grand amen. 

Adiii.aioI£ annh Procter 



THE DIAMOND. 

.Stak of the (lowers, and llcjwr'r of the stars. 

And earth of the earth art thou ! 
Aiiri darkness hath battles, and light hath 
wars 

That pass in thy biaulifiil brow. 

The eye of the grouu'l thus was planted liy 
heaven, 
And the dust was new wed to the sun, 
And the monarch went forth, and the earth-star 
was given. 
That shoulil back to the heaven-star nin. 

So in all things it is : the first origin lives. 

And loves his life out to his Hock ; 
And in dust and in matter and nature lie 
gives 
The spirit's last sjiark to the rock. 

jAMes John Garth Wilkinson. 



Ai.AS for them ! their day is o'er. 

Their fires are out on hill and shore ; 

No more for them the wild deer bounds. 

The plow is on their hunting-grounds ; 

The piale man's ax rings through their woods. 

The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods ; 

Their pleasant springs are dry ; 
Their children, — look, by power opprest, 
Beyond the mountains of the west, 

Their children go to die. 

Charles Sprac:ue 



-^ 



a- 



rs(5 



i>iiiAjiii! or sKxirnKxr anh jtKnjivmos. 



fb 



Mohiv*^ <lv\ {viuivws ill Ui\ uj<\v»j\l rtijtUt ! 

Of u>W: :o>iivsf "V 'V s*^""** ; 

l>i«>kf««vs uxo lijsiu auvl Mv>t(i«j; «wl «ho smx ; 
l!o thou, IHV mwjXAN m>\v*>\l ftxmx this Uvortl*, 
Auvl ask the J^xls u> jv.-u\W this clear tUmo, 

UkOiKV lVkVU> Vtlv-St.VV 



l.O\V-,VNCHOK»a> v\v>VUl, 

NowfvHiuitlsuU sir, 
Fouutaiu-hi\^d ajul sv'Uiw vxf ii\ws, 

IVw-ch^h. vlrwuuHUxivrv, 

Ami uajvkiH sjxtwxvl \>y fi>,vs ; 

Urittiivjj uxs'Xvlow ivf til* air. 
Whoiv Wixnu the »l»is»e«l Iwnks suul viiv'iets, 
Au»l iu \vhoss»> lVmi\- labvr«t>th 
The Wtteni Khxius auvl Iwwu \\-aih\< ; 
^jxint i^f lake's iutil seas anU nvei's, — 
IVnu" vMtly \»erl\>u\es auvl the seeut 
Of ht^li»i^ herl>s tv> jttst meji's tiehls, 

UVtNRV tUVlP TttvVKBAV, 



JJKWIVKT UluVCH 

Wavk at'kor wave smx^Nssivxcly r\>Hs ou 

Au>l dies aUxus; the sKoiv, until nuMV Unul 

One WlU>\v with v^uuvutj-ate lv'rvt> is h<>ai\l 

IV swx'U {>ivi>l\etiv-, and exvtltaut ixvars 

A luvH'Ht fonu alwve its jnouivrs, 

AikI msh«>s iv>st them tv> the farthest j^vxl. 

Thus our ttnuttei\>l tWUtvjjs ris<> !U\>1 fall. 

Auvl thv>>vj;ht will follow thought iu wjual wa\•l^s, 

Tutil tvtUvtioJi uer\>\< lUvsVjjti tv> will, 

iM- seutinxent v^'er ohiui^-o emotion r<-i^>s, 

.\uvl all its waywstvl undwlatious Weiuls 

In ojxe o'erwhehuiujt surj;* ! 



TO A SKBUSTOK. 

IVtto MSS. v>l; this ^ss^«^ wtttch 41hv«iv.X vKnil^ tN*.- 6r. 



This u»rt\wv oell was Ule's (vo^v-tt ; 
riiis s\vnv was Thotvght's ntystvrious «>«t. 
What ly«ute\n>s visivxus fillevl this si^n 1 
What >lix>«ins ol' jiUsasuiv louji foi^>t I 
N>>i' ho|H\ Uivrjoy, uor love, uov lv\«r 
Have lott oite t>«er- of r<\vt\l heiv, 

IVueath this utouUleriuj; v««oj>y 

OuvV shone the Ui^jlxt ami Imsy ew ; 

I5ut start not at the vlismal vwivl, - 

If svvial love that eye en>(\loy<M, 

If with no lawhvss tiiv it jjhstun^l, 

l>ut tluvujjh the dews of kiudue^ KnxuunI, 

That eye sltall K> fowver hi ijjht 

When stars and suu aiv sunk in uij;l>t. 

Within this hollow cavern hun^s 
The ready, swift, atid tu«el\ll toivjjue ; 
If Valselnsxl's liouey it disvlainevl, 
,Vi\d when it wuld not \>r«ise v>-»s ehaiutnl : 
ir KxKl iu Virtue's cause it .six>fce. 
Yet j^-ntle v\MU\>i\l never hivke, - 
This silent tot>j:«e shall i>U\ad for thwi 
When 'nme tiuv<>ils Ktetuity ! 

5^ay, vliil th<>si> tiuj^-is ilelw the tniiw ! 
Or with the euvie»l r«l>i<v< sl>iiu> ,' 
To hew the «\vk, or wi\-»r a jitein, 
t'ait little now avail to them, 
l<nt it" the ^>aJ)^< of 'f^nith they svnijiht. 
Or vvutfort to the mourner Ixivujjht, 
Thesi' hanvls a richer m«H\I sltall claim 
Thixn all that wait on Wealth and Kaute, 

Avails it whether Iwix' or sluxl 
rUesi" fivt the jiaths of dtity tixxl ! 
If iVut the l<owers of Kas<> they tU\l, 
To siH'k .Vtlliction's humUe sluxl ; 
If Oraudeur's gitilty hril»> they spurne*l. 
And home to Virtue's <vt ivtunwxl. — 
Thi\<»x r<x>t with angel winjjs shall vi<s 
And tr«\td the ivxlaixx of the sky ! 



THK SKinX 

rSOM "CMllPR «ARO>l\" 

Rkmovk yon skull from ont the swittenxl 

hea)v$ : 
Is that a temi»le wher\x a i^xl may dwell ' 
Why even the wvrm at last dis^lains her shat- 

tejwl v-ell ! 



fr*- 



Bkhoux this min ! T was a skull 
Oiux' xxf ethetvMl sjvirit full. 



r.ook on its broken aw'h, its rnin«xl wsdl. 
Its chatnlx'rs d<>sv>late, and |x>rtals foul : 
Yes, this \v;>s o«>x> Ambition's airy h.-Ul, 
The dome of Thoujiht, the \vU«>x> of the Sonl ; 



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c::^- 



I'OKUH Oil' HICSriMENT AND nrji'LLCT/ON. 



737 



,ra 



fr.- 



lU-.iioUL tUfimnit '■Jii.h la/:k-liJJitr<r, nyaUim luAit 

'I'ili: l^ty )<«;<;»» of WiwJ/y/ll alul </f V>'jt, 

Ao't I'luvii/iii'ii \ujst, t)«it )i<;v<,-r i/n»ik>-A <-j/ii- 

t<o) ; 
'/'an all saint, nnscu or hijjiUUit -.vnr writ, 
\''ii\i\i; this \mii:)y UiW'ir, tlius tijocwont r<;fit ? 

V'ft iC, ;i» lioliifflt IH/!H liav<: lUvtliiini, tlwrre tx; 
A laii'l ';f !s<>ul» UiytiH'l tliat ssaUi; «)i/<(<», 
7'<< iiliaiiii; tlw! iliH-Xiilii: of tli'; HtuhUu'j":, 
Ami >s'/j<liLi<t«, MHitty vain of 'Jiihi/jijo loi': ; 
Mow i)W<'^;t it W<;l<: ill lAiui'MIt ill a/li/i'; 
With tli</w; wji/y iiiaiU: <iur iiii>rU)\ bU/ns li^lit I 
7'o li«ai' ea/;!) foi/* vw; t'tmnA to Jural' iio inoi<; I 
l'«;))ol'l i!.>/.l) iiii^lity B)ia/I/! r<!V<,-a|/r'J Uj »ii({)<l, 
7'li<; l/Ji/.-tiiaii, Haiiiiaii k»(^i;, aii'l ail who taujjht 
th<; ligljt I 



MIONOK'K HOMO. 

I'fX/U "WttAililM Ul'.tVIV.V.,- 

K^(iw')n thou til'.- hui'l wii<;i<; b|/yjiji til'! citron 

lx>w<ji», 
VVInTi; tin: goU-oiaiigi: liglitss tin; fliiJiky grovi; '( 
lligli wav<;(i tli<; laiii<;l ttii;rir, tli>r liiyitli; flow"fi>., 
AikI thioiigh a istill hluo h<Miv<:ii lh<: «wi«t wiii'Jji 

10 VI:. 
Kiiow'ut thou it w<;ll ; 

'I'lii;;':, thi.-X; witli thi* 
fiii!U<l, \i)iiA oil'; ! iaiii my iit/,-(« woul'i 11'*. 

Know'st thou th'; 'IwcDing?— then; th'; [lillani 

liw;, 
Kofi »hiii';» th'; hall, th'.' imniti'l i;harijl>';r)i glow ; 
Aii'l fornoi of inaihl'! wmw with pitying ';yi;)i 
'I'o say, " JVir';liil'i I what thua hath wrought 

th';': wo*; y " 
Know'st thou it W';ll ? 

There, th'rTC with tli';«, 
my [irot'-.et'jr ! hoiiiewar'In might 1 fl';'; ! 

Know'st thou the mountain ? — high its hri'lge 

i» hung. 
Where the muh; sfrekn through mint an'l ';lou<l 

hin way ; 
'I'herc lurk the 'Iragon-ra're, •\hi:]) ';av'w among, 
U'er lK;'!tling roekx there f'jams the Uirreut spray. 
Know'st thou it well ? 

With thee, with th';c. 
There lies my path, father I l';t ii» ««« ! 

From itiT '^rriftan '/f '»liT/ir-, 
t^y l-el.l'.IA ni'.UAn-i. 

INDIAN NAMKB. 

Yb say they .all have juihivA away. 

That nohl'! rai* an<l hi-avc ; 
That their light '«in'x;s have vaiii«h';<l 

From off the c.niiU-A wave ; 



Tlwt mill tiKr f';r'Mts wl)i,-re tli^rv r'/aiiwl 
'I'heie lingo no huiit«r'ii shout ; 

IJut lloiir name i« on ynir wat/.-re, 
Ve may not wa»h it </ut, 

'T is where Oi,' 

Like 'Ar-sin' 
Where str'/ng , ms wak« 

'X'lw! ';«Im> of the w'/rl/i. 
Where r';/! Jlisviurj l«i«geth 

lii'ih tributx; from the Wiait, 
AikI lt:»|/(«haiin'>';k »W';/;tly >.l';<p>i 

On giipi;n Virginia's l/ieast. 

Ve say their ijiwAi^i): 'aibins, 

That elu»U;|.;/| o'.;r th< val':. 
Have (I'->1 away like wither';^! haives 

I{<.-fore the autumn fjale ; 
Kutth. ;• v^rhilK, 

Thej, 
Y'^jre.' 

Th..-ir.l,;.|-'. vfyoj.;. 

Ol'i ifassa/rhuwrtts w'«rs it 

l.'(X;M her loi'JIy <,ioiin, 
AiM hr<>a<) Ohio Urais it 

Ami'l his young renown ; 
f,'onii';'.li';ut hath wr'<itli';'l it 

Where her 'juiet foliage wav'« ; 
An'l UM K'fntueky l/r<«ithe4 it h'/aiv: 

Through all her aneient 'aves, 

Wax.hujcjtt Iii'l'rs its lingering voi'.-e 

Within his r'A;ky h'-art. 
Ami All'fghany graves its tone 

Throughout his lofty ';hart ; 
Mona/ln'A;k on his loreli'ra'l \ii,v 

iJoth wal th'! tuv-.n-ji trust ; 
Your niountainn huiW th<-ir monument. 

Though ye 'lestroy their 'lust. 

Ye eall th'fls'; r'!'l-Iirow';'l hi'.-thr'.-n 

The inseets of an hour, 
Crushe'l like the n'/t<-l';ss worm aniM 

The I'fgions of their j/'/wer ; 
Y'! 'irive Ih'.-m from their fathers' laii'ls. 

Ye hreak of faith th'' W!al, 
Hut ';an ye from the eouit of Il'siven 

Kxelu'le their last apfcjal ? 

Ye w;*; their unresisting trilx;s, 

With t/iilwjme st"/) an'l slow. 
On through the tra':kl';ss •hm-.ei pass, 

A 'airavan of wx: ; 
Think ye the Kt/;mal Kar in 'lr;af ! 

His sl'xipless vision 'lim ? 
Think ye the mul'n hlvxl may not cry 

From that far lan<l Vi him ? 

l.vi/iA ll'ixn.ny Kir.ovyi 



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e-- 



738 



POEMU OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



■^ 



THE POET OF TO-DAY. 

More thun tlu' soul of aucieiit song is given 
To tliee, [loct of to-day ! — tliy dower 

Comes, fioni ii liiglier than Olynnnan Leaven, 
In holier beauty and in lai-ger power. 

'I'll tliee Humanity, her woes revealing, 

\\'ould uU her griefs and aneient wrongs re 
hearse ; 

Would make thy song the voiee of her appealing 
.\nil sob her mighty sorrows through thv verse 



While in her season of great darkness sharing. 
Hail thou the ooniing of eaeh promise-star 

Whieh elimbs the midnight of her long despair- 
ing, 
.Vud wateh for morning o'er the hills afar. 

Wherever Truth her holy warfare wages, 

Or Freedom pines, there let thy voice bo heard ; 

Sound like a prophet-warning down tlie ages 
The hunnin utterance of God's living word. 

But bring not thou the battle's stormy chorus. 
The tramp of armies, and the roar of light. 

Not war's hot smoke to taint the sweet morn 
o'er us, 
Xor blaze of pillage, reddening up the night. 

0, let thy lays prolong that angel-singing, 
I'irdling with nuisie the Redeemer's star. 
And breatlie (iod's peace, to earth 'glad tidings' 
bringing 
From the near heavens, of old so dim and far ! 
Sakah J. LippiNCOTT (Grace Greu.nwood). 



ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE, 

Ye distant spires, ye anticine towers. 

That erowu the watery glade. 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade ; 
.\ud ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 
t)f grove, of lawn, of mead survey ; 

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 

Wanders the hoary Thames along 
Ills silver-winding way ! 

.Ml, happy hills ! ah, pleasing .shade I 

.•\.h, fields beloved in vain ! 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain : 
I feel the gales that from yo blow 
\ momentary hliss bestow. 



As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
My weary sonl they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth. 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race. 
Disporting on thy margent green. 

The paths of pleasure trace, 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm thy glassy wave ? 
Tlie captive linnet which inthrall ? 

What idle progeny succeed 

To chase the rolling eirelc's sjieed, 
Or urge the llying ball ? 

While some, on earnest business bent. 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty, 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign, 
And unknown ix'gions dare descry : 

Still as they run, they look behind ; 

They hear a voice in every wind, 
And snatch a fearful joy. 

(lay hope is theirs, by hincy fed, 

Less pleasing when possessed ; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast. 
Theirs bu.\om health of rosy hue, 
Willi wit, invention ever new. 
And lively cheer of vigor born ; 

The thoughtless day, the easy night. 

The spirits pure, the slumbers light. 
That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom. 

The little victims play ; 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day ; 
Vet see how all around them wait 
The ministers of human fate. 
And black Misfortune's baleful train. 

Ah ! show them where in ambush stand. 

To seize their prey, the murderous band ; 
Ah, tell them they are men 1 

These shall the fury passions tear. 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, jiallid Fear, 

And Shiime, that skulks behind ; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth. 
Or Je-alousy with nuikling tooth. 
That inly gnaws the secret heart ; 

And Envy wan, and faded Care, 

Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, 
And Sorrow's piercing dart 



--& 



[Q- 



POEMS OF SKNl'lMENT AND REFLEVTION. 



"7^ 



Ambition this shall tempt to lise, 

Then whirl the wi-etch from high, 
To bitter Seorii a sacrifice, 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall trj', 
And hard Unkindness' altered eye, 
That mocks, the tear it forced to flow ; 
And keen Remorse witli blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laugliing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

Lci ! in the vale of years Ijcneath 

A grisly troop aie seen, - - 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their cjueen : 
Tliis racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every laboiing sinew strains, 
Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 

Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band. 

That numbs the soul witli icy hand ; 
And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his suil'erings : all aic men. 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain. 

The unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate. 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 
And happiness too swiftly flies ! 

Thought would destroy their paradise. 

No more ; where ignorance is bliss, 
'T is folly to lie wise. 



MY MOTHER'.S PICTTTRE. 

THAT those li])s had language ! Life has passed 
With me but roughly since 1 lieard thee last. 
Those lips arc thine, — thy own sweet smile I see, 
Tlie same that oft in childhood .solaced me; 
V(iii:e only fails, else liow distinct they say, 
"Orieve not, my child; chase all thy fears 

away ! " 
The meek intelligence of tho"sc dear eyes 
cl'ilest be the art that can immortalize. 
The ai-t that baffles time's tyrannic claim 
'I'd quench it !) here shines on me still the .same. 

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear ! 
ri wflcome guest, though une.\liecte(l here ! 
WIhi bidVt me Iiouor with an artless song, 
Allri f iniiifc, a mother lost so long. 

1 will .jlicy, — not willingly alone, 

Ihit gladly, as the precept were her own ; 
And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, — 
Kliall .steep me in Elysian revery, 
A momentary dream that thou art .she. 



My mother ! when I learned tliat thou wast 

dead. 
Say, wa.st thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy .son-owing son, — 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; 
Perliaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day ; 
1 .saw the hearse that bore thee slow away ; 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art 

gone 
Adieus and farewells area sound unknown ; 
May I but meet thei- on that ]iea<;elul .shore, 
Tlie parting word shall pass my lips no more. 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern. 
Oft gave me jiromise of thy ipiick return ; 
What ardently 1 wi.sl[eil 1 longbelic'ved. 
And, disajipointed still, was still deceiviul, — 
By exjiectation every day beguiled, 
Dupa of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a .sad to-morrow came and went. 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows s])ent, 
I learned at last submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 
Where once we dwelt our name is lieard no 

more. 
Children not thine have trod my nui-sery floor : 
And where the gar<lener liobin, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way, — 
Delighted with my bawble coach, and wrapped 
In scarlet mantle warm and velvet cap, — 
'T is now Ijccome a history little known 
That once we called the ]iastoral house our own. 
Short-livetl possession ! but the record fair 
That memoi'y keeps of all thy kin<lne.ss there 
Still outlives many a .storm that has elfaccd 
A thou.sand other themes, htss deeply tracccl : 
Tiiy nightly visits to my chamber nnide, 
That thou mightst know me safeand warmly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, — 
The biscuit, or confectionery plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
By thv own hand, till fiesh they shone and 

"glowed, — 
All thi.s, and, more endearing still than all. 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, — 
Ne'er rougheiieil by tlio.se cataracts and breaks 
That liumor interposed too often makes ; 
All this, still legible in memory's jiage. 
And still to he so to my latest age. 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may, — 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, — 
Not scorned in he.aven, tliough little noticed 

here. 



y^- 



& 



o^ 



-U) 



POEMS OF SEI^TIMENT AND liEFLECTION. 



n 



h 



OouUl time, his llight i-ovoi'stHl, n'stow the 
horn's 
AVhoii, phiyius witli thy vostiuv's UssuoU How- 

Ill's — 

Tho vioh't, the i>iiik, tho jossnmiuo — 

I |>iii'ko<l thi'iu into (hiiht with « ('in 

^Aiul thou wust hiiii\iii>ilhimuu'si'lt' tlio wliilo — 

WouUlst softly siH'"''> ""'' sti'oko my lioiul ami 

smilo) — 
t'oiiUl thoso tVw plonsant iliiys again a[>i)ear, 
Mijtlit Olio wish biiiij' thoiii, wouUl 1 wish thoni 

hoit< I 
I woiilil not trust my lu-art, — tho iloav ilolight 
Sfi'iiis so to l«' lU'siivil, iiorliai>s 1 mij;ht. 
Hut 110, — what lioiv wo call our lifo is suoli, 
8o littlo to bo lovoil, ami thou so uiiuh, 
I'hat 1 shoiilil ill iviiuito thoo to ooiistiiiiii 
'I'hy uubouiul sjiiiit into hoiuls again, 

'I'hou — as a gallant hiik, fnnu .'Vlhioii's coast, 
(Tho stovuis all woathoivd ami tho oooaii cit.ksseil,') 
Shoots into poit at somo woll-havoiuHl islo, 
Whoiti siiicosbvoathoaiul biiglitov soasoiis smilo ; 
Thoix' sits iiuiosioiit on tho llooils, tliat show 
Hor bonutfous t'oiiu ivItoctoU oloar bolow, 
Wliilo ail's iminvgnattxl with inooiiso play 
Arouiul liei', fanning liglit hor stivainors gay, — 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast ivaolioil tho 

slunv 
" Wlioro toiiiposts iiovor boat nor billows ivar " : 
And thy lovoil ooiisort on tho »langoi\>us ti<.l« 
0( lifo long simo has anohoivd by thy siilo. 
lint mo, siaivo hoping to attain that n>st. 
Always fivin port withhold, always distivssed, — 
Mo howling blasts drivo devious, tompost-tossod, 
Sails ripjH'd, soaius oivning wido, ami oonnmss 

Uxst ; 
And day by day somo onrivnt's thwarting foivo 
Sots ino inoi'<> distant fi'om a pixwpei-ous ooui-so. 
Yot 0, tho thought that thou art safo, mid 

ho ! - 
That thought is joy, arrivo what may to mo. 
My boast is not that I doduoo my birth 
V'lxnn loins oiithivnod, and ruloi's of I ho oarth ; 
Hut liighov far my pnmd pivtonsions riso, — 
Tho sou of pamnts jmssod into tho skios. 
And now, fannvoll ! — Time, uni'tivoked, has 

run 
His woiitod oourso ; yet what 1 wished is 

done. 
By oouteniplation's help, not sought in vain, 
1 seem to have lived my eliiUlluHHl o"or again, — 
To have nniewed the joys that onee weiv miuo, 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
.■\nd, while the wings of fancy still are free. 
Ami 1 can view this mimio show of thee. 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft, — 
Thyself ivmovcd, thy power to siHithe mo left, 
William Cowpkr. 



RKVENOE OF INJURIES, 

TllK faiivst action of our hiiiimn life 

Is scorning to revenge' an injury : 
l''or who forgives without a further strife 

His advei'sary's heart to him doth tie : 
.\ml 't is a lirmer comiuest truly said 
To will tho heart than overthi'ow tho head. 

If wo a worthy enemy do timl. 

To yield to worth, it must be nobly done ; 
Hut if of l«iser metal be Ids mind. 

In Uise ivvenge there is no honor won. 
Who would a worthy courage overtliiiiw ' 
.\ml who would wivstlo with a worthless foe ? 

We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield ; 
Hecause they cannot yield, it proves llieiii 
poor ; 
tiivat hearts are tasked beyond their power but 
sold : 
The weakest lion will the loudest rmir. 
Truth's school for certain does this same allow, 
High-heiu'todness doth soinetimos teach to Ihiw. 



FAITH. 

liKrrKi! trust all and bo deceived. 
And weep that trust and that ileoeiving. 
Than doubt one heart that, if lielieved. 
Had blessed one's life with true believing. 

O, in this mocking world too fast 
T'lie doubting lieiul o'citakes our youth ; 
Hotter be cheated to the last 
Thau lose the blessed hoi)e of truth. 

l-KANCUS AN.S'B KtJMllLB 



JUDGE NOT. 

.Tl'HOK not ; the workings of his brain 
And of his heart thou canst not se« ; 

What looks to thy dim eyes a stain. 
In IuhI's puix> light may only Iw 

A scar, brought I'liun some well-won lield, 

Wheiv thou wouldst only faint and yield. 

The look, the air, that fMs thy sight 

May bo a token that below 
The soul has closed in deadly tight 

Willi some infernal liery foe, 
Whose glance would scoivh thy smiling grace, 
And east thee sliudderiug on thy face ! 

The fall thou dart'st to despise, — 
May bo the angel's slackemxl hand 



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iD-*- 



P0EM8 OF SENTIMENT AND BEFLEOTION. 



741 



^ 



^- 



Hun Ku(r<!ii:il it, that Ik; may Hue 

Ami tak<j a linin!!, buiim' Btaiul ; 
Or, tniHtirig W.m to earthly things. 
May h«ii<;i!l<)rtli learn to uw; hi« wings. 

Aii'l jii'lj^e nom: lo«t ; but wait anil sec, 
With ho|«-(nl pity, not aiwUin ; 

'I'lie <ii|)th of the ahynn may 1« 
'I'lic nieimure of the height of pain 

Ami love ami glory that may raise 

'I'liiii Boul to fJoil in afV-r ilayx ! 

AL'lil.AIUIl AKKn I'KfXTIiK. 



FLOWEIW WITHOUT KKUrr, 

riu'NK thou thy words ; the thoughts control 
That o'er thee swell anil throng ; — 

They will eomlense within thy soul. 
Ami eliange U> purjKjw; strong. 

IJiit he who lets his I'ei-lingH run 

in soft luxurious flow, 
iShiinkK when hajil s<;rvicc must be done. 

Anil faints at every woe. 

I'aitli's meanest ileeil more favor lx;ars, 
Wheie hearts ami wills are weighi;il, 

Tlian bright<;«t transjioils, choiwst prayers, 
Whic-ii bloom llieir hour, ami faile. 

John llni.nv Newman, 



THE DOORSTEP. 

Ti!K eoiiferenec-meeting through at last, 
We boys around the vestry waiteil, 

'J'o «ie the girls eome trip|iiiig jtast, 
Ijke snowbirds willing to be mati'd. 

Not liravcr he that leaps the wall 

My level innsket-llashes litt^m, 
Than 1, who st^tpped Iwfore them all, 

Who longed to sec me get the mitten. 

liut no ; she blushed, ami timV my arm I 
We let the old folks have the highway. 

Ami started toward the Maple Fann 
Along a kind of lover's by-w.ay. 

1 lan't rememlsir wliat we said, 
'T wtis nothing worth a song or story j 

Yet that ruile jmfh liy whieh we spcl 
Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was eri»p txtneath our feet. 
The moon was full, the fields were gleaming ; 

I5y hood and tipfx-t sJieltered sweet, 

ifer faix' with youth and health wa« beaming. 



The little hand outside her mulf, — 

O sculptor, if you eould but mold it ! — 

Ho lightly touehf«l my ja<;ket-cuff. 
To keep it warm 1 luwl it> hold it. 

'I'll have her with me there alone, — 

'T Wits love and fear and tiium])h blended. 

At l.'ist we rea';hed the fwjt-worn st/jne 
Where that delicious journey ende<L 

The old folks, t'w, were almost home ; 

Ilir iliin]ili:d liand the lati.hes fingered. 
We heard the voices nearer come. 

Yet on the d<x)i-stej) still we lingercL 

8he sliook her ringlets from her hood. 

And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled, 

IJut yet 1 knew she underst^jod 

With what a daring wish I tremblwL 

A cloud jiassed kimlly overhead. 
Tin: moon was slyly peeping through it. 

Yet hid its fa<^!, as if it said, 

" Come, now or never ! do it ! rf» U I " 

My lips till then ho^l only known 

The kiss of mother ami of sistiir, 
liut somehow, full ujwn her own 

.Swc<:t, rosy, darling mouth — 1 kissed her I 

Perhaps 't was l.ioyish love, yet still, 

listless woman, weary lover ! 

To feel onw more that fresh, wild thrill 

1 'd give — Hut who can live youth over ( 

EUMONO ci.aki;hck niy.iiUAU. 



THE HONO OK THK CAMl'. 

" Ol VK us a s<jng ! " the soldiers cried, 

The outi'r trenches giurding. 
When the heated guns of the <;amj)S allied 

Grew weary of Ixjmbarding. 

The dark Keilan, in silent scoff, 
I<ay, grim and threati.-ning, under ; 

And the tawny mound of the Mahikoff 
No longer belched its thunder. 

Tliere wa« a j<aus<?. A guardsman said : 
" We Htnrm the forts to-morrow ; 

Sing while we may, another day 
Will bring enough of sorrow." 

They lay along the battery's side, 

IJi-Iow the smoking cannon : 
IJrave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, 

And from the Iianks of Shannon. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



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They sang of love, and not of fame ; 

Forgot was Britain's glory ; 
Eaeh heart reealled a dill'erent name, 

But all sang " Annie Laurie." 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 

Until its tender passion 
Hose like an anthem, rich and strong, — 

Their battle-eve confession. 

IJear girl, her name he dared not speak. 
But, as the song grew louder. 

Something upon the soldier's cheek 
Waslied off the stains of powder. 

lioyonil the darkening ocean burned 

The bloody sun.set's embei's, 
Willie the Crimean valleys learned 

How English love remembers. 

And once again a fire of hell 
Kainetl on the Russian quarters. 

With scream of shot, and burst of shell. 
And bellowing of the mortars ! 

And Irish Nora's ej'cs are dim 
For a singer, dumb and gory ; 

And English Mary mourns for him 
Who sang of " Annie Laurie." 

Sleep, soldiers ! still in honored rest 
Your truth and valor wearing ; 

The bravest are the tenderest, — 
The loving are the daring. 

B.\V.\RD TAYLOR. 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 

A M.VN there came, whence none could tell, 
Bearing a touchstone in his hand ; 
And tested all things in the land 

By its unerring spell. 

I juick birth of transmutation smote 
The fair to foul, the foul to fair ; 
Purple nor ermine did he spare, 

Nov scorn the dusty coat. 

Of licirloom jewels, prized so much, 

Were many changed to chips and clods, 
.■\nd even statues of the gods 

Crumbled beneath its toucli. 

Then angi-ily the people cried, 

• ' The loss outweighs the profit far ; 
Our goods suffice us as they are ; 

We will not have them tried." 



B^- 



And since they could not so avail 
To check this unrelenting guest, 
They seized him, saying, "Let him test 

How real is our jail ! " 

Hut, though they slew him with the sword. 
And in a lire his touchstone burned. 
Its doings could not be o'erturned, 

Its undoings restored. 

And when, to stop all future harm. 
They strewed its ashes on the breeze ; 
They little guessed each grain of these 

Conveyed the perfect charm. 



THE OLD MAID. 

Why sits she thus in solitude ? Her heart 

Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue ; 
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart, 

As if to let its heavy throbbings through ; 
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells. 

Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore ; 
And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells 

The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. 

It is her thirtieth birthday ! With a sigh 

Her soul hath turned from youth's lu.xuriaiit 
bowers, 
And her heart taken up the last sweet tie 

That mcixsured out its links of golden hours ! 
She feels her inmost soul within her stir 

With thoughts too wild and passionate to 
speak ; 
Yet her full heart — its own interpreter — 

Translates itself in silence on her cheek. 

Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers. 

Once lightly sprang within her beaming track ; 
0, life was beautiful in those lost hours, 

And yet she does not wish to wander back ! 
No ! she but loves in loneliness to think 

On pleasures past, though nevermore to lie ; 
Hope links her to the future, — but the link 

That binds her to the past is memory. 

.•\M1U.1.\ B. Welbv 



MUSIC'S DITEL. 

Now westward Sol had speiit the richest beams 

Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the streams 

Of Tiber, on the scene of a green plat, 

Under protection of an oak, there .sat 

A sweet lute's-master, in wliose gentle airs 

He lost the day's heat and his own hot cares. 

Close in the covert of the leaves ther-e stood 

A nightingale, come from the neighboring wood 



--U^ 



[Tt- 



POEMH OF SENTIMENT AXD REFLECTION. 






h 



(The sweet iuhaljitaiit of eacli glad tree, 
Tljeir muse, their biieii, haniiless siren she) : 
Tliere stood she listcuiug, aud did entertain 
'I'Ice music's soft report, aud mold the same 
In lier own murmurs ; that whatever mood 
His curious fingers lent, her voice made good. 
The man perceived his rival, and her art ; 
Disposed to give the light-foot lady siwit. 
Awakes his lute, aud 'gainst the light to come 
Informs it in a sweet prieludium 
• If iloser strains, and e'er the war begin. 
He lightly skirmishes ou every string 
Charged with a flying touch ; and sti-aightway she 
Carves out her dainty voice a.s readily 
Into a thousand sweet distinguished tones, 
And reckons uj) in soft divisions 
Quick volumes of wild notes, to let him know, 
By that shrill taste, she could do something too. 
His nimble hand's instinct then taught each 
string 
A capering cheerfulness, and made them sing 
To theii- own dance ; now negligently rash 
He throws his aim, and with a long-drawn dash 
Blends all together ; then distinctly trips 
From this to that, then quick returning skips, 
Aud snatches this again, and pauses there. 
She measures every measure, everywhere 
Meets art with art ; sometimes, as if iu doubt 
Not perfect }'et, and fearing to be out, 
Trails her plain ditty in one long-spun note, 
Tlirough the sleek passage of her o|)eu throat, 
A clear, unwrinkled song ; then doth she point it 
With tender accents, and severely joint it 
By short diminutives, that being leared 
In controverting warbles, evenly shared. 
With her sweet self .she wrangles ; he, amazed 
That from so small a channel should be raised 
The torrent of a voice whose melody 
<-'ould melt into such .sweet variety, 
Strains higher yet, that, tickled with rare art, 
The tattling strings, each breathing in his part, 
Host kindly do fall out : the grumbling bass 
In surly groans disdains the treble's gi-ace ; 
The high-percht treble chirps at this, and chides, 
L'ntil his finger (moderator) hides 
And closes the sweet (luarrcl, rousing all, 
Hoarse, shrill, at once ; as when the trumpets call 
Hot Mars to the harvest of death's field, and woo 
Men's hearts into their hands ; this lesson too 
.Slie gives them back ; her .supple breast thrills out 
Sharp airs, and staggers in a warbling doubt 
Of dallying sweetness, hovers o'er her skill. 
And folds in waved notes, with a trembling bill. 
The pliant series of her slippery song; 
Then starts she suddenly into a throng 
Of short thick sol)s, whose thundering volleys 

float, 
And roll them-selves over her lubric throat 



I In panting munnurs, stilled out of her breast ; 
That ever-bubbling spring, the sugared nest 
Of her delicious soul, that there does lie 
Bathing in streams of liquid melody ; 
Music's best seed-plot ; when in ripeued airs 
A golden-headed liarvest fairly rears 
His honey-dropjiing tops plowed by lur lirealh 
Which there recijirocally laboreth. 
In that sweet soil it seems a holy (juire. 
Sounded to the name of great Ajwllo's lyre ; 
Whose silver roof rings with the sprightly notes 
Of sweet-lipiwd angel-imps, that swill their 

throats 
In cream of morning Helicon, and then 
Prefer soft anthems to the ears of men. 
To woo them from their licds, still murmuring 
That men can sleep while they their matins sing 
(Most divine .serricc), whose so early lay 
Prevents the eyelids of the blu.sliing dov. 
There might you hear her kindle her soft voice 
In the clo.se murmur of a sparkling noise : 
And lay the gr^'undwork of her hopeful song, 
Still keeping in the forward stream .so long. 
Till a sweet whirlwind (striving to get out) 
Heaves her .soft bosom, wanders round about, 
And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast. 
Till the fledged notes at length foi'sake their nest. 
Fluttering in wanton shoals, and to the sky, 
Winged with their own wild echoes, prattling fly. 
She opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide 
Of streaming sweetness, which in stite doth lide 
On the waved back of every swelling strain, 
Kising and falling in a i>ompous train ; 
And while she thus discharges a shrill peal 
Of fla-shing airs, she qualifies their zeal 
With the cool epode of a giaver note ; 
Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat 
Would reach the biazen voice of war's hoarse bird ; 
Her little soul is ravished, aud so poured 
Into loose ecstasies, that she is placed 
Above herself, music's enthusiast. 

Shame now and anger mi.xed a double sUiin 
In the musician's face : "Yet, once again. 
Mistress, I come : now reach a strain, my lute, 
Above her mock, or be forever mute. 
Or tune a .song of victory to me. 
Or to thyself sing thine own olise(iuy." 
So said, his hands sprightly as fire he flings. 
And with a quavering coyness ta.stcs the strings. 
The sweet-lipped sisters musically frighted. 
Singing their fears are fearfully delighted ; 
Tremljling as when Apollo's golden hairs 
.•\re fanned and frizzled in the wanton airs 
Of his own breath, which, married to his lyre, 
Doth tune the spheres, and make heavens si-lt 

look higher ; 
From this to that, from that to this he flies. 
Feels music's pulse in all her arteries : 



^ 



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44 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^ 



15- 



Caiiglit in a net which there Apollo spreads, 
His fingers struggle with the vocal threads, 
Following those little rills, he sinks into 
A sea of Helicon ; his hand does go 
Those parts of sweetness which with nectar drop. 
Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup. 
The humorous strings expound his learned touch 
By various glosses ; now they seem to grutcli 
And murmur in a buzzing din, tlien jingle 
In shrill-toned accents striving to be single ; 
Every smooth turn, every delicious stroke, 
Gives life to some new grace ; thus doth he invoke 
Sweetness by all her names ; thus, bravely thus 
(Fraught with a fury so harmonious), 
Tlie lute's light genius now does proudly rise. 
Heaved on the surges of swollen rhapsodies ; 
^Vh(>se flourish (meteor-like) doth curl the air 
With Hush of high-born fancies, here and there 
Diincing in lofty measures, and anon 
Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone. 
Whose trembling murmui-s, melting in wild airs. 
Run to and fro, complaining his sweet cares ; 
Because those precious mysteries that dwell 
In music's ravished soul he dare not tell. 
But whisper to the world ; thus do they vary, 
Each string liis note, as if they meant to carry 
Their master's blest soul (snatched out at his ears 
By a strong ecstasy) through all the spheres 
Of music's heaven ; and seat it there on high, 
In tlie empyrean of pure harmony. 
At length (after so long, so loud a strife 
Of all the strings, still breathing the best life 
Of blest variety, attending on 
His fingers' fairest evolution. 
In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall) 
A full-mouthed diapason swallows all. 

Tills done, he li.sts what she would say to this ; 
And slie, although her breath's late exercise 
Had dealt too roughly with her tender throat. 
Yet summons all her sweet powers for a note. 
Alas ! in vain ! for while (sweet soul) she tries 
To measure all those wild diversities 
or chattering strings by the small size of one 
Poor simple voice, raised in a natural tone ; 
She fails, and failing grieves, and grieving dies : 
Sill- dii's, and leaves her life the victor's prize, 
F;illiiiu' upon his lute : 0, fit to have 
('I'liat lived so sweetly), dead, so sweet a grave ! 

RiCllAKD CRASHAW. 



THE MUSICAL DTTEL. 

FROM THE "LOVER'S MELANCHOLY." 

Mesaphox. Passing from Italy to Greece, 
the tales 
Which poets of an elder time have feigned 
To glorify their Tempe, bred in me 
Desire of visiting that paradise. 



To Thessaly 1 came ; and, living private. 
Without acquaintance of more sweet companions 
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts, 
I day by day frequented silent groves 
And solitary walks. One morning early 
This accident encountered me : I lieard 
The sweetest and most ravishing contention 
That art and nature ever were at strife in. 

Amethus. I cannot yet conceive what you 

infer 
By art and nature. 

Men. 1 shall soon resolve you. 

A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, 
Indeed, entranced my soul. As I stole nearer, 
Invited by the melancholy, I saw 
This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute. 
With strains of strange variety and harmony. 
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge 
To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds. 
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent. 
Wondering at what they heard. I wondered 

too. 
Am. And so do I ; good ! — On ! 
Men. a nightingale, 

Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes 
The challenge, and, for every several strain 
The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her 

own ; 
He could not run division with more art 
Upon liis quaking instrument than she. 
The nightingale, did with her various notes 
Reply to ; for a voice, and for a sound, 
Amethus, 't is much easier to believe 
That such they were than hope to hear again. 
Am. How did the riv.als part ? 
Men. You term them lightly ; 

For they were rivals, and their mistress, Har- 
mony. — 
Some time thus spent, the young man grew at 

last 
Into a pretty anger, that a bird 
Whom art had never taught clefs, moods, or 

notes. 
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study 
Had busied many hours to perfect practice : 
To end the controversy, in a rapture 
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly. 
So many voluntaries, and so quick. 
That there was curiosity and cunning. 
Concord in discord, lines of differing method 
Meeting in one full center of delight. 
Am. Now for the bird. 

Men. The bird, ordained to be 

Music's first martyr, strove to imitate 
These several sounds ; which, when her warbling 

throat 
Failetl in, for grief, down dropped she on his 



lute. 



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POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND llEFLEGTION. 



745 



-^ 



And broke her heart ! It was the (quaintest sad- 
ness 
To see the eonijueror upon her hearse 
To weep a funeral elegy of tears ; 
That, trust me, my ^Vmethus, 1 could chide 
Mine own unmanly weakness, that made me 
A fellow-mourner with him. 

Am. I believe thee. 

Men. He looked upon the trophies of his art, 
Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed, 

and cried, 
"-•Vlas, poor creature ! I will soou revenge 
This cruelty ui>ou the author of it ; 
Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood, 
Shall nevermore betray a hannless peace 
To an untimely end " ; and in that sorrow. 
As he was pashing it against a tree, 
I suddenly stept in. 

John ford. 



O, THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD I 

0, THE pleasant days of old, which so often pecjple 

praise ! 
True, they wanted all the lu.xuries that grace our 

modern days : 
Bare floors were strewed with rushes, the walls 

let in the cold ; 
O, how they must have shivered in those pleasant 

days of old ! 

0, those ancient lords of old, how magnificent 

they were I 
They threw down and imprisoned kings, — to 

thwart them who might dare ? 
They ruled theii- serfs right sternly ; they took 

from .Tews their gold, — 
Above both law and equity were those great lords 

of old ! 

0, the gallant knights of old, for their valor so 

renowned ! 
With swcinl ami lance and armor strong they 

scoured the country rouml ; 
And whenever aught to tempt them they met by 

wood or wold, 
By right of sword they seized the prize, — those 

gallant knights of old ! 

0, the gentle dames of old ! who, quite free from 

fear or pain. 
Could gaze on joust and tournament, and see 

their champions slain ; 
They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which 

made them strong and bolii, — 
O, more like men than women were those gentle 

dames (if old ! 



0, those mighty towers of old ! with their turrets, 

moat, and keep. 
Their battlements and bastions, their dungeons 

dark and deep. 
Full many a baron held his court within the 

castle hold ; 
And many a cajitive languished there, in those 

strong towers of old. 

0, the troubadoiu's of old ! with the gentle min- 
strelsie 

(_)f hojie and joy, or deep desjiair, whiehe'er their 
lot might be ; 

For years they served theii- ladye-loves ere they 
their passions told, — 

0, wondrous patience must have hail those trou- 
badours of old ! 

O, those blessed times of old, with their chivalry 

and state ! 
1 love to read their chronicles, which such brave 

deeds relate ; 
I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear their 

legends told, — 
But, Heaven be thanked ! I live not in those 

blessed times of old ! 

FK.VNCtS BKOW.N. 



f&-- 



MY WIFE AND CHILD. 

TiiF, tattoo beats, — the lights are gone, 
The camp around in slumber lies. 

The night with solemn pace moves on, 
The shadows thicken o'er the skies ; 

But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, 
And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. 

I think of thee, darling one. 

Whose love my early life hath Vilest — 

Of thee and him — our baby son — 
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast. 

God of the tender, frail, and lone, 
0, guard the tender sleeper's rest ! 

And liover gently, hover near 

To her whose watchful eye is wet, — 

To mother, w'ife, — the doubly dear, 
In whose young heart have freshly met 

Two streams of love so deep and dear. 
And cheer her drooping spiiits yet. 

Now, while she kneels before thy throne, 
0, teach her. Ruler of the skies. 

That, while by thy behest alone 

Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise. 

No tear is wept to vhee unknown. 
No hair is lost, no sjiarrow dies ! 



-ff 



[fi-. 



746 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^-Q' 



h 



That thou canst stay the ruthless hands 
Of dark disease, and soothe its pain ; 

That only by thy stern commands 
The battle 's lost, the soldier 's slain ; 

That from the distant sea or land 

Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. 

And when upon her pillow lone 

Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed. 

May happier visions beam upon 

The brightening current of her breast, 

No frowiiing look or angry tone 
Disturb the Sabbath of her rest ! 

Whatever fate these forms may show, 
Loved with a passion almost wild. 

By day, by night, in joy or woe. 

By fears oppressed, or liopes beguiled, 

From every danger, every foe, 
God, protect my wife and child ! 

THOMAS JONATHAN jACKSON 



QUATRAINS AND FRAGMENTS 

FROM RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

NORTHMAN. 

The gale that wrecked you on the sand. 
It helped my rowers to row ; 

The stonn is my best galley-hand, 
And drives nie where I go. 

POET. 

To clothe the fieiy thought 
In simple words succeeds. 

For still the craft of genius is 
To mask a king in weeds. 



Whoever fights, whoever falls, 
Justice conquers evermore. 
Justice after as before, — 
Arid he who battles on her side, 
God, though he were ten times slain, 
Crowns him victor glorified, — 
Victor over death and pain. 
Forever. 

HEROISM. 

So nigh is grandeur to our dust. 
So near is God to man. 
When Duty whispers low. Thou must, 
Tlie youth replies, / can. 

BORROWING. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

Some of your hurts you have cured. 

And the sharpest you still have survived, 



But what torments of gi'ief you endiu'ed 
From evils which never arrived ! 

HEEI. CR.VS, HODIE. 

Shines the last age, the ne.xt with hope is seen, 
To-day slinks poorly otf unmarked between ; 
Future or Past no richer secret folds, 
friendless Present ! than thv bosom holds. 



LINES AND COUPLETS 



What, and how great the viitue and the art. 
To live on little with a cheerful heart. 



Between excess and famine lies a mean. 

Plain, but not sordid, though not splendid, clean. 

Its proper power to hurt, each creature feels : 
BuUs aim their horns, and asses kick their heels. 

Here Wisdom calls, " Seek virtue first, be bold ; 
As gold to sUver, vii'tue is to gold." 

Let lands and houses have what lords tliey will. 
Let us be fi.^ed and our own masters still. 



'T is the first vii-tue vices to abhor. 
And the first wisdom to be fool no more. 



Long as to him who works for debt, the day. 



Not to go back is somewhat to advance. 

And men must walk, at least, before they dance. 



True, conscious honor is to feel no sin ; 
He 's armed without that 's innocent within. 



For virtue's self may too much zeal be had. 
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad. 



If wealth alone can make and keep us blest. 
Still, stUl be getting ; never, never rest. 

That God of nature who within us still 
Inclines our actions, not constrains our «ill. 



It is not poetry, but prose run mad. 



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rOEMS OF SENTIMEXT AXD HEFLEGTIOX. 



74 



:-a 



Pretty in amber to observe the forms 
(If hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms : 
Tile things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, 
Ijiit wonder how the mischief they got there ! 

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame. 

He who, still wanting, though he lives on theft. 
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left. 

All nature is but art, unknown to thee. 

All chance, dii'ection which thou canst not see. 

'T is education forms the common mind ; 
Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined. 

Manners witli fortunes, humors turn with climes. 
Tenets with books, and principles with times. 

Who shall decide when doctors disagree ? 

And then mistook reverse of wrong for right. 

That secret rare between the extremes to move, 
(_)f mad good-nature and of mean self-love. 

Ye little stars, hiiie your diminished rays. 

A\Tio builds a church to God, and not to fame. 
Will never mark the marble with his name. 

'T is strange the Tiiiser should his cares employ 
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy. 

Something there is more needful than e.xpense. 
And something previous e'en to taste, — 't is 
sense. 

In nil let Nature never be forgot, 
But treat the goddess like a modest fair, 
Not overdress nor leave her wholly bare ; 
Li't not each beauty everywhere be spied, 
Where half tlie skill is decently to hide. 

'T is use alone that sanctifies expense, 

And splendor borrows all her rays from sense. 

And knows where faith, law, morals, all began, 
AH snd, — in love of God and love of man. 



Know then this truth, enough for man to know. 
Virtue alone is happiness below. 

Happier as kinder in whate'er degi'ee, 
And height of bliss but height of charity. 

If then to all men happiness was meant, 
God in externals coiUd not place content. 

Order is Heaven's first law, and, this confcst, 
Some are, and must he, gi-eater than the rest. 

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of .sense, 
Lie in three words, — health, peace, and compe- 
tence, 
liut health consists with temperance alone, 
And peace, O Virtue ! peace is all thine own. 

Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, 
And these be happy called, unhappy those ; 
But Heaven's just balance ecpial will ajjpear. 
When those arc placed in hnjie, and these in /car. 

" But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is 

fed " ; 
" What then is the icward of virtue, — bread ? 
That vice may merit, 't is the price of toll, 
The knave deserves it when he tills the soil." 



What nothing earthly gives or can destroy, — 
The soul's lahn sunshine, ami the heartfelt joy. 



As heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour. 



Lust tlirougli some certain strainers well refined 
Is gentle love, and ehaiTus all womankind. 



Vice is a monster of such hideous mien 
That to be hated needs but to be seen ; 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then end.irace. 

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, 
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw ; 
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
A little louder, but as empty quite. 



tS-«- 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



FROM "THE 



U 



1'keak, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, 

And spread thy purple wings, 
Now all thy figures are allowed. 

And various shapes of things ; 
f'reate of airy forms a stream, 
It must have blood, and naught of phlegm : 
And though it be a waking dream. 

Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 

And fall like sleep upon their eyes. 

Or music in their ear. 

Ben Jonson. 



DELIGHTS OF FANCY, 



As Memnon's marble harp renowned of old 
By ral>ling Nilus, to the quivering touch 
( It Tilan's ray, with each repulsive string 
( 'uiis.nting, sounded through the warbling air 
Unbidden strains ; e'en so did Nature's hand 
To certain species of external things 
Attune the finer organs of the mind ; 
So the glad impulse of congenial powers. 
Or of sweet sound, or fair-proportioned form. 
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light. 
Thrills through imagination's tender frame, 
From nervr to nerve ; all naked and alive 
They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul 
At length discloses every tuneful spring, 
To that harmonious movement from without. 
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain 
Diffuses its enchantment ; Fancy dreams 
Of siirri'd fountains and Elysian groves, 
Ami v:ilcs of bliss ; the Intellectual Power 
Uriids IVom his awful throne a wondering ear. 
And smiles ; the passions gently soothed away, 
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 
Alone are waking ; love and joy serene 
As airs that fan the summer. attend, 
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch, 



Whose candid bosom the refining love 
Of nature warms ; 0, listen to my song. 
And I will guide thee to her favorite walks, 
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, 
And point her loveliest features to thy view. 

MARK AKENSIDE. 



HALLO, MY FANCY. 



In melancholic fancy, 

Out of myself. 
In the vulcan dancy. 
All the world surveying, 
Nowhere staying. 
Just like a fairy elf ; 
Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, 
Out o'er the hills, the trees and valleys tripping. 
Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping. 
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? 

Amidst the misty vapors. 

Fain would I know 
What doth cause the tapers ; 
Why the clouds benight us 
And affright us. 

While we travel here below. 
Fain would I knowwhat makes the roaring thun- 
der. 
And what these lightnings be that rend the 

clouds asunder. 
And what these comets are on which we gaze 
and wonder. 
Hallo, my I'aucy, whither wilt thou go ? 

Fain would 1 know the reason 

Why the little ant, 
All the summer season, 
Layeth up provision, 
On condition 

To know no winter's want : 
And how housewives, that are so good and 

painful. 
Do iinto their husbands prove so good and gain 
ful; 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



749 



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u 



And why the hazy drones to them do prove dis- 
(hiinfnh 
Hallo, my liincy, whither wilt thou go ? 

When I look before me, 

There I do l.rhold 
Tliere 's none tliat sees or knows me ; 
All the world 's a-gadding, 
Running madding ; 

None doth his station hold. 
He that is below envieth him that riseth, 
And he that is above, him that 's below despiseth, 
So every man his plot and eounter-plot di^viseth. 
Hallo, my I'aney, whither wilt thou go ? 

Look, look, what bustling 

Here 1 do espy ; 
Each another jostling. 
Every one turuioiling, 
The other spoiling. 
As I did pass them by. 
One sitteth nmsing in a dimipish passion. 
Another hangshishead because he's outof fashion, 
A third is fully bent on sport and recreation. 
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? 

Fain would I be resolvfed 
How things are done ; 
An<l wlicre fhe bull was calvid 
Of bloody I'halaris, 
Ami where the tailor is 

That works to the man i' the moon ! 
Fain would I know how Cuijid aims so sightly ; 
And how flirse little fairies do dance and leap so 

li-hlly ; 
And wh.rr lair ( 'yntluamakes her ambles rightly. 
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? 

In conceit like Phaeton, 

I Tl mount Phrebus' chair, 
Having ne'er a hat on. 
All my hair a-burning 
In my journeying. 

Hurrying through the air. 
Fain would 1 hear his fiery horses neighing. 
And see how they on foamy bits are playing ; 
All the stars and planets I will be surveying ! 
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? 

Fain also would I prove this, 

By considering 
What that which you call love is : 
Whether it be a folly 
Or a melancholy, 
Or some heroic thing ! 
Fain 1 'd have it proved, by one whom love hath 
wounded. 



And fully upon one his desire hath founded, 
Whom nothing else could please though the world 
were roimded. 
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? 

To know this world's centre. 

Height, depth, breadth, and length, 
Fain would I ailventure 
To search the hid attractions 
Of magnetic actions. 

And adamantine strength. 
Fain would 1 know if in some lofty mountain, 
Where the morn sojourns, if there be trees or 

fountain ; 
If there be beasts of lire_v, or yet be fiehls to 
hunt in. 
Hallo, my fancy, whilluM' wilt thou go ? 

Hallo, my fancy, hallo. 

Stay, stay at home with me, 

I can thee no longer follow, 

For thou hast betrayed me. 

And bewrayed me ; 

It is too much fin' thee. 

Stay, stay at home with me ; leave olT thy lofty 

soaring ; 

St.iy thou at home witii me, and on thy luioks be 

I'oring ; 

For he tli.il goes abroad lays little up in storing: 

Tliou 'it welcome home, my fancy, welcome home 

to me. 

Anonymous. 



THE CLOUD. 

I nr.iNf; fresh showers for the thirsting flowei-s, 

From the seas and the streams ; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken tlie dews that waken 

The sweet birds every one. 
When rocked to rest on thiur mother's breast. 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under ; 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

.A.nd laugh as 1 pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 
And all the night 'tis my pillow white. 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skysy bowers 

Lightning, my pilot, sits : 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder ; 

It struggles and howls by fits. 



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750 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



n 



ft 



Over earth luid ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding nie. 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over tlie rills und the crags luid the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
TVlierever he dream, uniler mountain or stream. 

The spirit he loves remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile. 

Whilst he is dissolving iu ruins. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

And his burning plumes outspread. 
Leaps on the back of my sailing nick. 

When the morning star shines dead. 
As, on the jag of a mountain crag 

Which an eartlupuike rocks and swings, 
An eagle, alit, one moment may sit 

lu tlie light of its golden wings ; 
And when sunset nuvy breathe, from the lit sea 
beneath. 

Its ardoi's of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest. 

As still as a brooding dove. 

Th.at orbed maiden with white lire laden. 

Whom mortals call the moon, 
Glides glinnueiing o'er my Ueece-like floor 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
And wherever the beat of her nnseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear. 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. 

The stars peep behintl her and peer ; 
And I laugh to see thoiu whirl and tlee. 

Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent. 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas. 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high. 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and 
swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfnrl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 
Suubeain-proof, I hang like a roof. 

The nunintains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march 

With hurricane, tire, anil snow, 
When the powei-s of the air are chained to my 
chair, . 

Is the million-colored how ; 
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist eiu'th was laughing below. 



I am the daughter of the earth and water ; 

Ami the nursling of the sky ; 
1 piiss through the poivs of the ocean and shores ; 

I change, but 1 cannot die. 
For after the rain, when, with never a stain, 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
.\nd the winds and sunbeams, with their convex 
gleams, 

Build up the blue dome of air, — 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

.■\nd out of the caverns of rain. 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from 
the tomb, 

I rise and upbuild it again. 

I'ERCV BVSSHE SlIELLEV. 



FANCY IN NUBIBUS. 

0, IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease. 
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, 
To make the shifting clouds he what yon jileasc, 
Or let the easily pei-suaded eyes 
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mold 
Of a friend's fancy ; or, with bead bent low, 
Aiul check aslant, see rivei-s flow of gold, 
'Twi.\t crimson Iwnks ; and then a traveler go 
Fronr mount to mount, through Cloudland, gor- 
geous land ! 
Or, listening to the tide with closfcd sight. 
Be that blind Bard, who on the Chian strand. 
By those deej) sounds possessed with inwaiil light, 
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey, 
Kise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. 

SAMUEL Taylor Colerihge. 



ODE ON A GRECIAN UKN. 

Tnou still unravished bride of quietness !. 

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 

.\ tlowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 

Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? 

What men or gods are these >. What maidens 
loath ? 
What mad pursuit ! What struggles to escape > 

What pipes and timbrels ? What wild ecstasy ? 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ; 

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, 
ripe to the spirit ditties of no tone. 

Fair youth beneatli tlie tiees, thou canst not 
leave 



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FUEMU OF FANCY. 



751 



■a 



Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare. 
Bold lover, never, never canst tliou kiss, 
Though winning near the goal, — yet do not 
grieve : 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy 
bliss ; 
Forever wilt tliou love, and slie be fair ! 

Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 

Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu ; 
And liappy melodist, unwearied. 

Forever pil>ing songs forever new ; 
More happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 

Forever warm and still to be enjoyed. 
Forever panting and forever young ; 
All breathing human passion I'ar above. 

That leavi'.s a heart liigh-sorrowful and cloyed, 
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies. 

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? 
What little town by river or sea-shore, 

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
Is emptied of its folk, this pious mom ? 
And, little town, thy streets foreverniore 

Will silent be, and not a soul to tell 
Why thou art desolate can e'er return. 

Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 
Of marble men and maidens ovei'wrought, 
With forest branches and the trodden weed ; 

Thou, silent form ! dost tease us out of thought 
As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral ! 

When old age shall this generation waste. 

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou 

.say'st, 

" IJcauty is tnith, truth beauty," — that Ls all 

Ye know on earth, an<l all ye need to know. 

John Keats. 



&-- 



My soul to-day 

Is far away. 
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay ; 

My winged boat, 

A bird afloat. 
Swims round the purple peaks remote ; 

Round puqile peaks 

It sails, and seeks 
Blue inlets and their ciystal creeks, 

Where high rocks throw, 

Tlirough deeps below, 
A duplicated golden glow. 



Far, vague, and dim 

The mountains swim ; 
While, on Vesuvius' misty brim. 

With outstretched hands. 

The gray smoke stands 
O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 

Here Ischia smiles 

O'er licjuid miles ; 
And yonder, bluest of the isles. 

Calm Capri waits. 

Her sap])liire gates 
I'egniling to her bright estates. 

1 heed not, if 

My rippling skiff 
Float swift or slow fi'oni cliff to cliff ; — 

Witli dreamful eyes 

Jly spirit lies 
Under tlie walls of Paradi.se. 

I'nder the walls 

Where swells and falls 
The Bay's deep breast at intervals 

At Jieace 1 lie. 

Blown softly by, 
A cloud uijon this licjuid sky. 

The day, so mild, 

Is Heaven's own child. 
With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; — 

The ail's I feel 

Around me steal 
Are murmuring to the murmuring keeL 

Over the rail 

My hand 1 trail 
Within the shadow of the sail ; 

A joy int<'nsc. 

The cooling .sense 
Glides down my drowsy indolence. 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Where Summer sings and never dies, — 

O'erveiled with vines. 

She glows and .shines 
Among her future oil and wines. 

Her children, hid 

The cliffs amid, 
Are gamboling with the gamboling kid ; 

Or down the walls. 

With tipsy calls. 
Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 

The fisher's child. 
With tresses wild. 
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, 



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POEMS OF FAN 01 



With glowing lips 

Sings lis she skips. 

Or giizea at the fur-otr ships. 

Yon ilcep biuk goes 

Where Tmllie blows, 
I'loiu lanils of sini to Imuls of snows ; — 

This happier one, 

Its eomso is nin 
l''i'oni hmtls of snow to lands of sun. 

happy ship. 

To rise anil ilip. 
With tlie blue crystal at your Up ! 

happy eivw, 

Jly heart with yon 
Sails, and sails, and sings anew ! 

No move, no more 

The worldly shore 
Upbraiils nil) with its loud uproar ! 

With dieanil'ul eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls ot I'aradise ! 

1m lofty lines, 

Mid palms and pines. 
And olives, alues, elms, and vines, 

Sorrento swings 

On sunset wings. 
Where Tasso's spirit soaw and sings.* 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

Nil abbey's gloom, nor dark cathednd stoops. 
No winding toiches paint the midnight air ; 

Hero the green pines delight, the asjion droops 
Along the modest pathways, and those fail- 

Pah) asters of the season spread their pinnies 
Around this field, lit garden for oiu' tombs. 

.\ud shall thou panse to hear some funenil bell 
Slow stealing o'er thy heart in this calm place, 

Not with a throb of pain, a feverish knell. 
But in its kind and supplicating grace, 

It says. Go, pilgrim, on thy march, be more 
Friend to the friendless than thou wast before ; 

Li«ru from the loved one's vest serenity ; 

To-morrow that soft liell for thee shall sound, 
And thou repose beneath the whispering tree. 

One tribute more to this submis,sive ground ; — 
Prison thy soul from malice, bar out pride, 

Nov these pale flowers nor this still field deride : 



Kather to those ascents of being tuvn, 

Whore a ne'er-setting sun illumes the year 

Eternal, and the incc,s,sant watch-lires bmn 
Of unspent holiness and goodness clear, — 

Forget man's littleness, deserve the best, 
Uod's mercy in thy thought and life eonfest. 

WU-LIAM Ul-LBKV CHANNINC. 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 

Hakk ! the faint bells of the sunken city 
Peal once more their wonted evening chime ! 

From the deep abysses lloats a ditty. 
Wild and wondrous, of the olden time. 

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories 
There lie buried in an ocean grave, — 

Undescried, save when their golden glories 
t^leam, at sunset, through tlie lighted wave. 

And the mariner who had seen them glisten, 
In whose ears those magic bells do sound, 

Night by night bides there to watch and listen. 
Though death lurks behind eachdark rock round. 

So the bells of memory's woTider-city 
Peal for me their old melodious diime ; 

So my heart poms forth a changi'ful ditty, 
Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. 

Domes and towers and castles, fancy-builded. 
There lie lost to daylight's g.irish beams, — 

There lie hidden till unveiled and gilded, 
Glory-gilded, by my nightly dreams ! 

And then hear I music .sweet upknelling 
From many a well-known phantom hmil, 

And, through tears, can see my natural dwelling 
Far olfin the spirit's luminous land ! 

Translated from the Gcrnuu of Wn.UKLM MliCLLBR. 

by Jambs Clarence Mangan. 



THE BOWER OF BUSS. 

FROM Tint "rAURin qubenb." 

There the most daintie paradise on ground 
Itselfe doth olTer to his sobiM- eye, 
In which all pleasures plenteously nbowud. 
And none does othera happinesse envyo ; 
The painted flowres ; the trees npshooting hye ; 
The dales for shade ; the hilles for breathing 

space ; 
The trembling groves ; the christidl running by ; 



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POEMU OF FANCY. 



753 



-a 



And, that w}iich all fairc workes dotli most 
aggiacc,* 
'I'lie art, wlii<;li all that wrought, appeared in no 
,,lac,,.. 

One would liave thought (so cunningly the rude 
And scorniid partes were mingled with the line) 
'J'hat Mature lia<l for wantonesse ensudet 
Art, and that Art at Natuie did repine ; 
.So striving each th' other to undermine, 
Kaeli did the others worke niore lK;autify ; 
So dili"'ring both in willes agreed in line : 
So all agreed, thiougli sweet* divei-sity, 
This gardin to adorne witli all variety. 

And in the midst of all a fountaine stoo'i. 
Of rieliest siiljstanee that on earth might bee. 
So pure and shiny tliat the silver flood 
'i'hrough every chaniiell running one might sec ; 
Host goo<]ly it with cuiious ymagerec 
Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes. 
Of which some seemed with lively ioUitee 
To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, 
Whylest others did themselves embayj in lii|uid 
ioyes. 

And over all, of purest gold, was spred 
A tniyle of y vie in his native hew ; 
For the rich metal 1 was so coloured, 
That wight, wlio did not well avLscU§ it vew. 
Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew : 
Low his lascivious amies adown did creepe. 
That, themselves dipping in the silver dew, 
Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did stcepe, 
Which drops of christall seemed for wantones to 
weep, 

Infinit streames continually did well 

Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire t<j see. 

The which into an ainjde laver fell, 

And shortly grew to so great i|uantitie, 

That like a little lake it seemed to bee ; 

Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight, 

That through the waves one might the bottom 

see. 
All pav'd beneath with iaspar shining bright, 
That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle 

upright. 

Eftsoonsl! they lieard a most melodious sound, 
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare. 
Such as attoncc might not on living ground. 
Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere. 
Kight hard it was for wight which diil it heare, 
To read what manner musicke that mote bee ; 
For all that pleasing is to living eare 



[&-- 



e with 3 



Wag there consorted in one harmonee ; 
Birdes, voices, instruments, wiudes, waters, nil 
agree : 

The ioyous birdes, shrouded in cheareluU shade, 
Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet ; 
Th' augelicall soft trembling voyces made 
To th' instruments divine resiKjndence meet ; 
The silver-sounding instruments did meet 
With the biuic murniurc of the watc-rs fall ; 
The waters tall, with difference discreet. 
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did rail ; 
The gentle warbling wind low answered Ui all. 
Edmund Scknser. 



THE CAVE OF SLEEP 



He, making speedy way through spersed • aj-re, 
And through thewoild of waterswide and deej)e, 
To ilorjiheus house doth hastily rei»aire, 
Amid the bowels of the earth full steejie, 
And low, where dawning day doth m'ver peepc, 
His dwelling is ; theie Tethys his wet Ijcd 
Doth ever wash, and f'ynthia still doth steepe 
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hcd. 
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth 
sjtrcd. 

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, 
A trickling streame from high rock tumbling 

downe, 
And ever-drizling rainc ujion the loft, 
MLxt with a murmuring winde, much like the 

sownet 
Of Bwamiing bees, did cast him in a swowne.J 
No other noyse, nor peojiles troublous cryes. 
As still are wont t' annoy the walled tfjwne. 
Might there Ix- heard ; but carelesse Quiet lyes 
Wiapt in etemall silence, farre from enimyes. 

iiDMU.NU Sl'ENSEK. 



UNA AND THE LIOK. 

FKOH THE •* FAEklfc C^L'LENE." 

Onk day, nigh wearic of tlie yrkesome way, 
From her unliastic beast she did alight ; 
And on the gra.ssc her dainty limbs did lay 
In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight ; 
From her fayre head her fillet she undight. 
And layd her stole aside. Her angels face. 
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright. 
And made a sunshine in the shady place ; 
Did never mortall eye behold such heaven lygra'-c. 

• Dispcried. ♦ Nolle. J Deep ileep. 



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en 



764 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



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11 l\>tliimNil, out of tlio Ihiokiwt woo.1 
A miii|>iii« l.v.m iumIiihI Hiuiaoiiil.v. 
limiting t>iU Ki"<">ly allov siilviiK" l'l»i"l : " 
S.uiiio us till' IMViill viiKlii 1»' >li>l »1'.Y. 
Willi niil'iiiK iiumtli Ht lii'i' ran srewlily, 
To lmvi> iittonc'o lU'Voimul luir toiulov oorati ; 
liiil to tlio l>ru,V wlioimst he divw more i\.Y, 
His l>Uu..ly lago iiswiij'v'mI with ivmorso.i- 
All. I, with iho sight imuwil, loi^'it I'''* l'ui'io»» 



THK SUNSET CITY, 

Til mat 'surity that liosiiitlw Kiii>!ilomol'l 
In I III' nlorioiis i-oiiiiU_v on liii;li, 

Wliii'li 111! II/.111V iiiul silvoi'y omtuiii I'lisluo 
To soiot'ii it Ivom inoitul i<y>' ; 

A oily ol' t.'iniilos mul tniivts ol' Kol.l, 

Tliiit uli'iiin hy 11 sui>pliiio swi. 
l.iko jinvcls iiiovo siilmnliil Ihiin luii'th inuy Ik 

Or iii'o iliviinnil of I'V von mnl hy ini'. 



ItiiiiU, 
.mis, 



Inst.Mil thiMvol', hn kist hiM' wiMU'io foot, 
An.l U>kt hi'V lilly Iminls with I'uwiiinK toiij; ; 
As ho hor witnij'iVl iimori'iu-o iliil woi't,:? 
(> how I'lm hmnlio niivistor I ho most stiMiis, 
Ami siiniilo truth suhilno iiv.'n}jiuj; wunij; I 
Whoso yii'hh'il prvilo iinil prouil snhniission, 
SliUaii'iuliiiKai'iilh, whoii sho hml iimrk.Vl UiUf!, 
Il.'r hurl «uii iiu<lt in .urout oomiwssion ; 
Ami ilriiliiiK toiiros iliil shod for imiti ulhu'tion. 

•• Tho lyou, Unit ofovorio hwist in liohl," 
thioth slio, " liis jiriiicoly puissuiioi' ilotli iihiito, 
Amlniijchtioimnultolinmhlowt'uko§iloosyiohl, 
V\irj{otfiitl of tho huujtry ru>;o. wliioh Into 
Him i>viokt, ill Jiittio of my sml ostiito : - 
Init ho, my lyou, lunl \ny iiohlo lonl, 
11..VV doos ho Iliul in ornoU hurt to halo 
Ihr, tliul him lovil, nml ovor most lulonl 
As tho j,'i>il of my lifo ! why hutli ho mo uhlunil I " 

lioilonmlinjt toni'M iliil ohoko th' omi of hor plrtiut, 
W hiih softly ooohooil fitun tho miighhouv wood ; 
And, sud to soo hor soninvlull oonslruint, 
Tho kingly Iwist upon hor gu/ing stood ; 
With pittio oulmd, dowiio foil his unjjry 

mood. 
At lust, in oloso hurt shiittiiii; up lu-r (uiyno, 
AiHiso tho virgin hornoof liouvoiily hiood. 
And to hor snowy imlfivy got ugnyuo, 
Tosooko horstrayid ohiuuimni if sho might ut- 

tuyiio, 

Tlio lyon would not louvo hov desoliito. 
Hut with hor wont along, as ii stivng giiv>l 
Of hor ohast porson, tiiid ii I'uythfuU mnto 
Of hor sad tmuhlos and misfortunos huitl ; 
Still, whoii sho slopt, ho kopt Iwth watoli and 

waitl ; 
Aiul, whou aho wakt, ho waytod diligottt, 
With lutmhlo sorvioo to hor will pit'paftl ; 
I'lvm hor tiiyre oyos ho took oinumaudrtnoiit. 
And ovor hy hor lookos couooiviNd hor intont. 

GOMltNO SPUNSUR. 



> nioMol mIIvI dniiiMU 



J I'livlpiswml. 



And uhont it uio liif;lihin.ls ,.t urnhn lliul roaoh 
l''ar away till thoy molt in tho ^looni ; 

.And wators that lioiii an imniaoulato hoiuli 
With Iringos of luminous foam. 

Aoriiil liridgos of poiirl thoiv iiiv, 

.And Iwllrios of marvolons sliapw, 
.And lighUiousos Ut hy tho ovoiiing star, 

That -siiarklo on violot oapos; 

.And hanging gurdons that far away 

Knohnntoitly lloiit aloof ; 
Itainhow pavilions in uvonuos guy, 

.And Imniioi-s of glorious woof ! 

Whou tho Siimmor simsot's crimsoniug tiros 
Aiv aglow in tJio wostorn sky, . 

Tho pilgrim ilisiovoix tho donios and spiros 
t)f this woiidorful oily on high ; 

And gazing oiirapt us tho gathoriiig shiulo 

I'lvops ovor tho twilight loa, 
Soos palaoo and pinnaolo tottor and fado. 

And sink in tho sapphiro soa ; 

Till Iho vision losos liy slow dogivo.s 

Tho mugioal sploudor it woiv ; 
'l"ho sih'ory ourtuiii is druwn, and ho .soo-h 

riio hoanlifnl oily no moiv ! 

IIUNKV SVI.VIISTUK CORNWULl. 



TllK I'Kl'UlFlKn KKKN, 

1 N a vuUoy, contnvios ago, 

tirow u liltlo forn-loaf, givon and slondor, 
Voining dolioato and lihoi's toiidor ; 

Waving when tho wind orept down so low. 
Uuslu'stall, and mos,s, and grass grow iiiuiid it, 
riuyl\il sunlvams darted in and found it, 
l>ivps of dew stole in hy night, and oixiwued it. 
Hut no loot of man o'er tivd that way : 
Karth was young, and keeping lioliday. 



[Q^ 



Miuister lishes swam the silent maiii. 
Stately fonvsts waved their giant hiiiiuhes. 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



to.'Pt 



Moiiiitiiins liurlwJ tlieir (snowy avalanches, 
Miuniiioth <:ix-aluii!B iitalki;(l lutvmii the i/lain ; 
Nature reveled in gland inyst<jiieij, 
lint Die little fciii wan not of tlic.te, 
l)i<i not nuniher with the hills and trees ; 
Only grew and wavwl its wild sweet way, 
No one eanie to not*; it day by day. 

Ilailli, one time, put on a frolie mood. 

Heaved the roeks and ehangeil the mighty 
motion 

Of tlie d<reii, strong currents of the ocean ; 
Moved tli(! plain and shook the haughty wo<xl, 

Criisheii the little fe-in in soft moist <;lay, — 

Covered it, and hid it safe away. 

O, the long, long eenluries sinee that day ! 

0, the changes ! O, life's ))itt<;r (»st, 

Sinee that useless little fern was lost ! 

Useless 'I Lost ? There eame a thoughtful man 
.Searching Nature's sij<;rets, far and deep ; 
I'loin a lissure in a rocky sti-ep 

lie withdrew a aUmi; o'er which there ran 
Fairy in^ncilings, a ijuaint design, 
V'einings, leafage, libel's clear and fine, 
And the fern's life lay in every line ! 
.So, I think, Cod hides some souls away. 
Sweetly Ui suiiirijse u.s, the hist day. 

MAKV L. IVjILKS liBAXCri. 



The turrets reflated the blue of the skies. 
And the windows with sunbeams were gilt. 

The rainljow somctitnes in its Ijtautiful slate 

Enameled the: mansion around ; 
And the ligures that fancy in cIouiIjj can create 

iSupjilled me with gaidiuis and ground. 

I ]i:vl grotUw and fountains and orange-tiec; 
groves ; 
1 liiid all that enchantment has t/dd ; 
I ha^l sweet shady walks for the gods and their 
loves ; 
I IiimI mountai/is of coral and gold. 

IJut a st^jrni that I felt not hail risen and rolled. 
While wrappiyl in a slumlj<-r I lay ; 

And when 1 awoke in the morning, Ijehold, 
My castle was carried away ! 

It jKissed over rivers and valleys and groves ; 

The world, it was all in my view ; 
I thought of my friends, of their fat<;s, of their 
loves. 

And oi'Um, full oft<;n, of you. 

At length it came over a beautiful scene, 

Which Nature in silence ha<l made ; 
The pliue was but small, but 'twas sweitly s<;iene, 
I And chr^'kered with sunshine and sh.uie. 



HIVEK BONO. 

CoMK U> the river's reedy shore, 

My maiden, while the skies. 

With blushes lit to gra/.-e thy cheek. 

Wait for the sun's uprijie ; 

There, dancing on the ripiding wave, 

My loat expectant lii«. 

And jealous flowers, as thou gofist by, 

I'nclose their dewy eyes. 

As slowly down the stream we glide. 

The lilies all unfold 

Their leaves, less rosy whit'; tlian thou, 

And virgin hearts of gold ; 

The gay bir<l» on the niearlow elm 

Salute thee blithe an-i Ixjid, 

While 1 sit shy anil silent here. 

And glow with love untohL 

r. B. Sakdorh, 



THE CABTLE IN THE AIR. 



I gazed and I envied, with painlul go'j<l-will, 
And grew tired of my seat in the air. 

When all of a sudden my castle st/)od still 
Aji if some attni/.tion was there. 

Like a lark in the sky it came lluttiiiing down. 

And placed me exa. tly in view. 
When, whom should 1 meet in this charming 
retreat. 

This 'xirner of calmness, but you 'I 

Delighted to find you in honor and case, 

I felt no more sorrow nor pain. 
But, the wind coming fair, I ascendwl the breeze, 

And went l)a<;k to my ca;itle again. 



THE LADY LOKT IN THE WOOD. 



' Tills way the nois*.- was, if mine ear \x; true, 
.KTTERS PROM Mv Ixjst guldc HOW ; nietliouglit it was the sound 
"'"• Of riot and ill-rnanagi;<l merriment. 

In the region of clouds, where the whirlwindB ' Such as the jixiund flute or gaines<)mc pijK; 

Stirs up amongst the loose, unlett^^reil hinds, 



u 



My castle of fancy was built. 



I When for their teeming flocks and giangi« 



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756 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



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hi wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such lute wassailers ; yet 0, where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
In tlie blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way, resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favor of these pines. 
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind, hospitable woods provide. 
They left me then, when the gray-hooded eveu, 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 
Kose from the hindmost wheels of Phiebu.s' wain. 
But where tliey are, and why they came not back. 
Is now the labor of my thoughts : 'tis likeliest 
They had engaged their wandering stej)s too far, 
And envious darkness, ere they could return, 
Had stole them from me ; else, thievish night, 
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, 
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars. 
That nature hung in heaven, and tilled their 

lamps 
With everlasting oil, to give due light 
To the misled and lonely traveler ! 
This is the place, as well as I may guess. 
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear, 
Yet naught but single darkness do I find. 
AVhat might this be ? A thousand fantasies 
Begin to throng into my memory. 
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire. 
And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. 
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience. 

welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings. 
And thou unblemished form of Cluistity ; 

1 see you visibly, and now believe 

That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things 

ill 
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance. 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, 
To keep my life and honor unassailed. 

Milton. 



^ 



THE NYMPH OF THE SEVERN. 

FROM " COMUS." 

TnERK is a gentle nymph not far from hence 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn 

stream. 
Sabrina is her name, a virgin jiure ; 
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, 



That had the scepter from his father Brute. 
She, guiltless damsel. Hying the mad pursuit 
Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, 
Commended her fair innocence to the flood. 
That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing 

course. 
The water-nymphs that in the bottom played. 
Held up their pearlid wrists, and took her in. 
Bearing her straight to siged Nereus' hall. 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head. 
And gave her to liis daughters to imbathe 
lu nectared lavers stiewed with asphodel, 
And through the porch and inlet of each sense 
Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived. 
And underwent a quick immortal change, 
Hade Oodde.ss of the river : still she retains 
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, 
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 
That the shrew'd meddling elf delights to make. 
Which she with precious vialed liquors heals ; 
For which the shepherds at their festivals 
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 
And throw sweet garland wreatlis into her stream 
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy datl'odils. 



THE HAUNT OF THE SORCERER. 



Within the navel of this hideous wood. 
Immured in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells. 
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled iu all his raotlier's witcheries ; 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup. 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison 
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fi.\es instead, unmolding reason's mintage 
Charactered in the face : tliis I have learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' the hilly crofts, 
That brow this bottom-glade, whence night by 

night. 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl. 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, 
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 
Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells, 
T' inveigle and invite tlie unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the way. 
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Had ta'en their supper on th» savory herb 
Of knot-grass dew-be.sprent, and were in fold, 
1 sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaimting honeysuckle, and began, 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



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Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy, 
Till fancy had her fill, but ere a close, 
The wonted roar w;is up amidst the woods, 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance ; 
\t which I ceased, and listened them awhile. 
Till an unusual stop of sud<len silence 
liuvc respite to the drowsy frighted steeds. 
That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep ; 
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 
Kose like a stream of rich distilled perfumes. 
And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might 
Deny her nature, and be never more, 
Still to be so dis])laced. I was all ear. 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of death : but 0, ere long 
Too well I did jierceive it was the voice 
Of my most honored Lady, youi' dear sister. 
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear, 
And poor hapless nightingale, thought I, 
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly 
snare ! 

MILTON. 



THE SIRENS' SONG. 



Steer hither, steer your winged pines, 

All beaten mariners : 
Here lie undiscovered mines, 

A prey to passengers ; 
Perfumes far sweeter than the best 
That make the phcenix urn and nest : 

Fear not your ships. 
Nor any to oppose you save our lips ; 

But come on shore. 
Where no joy dies till love has gotten more. 

For .swelling waves our panting breasts. 
Where never storms arise, 

E.xchange ; and be awhile our guests : 
For stars, gaze on our eyes. 

The compass, love sliall hourly sing ; 

Anil, as he goes about the ring. 
We will not miss 

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
William Browne. 



B- 



THE TRAVELER'S VISION. 

It was midway in the desert ; night her dusky 

wing had spread. 
And my Arab guides were sleeping, sharing each 

his courser's bed ; 



Far and near where streams of moonlight lay on 

Nile's time-honored plain, 
Silvery white, amid the sand-heaps, glcameil the 

bones of camels slain. 

I lay wakefid, where my saddle made a pillnw 

hard and cool ; 
With the dried fruits of the palm-tree I had 

heaped its pouches full ; 
I had spread my loosened caftiin over knee and 

over brea.st, 
Naked sword and gun beside mo : thus had laid 

me down to rest. 

All was still, — save when the embers of our 

sunken watch-fire stirred ; 
Save when, hurrying to lier homestead, screamed 

some wild belated bird ; 
Save when, slumbering, stamped the charger, 

bound beside his Arab lord ; 
Save wlien, dreaming of the battle, grasped the 

rider's hand his sword ! 

Heaven ! — thetremblingearth upheavcth ! Shad- 
owy IbiTTis are dimly seen, 

And the wild bea.sts fly before them far across 
the moonlight sheen ! 

Snort our steeds in ileadly terror, anil the startled 
dragoman 

Dro]« his ensign, murmuring wildly : "'Tis the 
.Spirit-caravan ! " 

See, they come ! before the camels ghastly lead- 
ers point the way ; 

Borne aloft, unveiled women their voluptuous 
charms display ; 

And beside them lovely maidens bearing pitchers 
— like Kebecca — 

And behind them liorsemen guarding, — all are 
huiTying on to Mecca ! 

More and more ! their ranks are endless ! who 

may count than ? more again ! 
Woe is me ! — for living camels are the bones 

upon the plain ! 
And the brown sands, whirring wildly, in a 

dusky mass uprise. 
Changing into cam el-drivers, — men of bionze 

with flaming eyes. 

Ay, this is the night and hour, when all wander- 
ers of the land 

Whom the whirlwind once o'ertaking, 'whelmed 
beneath its waves of sand ; 

Whose stomi-driven dust hath fanned us, — 
crumbling bones around us lay, — 

Rise and move in wan procession, by their 
Prophet's grave to pray ! 



^ 



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7o8 



FUEMS OF FANCY. 



--a 



More and more ■ the last in order have not 
jwsscd across the phiin, 

Ere the first with loosened bridle fast are flying 
back again. 

From the verdant inland monntain, even to 
Bab-el-mandeb's sands, 

They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rear- 
ing, breaks his hands ! 

Courage ! hold the plunging horses ; each man 

to his courser's head ! 
Tremble not, as timid sheep-Hocks tremble at 

the lion's tread. 
Fear not though yon waving mantles fan you as 

they hasten on ; 
Call on Allah ! and the pageant ere you look 

again is gone ! 

Patience, till the morning breezes wave again 

your turbans' plume ; 
Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds 

to the tomb. 
Once again to dust shall daylight doom these 

wanderers of the night ; 
See, it dawns ! — a joyous welcome neigh our 

horses to the light ! — 

From the German of FREILIGRATH. 



DIEGO ORDAS IN EL DORADO. 

DllCGO Oi!D.\s, come to El Dorado, 
Getteth him down from off his weary steed ; 

And — " Here," he cries, "0 Cortez, is the haven 
That shall reward our wanderings, indeed ! " 

Bright shines the gold o'er all the ancient city ; 

Gold on the house-tops, gold to pave thestreets ; 
And golden cuirass, shield, and burnished Iiehnet, 

At every corner wondering Ordas meets. 

.\11 ilay he wanders through the devious mazes 
That blaze and glimmer on his weary way ; 

And still he stumbles o'er the shining pavement, 
Wlien silver night shuts out the golden day. 

All through tVie night the pale moon .sees him 
stumbling 

Wliere golden glimmers sparkle in her light. 
And .still no outlet to the mighty city 

Kinds weary Ordas when he ends the night. 

Another day — "0 for a gleam of water ! 

for the sound of gleeful Spanish tongue ! 
for the shiver tlirough the burning daylight. 

That sings in Spain when convent bells are 



And still he wanders through the devious mazes 
That blaze and glimmer on his devious way ; 

And still he stumbles o'er the golden pavement 
When silver night shuts out the second day. 

" Sure there 's a curse o'er all this ancient city I 
Sure there 's a curse on palace and on street 1 

No friendly hand salutes me in my passing ; 
No friendly welcome ever do I meet ! " 

And through the night the pale moon sees him 
stumbling 

Where golden glimmera sparkle in her light ; 
And still no outlet to the mighty city 

Finds weary Ordas when he ends the night. 

And when the sun, upon the dreary morning. 
Springs, golden red, from out the glorious 
east, 

Diego Ordas, blindly crawling onward. 
Dreams, as he staggers, of a glorious feast : 

No kindly food has passed his lips for ages, — 
So I'uns his dream, — but now he finds, at last, 

A table spread, where all that earth can furnish 
Of food and wine sets forth a rich repast. 

And greedy Ordas snatches at the viands, 

Seizes the flasks with dry and trembling 
clutch — 

And all the freshness of the heavenly bancpiet 
Changes to gold upon the slightest touch ! 

" Sure there 's a curse upon this ancient city ' " 
Cries hungry Ordas, prowling through the 
night ; 
" And e'en in dreams it drives men on to mad- 
ne.s.s, — • 
gold ! cursfed gold ! I hate thy sight ! " 

And through the night the p.ile moon sees him 
stumbling 

Where molten gold-light si)arklesin her gleams, 
And still no outlet to the mighty city, 

And still no rest in waking or in dreams ! 

Anil when the sun, upon the dreary morning. 
Springs golden red into the burning sky. 

He shoots death-madness on the fiery pavement 
Where weary Ordas has lain down to die. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. 

The blessed damozel leaned out 
From the gold bar of heaven ; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even ; 



fr- 



fi- 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



n 



She had tliree lilies in her hand, 
And the stars in her hair were seven. 

Hfrr robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 

No Hiouglit flowers did iuloru, 
But a white rose of Mary's gift. 

For service neatly worn ; 
Her hair that lay along her Ijack 

Was yellow like ripe com, 

Ili-r seemed she scarce had been a day 

I inc of God's choristers ; 
The wonder was not yet (|uite gone 

From that still look of hers ; 
Albeit, to\hem she left, her day 

Had counted as ten years. 

It was the rampart of (jod's house 

That she was stiinding on ; 
i'y God built over the sheer dej^h 

The wliicii is space begun ; 
Ho high, that looking downward thence 

.She scarce could see the sun. 

It lies in heaven, across the flood 

Of ether, a.s a bridge. 
Ijcneath, the tides of day and night 

With flame and darkness ridge 
The void, as low as where this earth 

Spins like a fretful midge. 

Heard hardly, some of her new friends 

Amid their loving games 
.S]iake evermore among themselves 

Their virginal chaste names ; 
And the souls mounting up to God 

Went by her like thin flames. 

And still she bowed herself and stopped 

Out of the circling chanu ; 
Until her bosom must have made 

The bar she leaned on wann, 
And the lilies lay as if a-sleep 

Along her bended ann. 

From the fixed place of heaven she saw 

Time like a pulse shake fierce 
Thiough all the worlds. Her gaze still strove 

Within the gulf to pierce 
The patli ; and now .she spoke as when 

Tlie stars sang in their splieres. 

" I wish that he were come to me. 

For he will come," she said. 
" Have I not prayed in heaven ? — on earth. 

Lord, Lord, has he not prayed ? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? 

And shall I feel afraid ? " 



She gazed and listened, and then said, 
Less sad of speech than mild, — 

" All this is when he comes." She ceased. 
The light thrilled toward her, filled 

With angehs in strong level flight. 
Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. 

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path 

Was vague in distant spheres ; 
And then she cast her arms along 

The golden barriers. 
And laid her face Ijctween her hands. 

And wept. (I lieard her tears.) 

Da.stb gaukii^l rossettl 



THE THREE SHIPS. 

Over the waters clear and dark 
Flew, like a startled bird, our bark. 

All the day long with steady sweep 
Sea-gulls followed us over the deep. 

Weird and strange were the silent shores, 
Rich with their wealth of buried ores ; 

Mighty the forests, old and gray. 

With the secrets locked in their hearts away ; 

Semblance of castle and arch and shrine 
Towered aloft in the clear sunshine ; 

And we watched for the warder, stem and grim, 
And the priest with his chanted prayer and hymn. 

Over that wonderful northern sea. 

As one who sails in a dream, sailed we. 

Till, when the young moon soared on high, 
Nothing was round us but sea and sky. 

Far in the east the pale moon swung — 
A crescent dim in the azure hung ; 

But the sun lay low in the glowing west. 
With bars of purple across his breast. 

The skies were aflame with thi; sunset glow, 
The billows were all aflame Ijelow ; 

The far horizon seemed the gate 

To some mystic world's enchanted state ; 

And all the air was a luminous mist, 
Crimson and amber and amethyst. 



Then silently into that fiery sea - 
Into the heart of the mystery — 



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760 



POEMS OF FA\CY. 



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Three ships went sailing one by one, 
The fairest visions under the sun. 

Like the flame in the heart of a ruby set 
Were the sails that flew from each mast of jet ; 

WhUe darkly against the burning sky 
Streamer and pennant floated high. 

Steadily, silently, on they pressed 
Into the glowing, reddening west ; 

Until, on the far hoiizon's fold. 

They slowly passed tlirough its gate of gold. 

You think, perhaps, they were nothing more 
Than schoonei-s laden with common ore. 

Where Care clasped hands with grimy Toil, 
And the decks were stained with earthly moil ? 

beautiful ships, who sailed that night 
Into the west from our yearning sight. 

Full well I know that the freight ye bore 
Was laden not for an earthly shore ! 

To some far realm ye were sailing on. 
Where all we have lost shall yet be won : 

Ye were bearing thither a world of dreams, 
Bright as that sunset's golden gleams ; 

And hopes whose tremulous, rosy flush 
Grew fairer still in the twilight hush : 

Ye were bearing hence to that mystic sphere 
Thoughts no mortal may utter hero — 

Songs that on earth may not be sung — 
Words too holy for human tongue — 

The golden deeds that we would have done — 
The fadeless wreaths that we would have won ! 

And hence it was that our souls with you 
Traversed the measureless waste of blue, 

Till you passed under the sunset gate, 
And to us a voice said, softly, " Wait ! " 

JULI.-V C. R. DOKK, 



& 



IN THE UnST. 

Sitting all day in a silver mist. 
In silver silence all the day, 
Save for the low, soft kiss of spray 

And the lisp of sands by waters kissed. 
As the tide draws up the bay. 



Little I hear and nothing 1 see, 
Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun ; 
The solid earth is vanished for me 

.\ud the shining houi-s speed noiselessly, 
A woof of shadow and sim. 

Suddenly out of the shifting veil 

A magical bark, by the sunbeams lit. 
Flits like a dream — or seems to flit — 

With a golden prow and a gossamer sail, 
And the waves make room for it. 

A fair, swift bark from some radiant realm, ^ 
Its diamond cordage cuts tlie sky 
In glittering lines ; all silently 

A seeming spirit holds the helm. 
And steel's. Will lie pass uie by ? 

Ah ! not for me is the vessel here ; 

Noiseless and swift as a sea-binl's flight 
She swerves and vanishes from the sight ; 

No flap of sail, no parting cheer, — 
She has passed into the light. 

Sitting some day in a deeper mist, 

Silent, alone, some other day. 

An unknown bark, from an unknown bay. 
By unknown watere lapped and kissed, 

Shall near mo through the spraj*. 

No flap of sail, no scraping of keel. 
Shadowy, dim, with a banner dark. 
It will hover, will pause, and 1 shall feel 

A hand which grasps me, and shivering steal 
To the cold strand, and embark, — 

Embark for that far, mysterious realm 

Where the fathomless, trackless waters flow. 
Shall I feel a Presence dim, and know 

Thy dear hand. Lord, upon the helm, 
Nor be afraid to go? 

And through black waves and stormy blast 
And out of the fog-wreaths, dense and dun. 
Guided by thee, sliall the vessel run, 

Gain the fair haven, night being past, 
And anchor in the sun ? 



SONG OF THE SEA BY THE ROYAL GARDEK 

AT NAPLES. 

I H.WE swung for ages to and fro ; 

I have striven in vain to reach thy feet, 

Garden of joy ! whose walls are low, 
And odors are so sweet. 

1 palpitate with fitful love ; 

I sigh and sing with changing breath ; 



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I raise my liands to heaven above, 
I smite my shores beneath ! 

In vain, in vain ! while far and fine, 
To curb tlie madness of my sweep, 

Runs the wliite limit of a line 
I njay not overleap. 

Once thou wert sleeping on my breast, 

Till fiery Titans lifted thee 
From the fair silenee of thy rest, 

Out of the loving sea. 

And I swing eternal to and fro ; 

I strive in vain to reach thy feet, 
Garden of joy ! whose walls are low. 

And odors are so sweet ! 

RossiTER w. Raymond. 



SONG OF THE LIGHTNING. 

" Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 

Muisummer tVtghCi Dream. 

Away ! away ! througli the sightless air 

Stretch forth your iron thread ! 
For I would not dim my sandals fair 

With the dust ye tamely tread ! 
Ay, rear it up on its million piers. 

Let it circle the world around. 
And the journey ye make in a hundred years 

I '11 clear at a single bound ! 

Though I cannot toil, like the groaning slave 

Ye have fettered with iron skill 
To ferry you over the boundless wave, 

Or grind in the noisy mill. 
Let him sing his giant strength and speed ! 

Why, a single shaft of mine 
Would give that monster a flight indeed, — 

To the depths of the ocean's brine ! 

No ! no ! I 'm the spirit of light and love ! 

To my unseen hand 't is given 
To pencil the ambient clouds above 

And polish the stars of heaven ! 
I scatter the golden rays of fire 

On the horizon far below. 
And deck the sky where storms expire 

With my red and dazzling glow. 

With a glance I cleave the sky in twain ; 

I light it with a glare. 
When fall the boding drops of rain 

Tlirough the darkly curtained air ! 
The rock -built towers, the turrets gray. 

The piles of a thousand years. 



Have not the strength of potter's clay 
Beneath my glittering spears. 

From the Alps' or the Andes' highest crag. 

From the peaks of eternal snow. 
The lilazing folds of my fiery flag 

Illume the world below. 
The earthquake heralds my coming power. 

The avalanche bounds away, 
And howling storms at midnight's hour 

Proclaim my kingly sway. 

Ye trenibh^ when my legions come, — 

When my iiuivering sword leaps out 
O'er the hills that echo my thunder down, 

And rend with my joyous shout. 
Ye <[uail on the land, or upon the sea 

Ye stand in your fear aghast, 
To see me burn the stalworth trees, 

Or shiver the stately mast. 

Tlie hieroglyphs on the Persian wall, — 

The letters of high command, — 
Where the prophet read the tyrant's fall, 

Were traced by my burning hand. 
And oft in fire have I wrote since then 

What angiy Heaven decreed ; 
But the sealed eyes of sinful men 

Were all too blind to read. 

At length the hour of light Ls here, 

And kings no more shall bind. 
Nor bigots crush with craven fear, 

Tlie forward march of mind. 
The words of Truth and Freedom's rays 

Are from my pinions hurled ; 
And soon the light of better days 

Shall rise upon the world. 

GEORGE W. CUTTER. 



ORIGIN OF THE OPAL. 

A DEW-DROP came, with a spark of flame 
He had caught from the sun's last ray, 

To a violet's breast, where he lay at rest 
Till the hours brought back the day. 

The rose looked down, with a blush and frown ; 

But she smiled all at once, to view 
Her own bright form, with its coloring warm, 

Reflected back by the dew. 



Then the stranger took a stolen look 
At the sky, so soft and blue ; 

And a leaflet green, with its silver sheen, 
Was seen by the idler too. 



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A cold north-wind, as he thus reclined, 

Of a sudden raged around ; 
And a maiden fair, who was walking there. 

Next morning, an opal found. 



Anonymous. 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'T IS believed that this harp, which 1 wake now 

for thee, 
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, through the bright billow 

roved, 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she 

loved. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold ringlets to 

steep. 
Till Heaven looked with pity on true-love so 

warm, 
And L'lianged to this soft harp the sea-maiden's 

form. 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheek smiled 

the same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully curled round 

the frame ; 
And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its 

l.iright rings. 
Fell o'er her white arm, to make the gold strings ! 

Hence it came, that this soft harp so long hath 

been kuown 
To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone ; 
Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond 

lay 
To be love when I 'm near thee, and grief when 

away ! 



t&-- 



THAT the chemist's magic art 

Could crystallize this sacred treasure ! 

Long should it glitter near my heart, 
A secret source of pensive pleasure. 

The little brilliant, ere it fell, 

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye ; 

Then, trembling, left its coral cell, — 
The spring of Sensibility ! 

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light ! 

In thee the rays of Virtue shine. 
More calmly clear, more nuldly bright. 

Than any gem that gilds the mine. 



Benign restorer of the soul ! 

Who ever fliest to bring relief. 
When first we feel the rude control 

Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief. 

The sage's and the poet's theme, 

In every clime, in every age. 
Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle liream, 

In Reason's philosophic page. 

That very law which molds a tear. 
And bids it trickle from its source, — 

That law preserves the earth a sphere. 
And guides the planets in their course. 
SA.MUEL Rogers. 



A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. 

What was he doing, the gi-eat god Fan, 

Down in the reeds by the river? 
Spreading ruin and scattering ban. 
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, 
And breaking the golden lilies afloat 

With the dragon-fly on the river ? 

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 
From the deep, cool bed of the river. 

The limpid water turbidly ran. 

And the broken lilies a-dying la_t» 

And the dragon-fly had fled away. 
Ere he brought it out of the river. 

High on the shore sat the great god Pan, 

While turbidly flowed the river. 
And hacked and hewed as a great god can 
With his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed. 
Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed 

To prove it fre.sh from the river. 

He cut it short, did the great god Pan, 

(How tall it stood in the river !) 
Then drew the pith like the heart of a man. 
Steadily from the outside ring. 
Then notched the poor dry empty thing 

In holes, as he sate by the river. 

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, 

(Laughed while he sate by the river !) 
"The only way since gods began 
To make sweet music, they could succeed." 
Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 
He blew in power by the river. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, Pan, 

Piercing sweet by the river ! 
Blinding sweet, great god Pan ! 
Tlie sun on the hill forgot to die. 
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 

Came back to dream on the river. 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



763 



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Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, 
To laugh, as he sits by the river, 

Making a poet out of a man. 

The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain, - 

For the reed that grows nevermore again 
As a reed with the reeds of the river. 

ELIZABETH Barrett BRO\v^•r^■G. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

M "THE MYSTERIES OF LOVE AND ELOQUErJCE." 1658. 

Come, follow, foUow me, 

You, fairy elves that be ; 

Which circle on the gi'een. 

Come, follow Mab, your queen. 
Hand in baud let 's dance around. 
For this place is fairy ground. 

When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest ; 

Unheard and unespied. 

Through keyholes Ave do glide ; 
Over tables, stools, and shelves. 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the house lie loul 

With platter, dish, or bowl. 

Up stairs we nimbly creep. 

And find the sluts asleep : 
There we pinch their arms and thighs ; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleauness kept, 

We praise the household maid. 

And duly she is paid ; 
For we use, before we go. 
To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroom's head 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye or wheat 

Is manchet which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink. 
In acorn cups filled to the brink. 

The brains of nightingales. 
With unctuous fat of snails. 
Between two cockles stewed. 
Is meat that 's easily chewed ; 
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, 
Do make a dish that 's wondrous nice. 

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly 
Serve us for our minstrelsy ; 
Grace said, we dance awhile, 
.\nd so the time beguile ; 



And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The glow-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewy grass 
So nimbly do we pass. 
The young and tender stalk 
Ne'er bends when we do walk ; 
Yet in the moniing may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE FAIRIES. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We dare n't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

Down along the rocky shore 

Some make their home, — 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam ; 
Some in the reeds 

Of the black inouutain-hike, 
With fi'ogs for their watch-dogs, 

All night awake. 

High on the hill-top 

The old king sits ; 
He is now so old and gray 

He 's nigh lost his wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses. 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Rosses ; 
Or going up with nmsic 

On cold starry nights, 
To suj) with the queen 

Of the gay Northern Lights. 

They stole little Bridget 

For seven years long ; 
Wlien she came down again 

Her friends were all gone. 
They took her lightly back, 

Between the night and morrow ; 
They thought that she was fast asleep, 

But she was dead with sorrow. 
They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lakes, 
On a bed of flag-leaves. 

Watching till she wakes. 

By the craggy hillside. 
Through the mosses bare, 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



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They have planted thorn-trees 
For pleasure here and there. 

Is any man so daring 
To dig one up in spite, 

He shall find the thornies set 
In his bed at night. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We dare n't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
"Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 



AM ALLINCHAM. 



SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS. 

Come here, come here, and dwell 

In forest deep ! 

Come here, come here, and tell 

Why thou dost weep ! 

Is it for love (sweet pain !) 

That thus thou dar'st complain 

Unto our pleasant shades, our summer leaves. 

Where naught else grieves ? 

Come here, come here, and lie 

By whispering stream ! 

Here no one dares to die 

For love's sweet dream ; 

But health all seek, and joy, 

And shun perverse annoy. 

And race along green paths till close of day, 

And laugh — alway ! 

Or else, through half the year. 

On rushy floor. 

We lie by waters clear, 

While skylarks pour 

Their songs into the sun ! 

And when bright day is done. 

We hide 'neath bells of flowers or nodding corn. 

And dream — till morn ! 



t 



FAIRIES' SONG. 

We the fairies blithe and antic, 
Of dimensions not gigantic, 
Though the moonshine mostly keep us, 
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. 



Stolen sweets are always sweeter ; 
Stolen kisses much completer ; 
Stolen looks are nice in chapels ; 
Stolen, stolen be your apples. 

When to bed the world are bobbing, 
Then 's the time for orchard-robbing ; 
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling 
AVere it not for stealing, stealing. 

From the Latin of THOMAS RANDOLPH. 

by Leigh hunt 



THE FAIRIES' LULLABY. 

FROM " MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." 

Enter Titania, tvith her train. 
TlTANL\. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy 

song ; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; — 
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
Some, war with rear-mice for their leatliern 

wings. 
To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep 

back 
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and 

wonders 
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to youi' offices, and let me rest. 

SOXQ. 

1 Fairy. Youspottedsnakes, vnthdouhlelongtu, 

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 

Xetots, andblind-worrns, do nowrong ; 

Come not near our fairy qxieen. 

Chokus. Philomel, with melody. 

Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 
Never Juirm, 
Nor spell nor charm. 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, mith lullaby. 

2 Fairy. Weaving spiders, come not here ; 

Hence, you long-legged spinners, 
hence I 
Beetles black, approach not -near ; 
Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 

Chorus. Philomel, with melody, etc. 

1 Fairy. Hence away ; now all is well : 
One, aloof, stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 

SHAKESPEARE- 



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COMPLIMENT TO QUEEN ELIZABETH. 

Obeuon. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou 
reincmber'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song. 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres. 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. . I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw (Ijut tliou couldst 
not), 
Flying lietwcen tlie cold moon and the earth, 
I 'ii[iid iill armed ; a certain aim he took 
Ai a Tail v( stal throned by the west, 
.\iid Iniisrd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
.As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts ; 
Hut I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
i^hu'iichedin the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
111 maiden meditation, fancy free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell u])on a little western flower 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, 
And maidens call it, Love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower. 

SHAKESPEARE. 



& 



THEN 1 see, Queen Mabhath been with you. 
She is the fairies' midwife ; and slie comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the fore-finger of an alderman. 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
Hei' wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 
Tile cover, of the wings of gi-asshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; 
Her whip, of cricket's hone ; the lash, of film ; 
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat. 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid : 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub. 
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
And in tliis state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of 

love : 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies 

straight ; 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, — 



1 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
j Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted 
j are : 

Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
.\nd then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; 
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
Then dreams he of another benefice : 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And tlien dreams he of cutting foreign throats. 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes ; 
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two. 
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, • 
That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. 
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes : 
This is the hag, when maiils lie on their backs. 
That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
Making them women of good carriage. 

Shakespeare. 



ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 

Fbo.m Oberon, in fairy-land. 

The king of ghosts and shadows there, 
Mad Robin 1, at his command, 
Am sent to view the night-sports here. 

What revel rout 

Is kept about, 
In every corner where I go, 

I will o'ersee. 

And merry be. 
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 

More swift than lightning can I fly 

About this airy welkin soon. 
And, in a minute's space, dcseiy 

Each thing that 's done below the moon. 

There 's not a hag 

Or ghost shall wag. 
Or cry, 'ware goblins ! where I go ; 

But Robin I 

Their feasts will spy. 
And send them home with ho, ho, ho ! 

Whene'er such wanderers I meet. 

As from their night-sports they trudge home, 
With counterfeiting voice I greet. 
And call them on with me to roam 

Through woods, through lakes ; 

Through bogs, through brakes ; 
Or else, unseen, with them I go, 

All in the nick. 

To play some trick. 
And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho ! 



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76(5 



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i 



Somptiiiu's 1 meet tlioiu liko « miui, 

Soinotiim's «n ox, soiiu't iuu's ii boiiml ; 
Ami to !i lioi-so I tiiiii ii\i' 01111, 

To ti'ii' mul trot nluuit tlioiii nniiul. 
Hut if to ii<U> 
My Uu'k tlioy striilo, 
Jloro swift than wiiul away 1 go ; 
t^'i'i' hedgo ami laiuls, 
Through jHHils ami jiomls, 
\ hurry, hiughiiig, ho, ho, ho ! 

WIk'u lails and lassoa moiry h>>, 

AVitli (lossi^ts and with jvmkots tiuo, 
Uiisoim of all tho comiiaiiy, 

1 I'at thoir cakes ami si() tlu'iv wiiio! 

Ami, to niaku siioit, 

1 inilf and snort ; 
And out I ho oiuidh'S 1 do blow ; 

Tho maids I kiss : 

They shriek — Who's this ! 
1 answer naught hut ho, ho, ho ! 

Yet now and then, the iiuiids to please, 

At midnight I eui\l up their wool ; 
And, while they sleep ami take thoir ease, 
With wlieel to threads their Ihix I pull. 

1 grind at mill 

Their malt up still ; 
1 dress their hemp ; I spin their tow ; 

If any wake. 

And would me take, 
1 wend nu', laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 

When any need to borrow aught. 

We lend them what they do ivquiro : 

And for the use demand wo naught ; 
Our own is all we do desiro. 

If to IVJUIY 

They do delay, 
Abroad amongst them then 1 go. 

And night by night, 

I them atl'right, 
With pinolungs, divams, and bo, ho, ho ! 

When lazy nueans have naught to do, 

lint study how to oog and lie ; 
To make dehsite and niisobief too, 
'Twixt one another seoretly ; 
1 mark their gloze. 
Ami it disoloso 
To them whom they have wrongi^d so ; 
When 1 have done 
1 get mo g»ine. 
And leave them seolding, ho, ho, ho ! 

When men do tm]>s and engines set 
In loopholes, where the vermin oroop. 



Who from their folds and houses got 

Their diioks and gi'ese, and lambs ami sheep, 

1 spy tho gin. 

And enter in. 
Ami seem a verniiu tflkeii so ; 

r.ut when they thoio 

Appivaeh me near, 
1 lea[i out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 

By wells luul rills, in meadows green, 

AVe nightly danee our heyday guise ; 
Ami to our fairy king and <iueeii. 

Wo ehaiit our moonlight niinstivlsies. 
When larks 'gin sing, 
.•\way we lliiig ; 
And Ivibes new-born steal as we go : 
Ami elf in bed 
We leave instead. 
Ami wend us laughing, bo, ho, ho I 

From hag- bred Merlin's time, have 1 

Thus nightly ivveled to and fro ; 

And for my pranks nten eall mo by 

The name of liobin Goodfellow. 

Fiends, ghosts, ami sprites, 

Who haunt the nights. 
The hags and goblins do me know ; 

And beldames old 

My feats have told. 
So valo, vale ; ho, ho, ho ! 

Aurlbutc^l to Bl!N loNSON. 



FROM " rna .ji'i'.i^N's wake." 

Bonny Kilmeny gited up tho glen ; 
But it wasna to meet l>uneim's men, 
Kor the rosy monk of the isle to see. 
For Kilmeny was pnro a-s puiv eould be. 
It was only to hear the yoilin sing, 
.\nd pu' tho eross-llower round the spring, — 
The searlet liypp, and the hindhorrye, 
.\nd the nut that hung frao the hazel-tive ; 
For Kilmeny was pure as puiv eould be. 
But laiig may her niiniiy look o'er the wa', 
.\nd lang may she seek i" the given-wood shaw . 
Lang the Iniixl of Duiieiiii blame. 
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny eomo haiiie. 

When many a day bad eomo and lied. 
When grief grow calm, and hope was dead. 
When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung. 
When tho bedesman had i>rayed, and the dead- 
bell rung ; 
Ijite, late in a gloaniin, when all was still, 
When the fringt> was rod on the wostlin liill. 
The wood was seiu', tho moon i' the wane. 



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POEMH OF FANCY. 



707 i 



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Till) nwk o' the cot hung over tlio j)Iain, — 
IJki; a litt)(! wee cluuil in tlie woilil itH lane ; 
Wlirai till; ingic lowed with an ciiy lenie, 
Late, lute in the gloamiu Kilineny came hanie I 

" Kijniftny, Kilmeny, where have you Ijccn ? 
IjUji(< hue we Bought baith holt and den, — 
I'y linn, by lord, and green-wood tree ; 
Vi't yon are halcBoine and fair to nee, 
Wheie got you that joui> o' the lily »heen ? 
That bonny Hnood of the birk Bac green I 
And thcHe roncH, the fairent tliat ever waH seen 1 
Kilineny, Kilmeny, where have you been '(" 

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, 
Hut nae Hniilij wjih Been on Kilmcuy'H itux ; 
Ah Htill was her look, and an Btill waB her co, 
An the stilliieHB that lay on the eiiierant lea, 
'»!■ the niist that BleepH on a wavelesB «ca. 
loj Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
Ami K il meny hail Been what Hlie could not declare. 
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never 

blew ; 
liul it Beemed aft the haqi of the Hky hail rung. 
And the airH of heaven played round her tongue. 
When Bhe «i«tke of the lovely forms Bhe bail Hccn, 
And a land where Bin liiul never been, — 
A land of love, and a land of light, 
Withouten sun or moon or night ; 
Where the river swa'd a living stream, 
And the light a jiure celestial ficam : 
The land of vision it would seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green-wood there is a walk. 
And in that walk there is a weiie, 
And in that wene there is a maike. 
Thai neither haw flesh, blowl, noi- bane ; 
And down in yon green-wood he walks hi« lane. 

In that green wene Kilmeny lay. 
Her liosom hajjjied wi' the flowerets gay ; 
Hut the air was soft, and the silence deep, 
And bonny Kilmeny fell B0U7id asleep ; 
She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee, 
Till waked by the hymns of a far eountrye. 

She awaked on a couch of tlie silk sac slim. 
All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; 
And lovely beings around were rife. 
Who erst ha*! traveled mortal life ; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer: 
" What spirit has brought this mortal here ?" 

" I<ang have 1 journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
" I'aith night and day I have watched the fair 
Kident a thousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watcheil o'er ilk dcgri^i. 



Wherever blooms femenitye ; 

But sinless virgin, free of sfciin, 

In mind and iKidy, land I nane. 

Never, since the banijuet of time. 

Found I a virgin in her prime, 

Till late this bonny maiden I siiw. 

Am H|KjtleHH as the morning snaw. 

I'lill twenty years she has lived as free 

As the spirits that sojoiiin in this eountrye. 

I have biought her away frae the snares of men, 

Tliat sin or death she may never ken." 

They clasjKtd her waist and her liands sae fair ; 
They kissed her cheek, and they kenied her hair; 
And round came many a blooming fere. 
Saying, " lionny Kilmeny, ye 're wehonn; here; 
Women are freed of the litUind scorn ; 
0, blest be the day Kilmeny was Ixjrn ! 
Now shall the bind of the spirits si;c. 
Now shall it ken, what a woman nmy be !" 

They liftel Kilmeny, they led her away, 
And she walked in the light of a sunlihs day; 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright, 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light ; 
The emerald fields weie of dazzling glow. 
And the (lowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her Uidy they laid. 
That her youth and iKfaiity never might fade ; 
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her 
lie 

In the stream of life that wandered by. 
And she heard a song, • — she heard it sung. 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung. 
It fell on her ear like a dream of tin- morn, — 
" O, blest \x: the day Kilmeny was boni ! 
Now shall the land of the spirits si-e. 
Now shall il ken, what a woman may 1* ! " 

They l)ore her far to a momit-iin green, 
To see what mortal never had w^en ; 
And they si.'ated her high on a purple sward. 
And bade her heed what she saw and beard. 
And note the change-s the spirits wrought ; 
I''or now Bhe lived in the land of thought. — 
She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, 
lint a crystal dome of a thousand dyes ; 
She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
But an endless whirl of glory and light ; 
And railiant beings went and came, 
V-M 8wifti;r than wind or the linked flame ; 
She hid her etn frae the dazzling view ; 
She looked again, and the B<«ne was new. 

She s-aw a sun on a summer sky. 
And clouds of amber sailing by ; 
A lovidy land beneath her lay. 
And that land Iiail glens and mountains gray ; 



-^ 



L 



Xu<X that Imii.1 had valWys auvl hijary jules, 

Auvl msurlW s*as, *ud a thousauJ uU<;s ; 

Its fieUls \v*iv sjHvklwl, its fo»-*sts grwu. 

Ami its l;ik<w w«>w all of iho A-uiliujc shwu, 

likf uva^ic uurivrs, wheiv slumWviu^ lay 

The sua and th* sky aud th<j clomUtt gray. 

Whii-h htf«v<?vl and t^\'U^b^^^l, aud j^utly swung ; 

On every show thtfy seetaevl to bt< hmi^ ; 

For there they wvre seen oa their downwtu\l ^ilaiu 

A thousand tin\<ss and a thousand a^u ; 

In winding; lake and i>lav'id firth, — 

little peawful heavens in the K>«t>itt of eai'th. 

Kitiueuy sijtheil and seemei.1 to j;rieve. 
For she found her heart to that laud did eleave ; 
$he saw the wru wave on the vale ; 
She saw the deer nm dowu the dale ; 
$he saw the plaid and the bi\>ad elaymoiv. 
And the bivws that the ^a^^J!:e ol' five<.lom bor<j ; 
And she thought she had seen the laud beforev 

Then Kilmeny h^jsgevl again to see 
The friends she had left in her own wuutrye. 
To tell the plaee whew she had been. 
And the glories that lay in the laud unseen ; 
To wain the living waivleus lair, 
I'ho U'vevl of heaven, the spirits' carw, 
rU,»t all wh>.>se minds uuiueW remain 
Sh.dl V>loom in heauty when time is gaue. 

With distant mnsio. soft and deejv 
Tliey luUetl Kilmeny souuvl asleep ; 
And when she awakenevl, she lay her lane, 
All hapj>e>,l with flowers in the gitwu-woovl \v««e. 
When se\-en long yeaj-s h!>d otuue and ttevl ; 
When grief was eahu, and hojie was dead ; 
When seai\-e was rewemhere*.! KiUueuy's name. 
Late, late iu a gloamiu, Kilmeny came haute ! 
And 0, her beauty was tair to see, 
Rut still and steadfast wtis her ee ! 
Sueh beauty baj\l may uever vleclare. 
For there was no pride nor {«ssioa there ; 
And the soft desitv of maidens" een 
lu that mild fa^-e ivuld never l>e seen. 
Her seymar was the lily flower. 
And her cheek the moss-rose iu the showur ; 
Aud her wii-e like the distant meUxiye 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she lovevl to raike the lanely glen. 
And keei>e<.l afar frae the haunts of men ; 
Her holy hymns uuheaixl to sing. 
To suek the flowers and vlrink the spring. 
But whei-ever her i>eai,-eful form appeaivd, 
The wild beasts of the hills were eheerevl ; 
The wolf playevl blythely rvmud the field ; 
The lorvlly bysou lowe^l aud fcueelevl ; 
The duu deer wo<>ed with manner bland. 
And ivwereil ai\eath her lilv l^uivl. 



' .\ud when at even the wvxxllauds ruixg. 
When hymns of other wv^rlvls she sung 
In e>.'Stasy of sweet devotion, 

1 0, then the gleu was all iu motiou ! 

I The wild leasts of the forest eame, 

I t5rt<ke fivui their bughts and faulds the tan\e> 
Aud g<.>ve\l aivuml, chaiinevl and am,^e<.l ; 
Kven the dvUl cattle ciwuevl, aiid ga^evl, 
Aud luurmurexl, and Uvkwl with anxious i>aiu 
Kw something the mystery to explsun. 
The buiiaixl came with the thi\>stle-i-ock. 
The >.vrby left her houf iu the »\vk ; 
The blackbiul alaug wi' the eagle flew ; 
The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
The wvdf and the kid their ituke Ivgau ; 
.\ud the tinl. and the laiuK aiul the leveivt wn ; 
The hawk aud the heru attour them hung, 
Aud the merl aud the tuavis forh<.K>ye<,l their 

young ; 
,\ud sill iu a i>eai-et\rl ring weiv hurlevl : 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 

When a mouth and day havl cv>uve aud gami, 
Kilmeny sovight the giveu-wiKxl wene ; 
There laivl her down <>n the leavivs sae green, 
Auvl Kilmeny on earth was never msur seea. 
lint the wonls that fell f»\uu her mouth 
Wew woi\ls of woudei-. and woixis of tnith ! 
But all the land weiv iu fear .and dread. 
For they keud ua whether she was living w dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she ivuldna jvuuiiu ; 
She left this wvnld of siuivw and j>ain, 
Aud wtiu'uevl to the laud of thottght again. 

.I.\U8S Hocc 



FAIRY SONG, 

SuKr> uo tear ! 0, shevl no tear ! 
The flower will Wooin another year. 
Weep no mow ! O, weep no more ! 
Young bxuls sleep iu the jwt's white cvnv. 
Pry your eyes '. 0. dry your eyes ' 
For 1 was taught in Faradise 
To ease my bivast of meUxUes, — 

Shevl no tear. 

Ch'erhead I KK>k overheavl ! 
'Moug the blossoms white aud ivvl. 
Look ui\ look up '. 1 flutter now 
On this fresh promegrauate K>ugh. 
See me ! "t is this silvery bill 
Ever cures the goo<.l man's ill, 
Shevl no tear I 0, shevl no tear ! 
The flower will bUxnu another year. 
Adieu, adieu — 1 fly — adieu 1 
1 vanish in the heaven's blue, — 

Adieu, adieu ! 

JOH.N KlUkVi. 



-S 



e-^ 



I'ORMH OF FANCY. 



7(i'.) 



-a 



t 



ruK t:iiu'iar vay, 

"V iH ttiii mi'l'lU: v/auU of a sumnmr's night, — 
The <!a/i)j is <ia)k, but tiut hitavvitx air': Wli^tt ; 
Nauglit is wx-n iij tli/; vault on hjfjh 
I5ut ttu! iii'xm, a;j<l tli/i stars, au'l t)i* ckiu<jl/^ 

sky, 
AmJ tlw; litjod whi';h joljjs its milky him, 
A rivi-.r </ light on tht w«jkiii Uux;. 
Til"; rnvju l<xjks down ou <Ati tUv'mvit ; 
Hhc )n«ll/jws th'; felui/l/^s on his sliajjgy )y|'aist, 
Au<l sijisms Ijis hu{{<( gray fon/i to throw 
l/i a silver <^tnt; on th« wav; lj<;low. 
His si'lcs ar<j hrokcij hy «j>ot» of sita/U:, 
Hy tli<; walnut )i'ms(it anil tlu; '^/lar «ja/l<; ; 
A/j'l througii tlw^ir <;Iu»ti;rin({ hrauchfts <iark 
Olin/HiK/s an'l <ii«s the (irefl/s sj/ark, — 
J,ik"; starry twijiklns tJiat )uo«K;ntly br'sak 
Through tli<; rifts of th<; gatlijc-rin({ teinjMrrst's iiu:k. 

Th<: stars are on tlie n/ovin({ stnianj, 

Aii'i (ling, as its jijij^les gently Jlow, 
A l/ui7iijilri!'l lengtli of wavy l,<;a)n 

In an <*l-like, spiral line t;«;low ; 
The wiu'ls are whist, aiwl the ow) is still ; 

TIm; t«t in the shelvy rwk hi hi/1 ; 
Aijii iraught is h<«*r<l on the lonely hill 
Jiijt the eriek<;t's ehir)), and the answer shiill 

Of the gauwi-wing')<l bityJi'l ; 
An/1 the jfhiint of the wailing whij/jtoorwill. 

Who jii'Mns uns"-/;)), and ';ea*ehfljs siiigs 
Evei- a note of wall and woe, 

'I'ill nf^rning siir'swls her rosy wings. 
And i«rth and sky in her glances glow, 

'T is the hour of fairy 1/an ar/d s|«;ll ; 
The wo'/l-tiek lias kej/t the winuUss well ; 
f£e lias counted the/n all witti click and stroke 
Dei;i< in the h'sait of the rnountain-vak, 
And he lias awaken<;'l the »intry elve 

Who »le";(<s with hini in the hauntird tree. 
To hid hirn ripg tire hour of twelve, 

And call the fays to their revelry ; 
Twelve srnall strokes on his tinkling tiell 
("V was rnjule of the whit* snail's [learly shell; ; 
" Midnight comes, and all is well ! 
Hither, hitJi/;r wing your way ! 
'T is the dawn of the (airy -'lay." 

They wme from Wis of li<;hen green, 

They er'jep from tlu; mulh^in's velv<rt screen ; 

Some on the hatjks of beetles fly 
From the silver Ujjm of mo'jn-touch's'i trees. 

Where they swung in their cobweb hammock* 
high. 
And T<)(:hiA al>out in the evening br<ie»! ; 

Some from the hunt-bird's downy n'sst, — 
They Iia/i driven him out by elfin jy/wer, 

An>I, i;illowe<l on (jlur/ujsof his rainlxjw breast. 



I Ha<l slunjljer<s<l theie till the vlmrni'A hour- ; 

Some lia/1 lain in tiiA »:/if/p of the rv.k, 
I With glitt<!ring ising'Stai-s inlaid ; 

Arrd xouni Wl ojr-uiwI tlie four-o'chjck, 
] And si/Ati within it« {yurj/h: shaxle. 

And now tJwry throng lli* ni'yynlight glade, 
Alwve, tj<:k>w, on every si<l<;, — 
1 Th<;ij- little minim for;ns array«<l 
! In th/! triijksy i>omi/ of (airy j/ride ! 

I Tlujy <-/im<i not now t/> j/rlnt the lea, 

In fr<«ik and 'Ian';/; around tlje tree. 

Or at the niushro'/m l^/zard to su//, 
, And drink the iIkw from the buttercup ; 
j A Sf^ne of sorrow waits them now, 
I F'/r an ouj/he lias bioken his vestal vow ; 

He lias \iivit>i an <«iithly iriai<l. 

And left for her his wwlland slude ; 

He has lain uj/on li/rr lip of <lew. 

And sunn/;d him in her eye of blue, 

Fannwl Iier clie/tk with his wing of air, 

J'layed in the ringlet* ol her liair, 

An'l, nutHWuy or, I'-r :-r.'Vv,y bieast, 

Forg//tthe). '.. 

For this th. vf air 

To the ejfj- rjj,t/; away : 

An'l now they sUwi eysi/w.-Uint tli/;re. 
To Iwair the 'l»om of tlw: culprit (ay. 

The throne was reared ui^/n the gra»j, 
Of spi';e-w<>oil and of sassafras ; 
On pillars of mottWi t'/rU/is/j-shell 

Hung the burnish';<i 'aiu'/py, — 
An'l o'er it gorgc/us curtains fell 

Of the tulip's crims'/n diajiery. 
Tlie m</narch sat on his ju'lgin':nt-seat. 

On his brow the crown imj/eiUil hhohf., 
The pri»'/n<;r fay was at his (/jet, 

An'l his [/"^rs were rang'-/l ar'/und tlie throne. 
He wav'^l his s-^ef/ter in the air, 

He I'>ok<5<l around an<l 'ailmly si^/ke ; 
His brow was grave and his <;ye s<;vere, 

Jiut his V'>i<;e in a softencl a/j<M;nt broke : 

" Fairy ! fairy 1 list and mark : 

Thou hast broke thine eUin chain ; 

Thy flarn's-W'X/il lamp i-; 'i'i'?n'}i'') and 'lark, 

An'l thy wings ai' - ily stain, — 

Thou hast sullh;/! ti. 

In the glan';/! of a ; '- eye ; 

'I'hou liast ttvinKfl our <iiead liei.-jee. 

And thou shoulds-t [/ay the forfeit high. 
But well I know her sinless mind 

Is pure as the angel (bnns al/jve, 
Oentle an'l mfei;k, and chaste and kind, 

Su'h as a spirit well might love. 
Fairy ! lia/l she sjM or taint. 
Bitter ha/i W-n thy punishment ; 



-S 



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Anii ii'fW h". Ufn/h t)(« ft»»A) itii/irti 
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772 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



-a 



o- 



livit ho left an aivh of silver bright, 
Tho rainbow of tho moony main. 

It was a straugv and lovely sight 
To see the [Uiny goblin thoa" ; 

He seenuxl an angel form of light. 
With azuiti wing anU snnny hair, 
Thronoil on a oloud of pnri>lo ftiir, 

tMreled with bine and edged with white. 

Anil sitting, at the fivll of oven, 

Ueneath tho Knv of summer heaven. 

A moment, and its luster fell ; 

Unt ere it met the billow blue 
He caught within his crimson bell 

A divplet of its sjwrkling dew ! — 
.Toy to thee, fay ! thy task is done. 
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won, — 
Cheerly ply thy dripping our, 
And haste away to tho olfm shore. 

Ho turns, and, lo ! on either side 

The ripples on his path divide ; 

And the track o'er which his bout must pass 

Is smooth as a sheet of polished ghiss. 

Around, their liml« the sea-nymphs lave, 

With snowy arms half swelling out. 
While on the glossed and glcamy wave 

Their sea-green ringlets loiKsely tlout. 
They swim around with smile and song ; 

They press the biirk with pearly himd, 
And gently urge her coni-so along 

Towai\l the beach of speckled s;ind, 

And, as he lightly leaped to land, 
Thoy Uule adieu with nod and bow ; 

Then gjvyly kissed each little hand, 
And drepjwd in tho crystal deep below. 

A moment stayed tho fairy there ; 

He kissed the lieach and breathed a prayer ; 

Then spread his wings of gilded blue. 

And on to the eUin court he tlew. 

As ever ye saw a bubble vise, 

.\i\d shine with a thousand changing dyos. 

Till, lesiiening far. through ether driven, 

It mingles with the hues of heaven ; 

As, at the glimjise of morning jwile. 

The lance-tly spreads his silken sail. 

And gleams with blendings soft and bright 

Till lost in the shades of fading night, — 

So rose from earth the lovely fay ; 

So vanished, tar in heaven away ! 

Up, fairy ! quit thy chickweed bower, 
Tho cricket has called the second hour ; 
Twice again, and the lark will rise 
To kiss the streaking of the skit>s, — 
Up ! thy charmed armor don. 
Thou 'It need it ere tho nigkt bo gone. 



He put his acorn helmet on ; 

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down ; 

The eoi-selet plate that guanled his breast 

Was once the wild bee's g^>ldcn vest ; 

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes. 

Was formed of the wings of buttertlies ; 

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug quoon. 

Studs of gold on a ground of green ; 

And the quivering lance which he brandished 

bright 
Was the sting of a wasp ho had slain in tight. 
Swift he bestrode his lirelly steed ; 

He l>ivred his blade of the bent-grass blue; 
He drove his spurs of the cocklo-seod, 

And away like a glance of thought he flow 
To skim the heavens, and follow far 
Tlie fiery trail of the rocket-star. 

The moth-lly, as he shot in air. 

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there ; 

The katyilid forgot its lay, 

Tho prowling gnat lied fast away, 

Tho fell mosquito checked his drone 

And folded his wings till the fay was gone. 

And the wily beetle dropped his head, 

.\nd fell on the ground as if he were dead ; 

They crouched them close in the darksome shade. 

They quaked all o'er with awe and fear. 
For they had felt the blue-bent blade, 

And writhed at the prick of tho olfiu spear. 
Many a time, on a summer's night. 
When the sky was clear, and the moon was bright. 
They had been roused from the haunted ground 
By the yelp and Iwy of the fairy hound ; 

They had heaul the tiny bugle-horn. 
They had heaul the twang of the maize-silk string, 
When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn. 

And the needle-shaft through air was lioruo. 
Feathered with down of the hum-binl's wing. 
And now thoy deemed the courier oupho 

Some hunter-sprite of the eltin ground. 
And they watched till they saw him mount tho 
roof 

That canopies the world around ; 
Then glad they left their covert lair. 
And freaked about in the midnight air. 

Up to the vaulted firmament 

His jvith the firetly coui~sev bent. 

And at every gallop on tho wind 

He thing a glittering spark behind ; 

He tlies like a feather in the blast 

Till the first light cloud in heaven is jiast- 

Uut the shapes of air have begun their work. 
And a drizzly mist is round him cast ; 

He cannot see through tho mantle murk ; 
He shivers with cold, but he ni-ges fast ; 

Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade, 



-^ 



\n 



POEMS 01<' FANCY. 



773 



ra 



h 



III; lashes his steed, ami ajmra anmiii, — 
I'ur shailowy hands have twitched the rein, 

And llanie-shut tongues around him played. 
And near him many a fiendish eye 
(ilared with a fell malignity, 
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, 
Came screaming on his startled ear. 

His wings are wet around his breast, 
'ri)e plume hangs drijiping from his crest. 
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare, 
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's blare, 
liut he gave a shout, and his blade he drew. 

He thrust before and he struck behind. 
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through. 

And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind ; 
Howling the mLsty specters Hew, 

'I'liey rend the air with frightful cries ; 
For he has gained the welkin blue, 

And the land of clouds beneath him lies. 

Up to the cope careeiing swift. 

In breathless motion fast. 
Fleet as tlio swallow cuts the drift, 

Or the sea-roc rides the blast, 
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, 

The sphered moon is past, 
The earth but seems a tiny blot 

On a sheet of azure cast. 
(J, it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, 

To tread the starry plain of even ! 
To meet the thousand eyes of night. 

And feel the cooling breath of heaven ! 
liut the elfin made no stop or .stay 
Till he .-ame to the bank of the Milky Wiiy ; 
Tlnri 111- rlii'cked his courser's foot, 
Anil watibed for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. 

Sudden along the snowy ti<le 

That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall. 
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide. 

Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; 
Around the fay they weave the dance. 

They skip before him on the |)lain, 
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance. 

And one upholds his bridle-n-in ; 
With uarblings wild tliey lead him on 
To where, through clouds of amber seen, 
.Studdcid with stars, resplendent sliono 

The jialace of the sylphid queen. 
Its s])iral columns, gleaming bright. 
Were streamers of the northern light ; 
Its curtain's light and lovely Hush 
Was of the morning's rosy blush ; 
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon. 
The white and feathery fleece of noon. 

Hut, 0, how fair the shape that lay 
I'eneath a rainbow bending bright ! 



She seemed to the entranced fay 

The loveliest of the fornui of light ; 
Her mantle was the purple rolled 

At twilight in the west afar ; 
'T was tied with threads of dawning gold, 

And buttoned with a sparkling star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 

That veils the vestal jilanet's hue ; 
Her eyes, two beandets from the moon. 

Set fioating in the welkin blue. 
Her hair is like the sunny beam. 
And the diamond gems which round it gleam 
Are the pure drops of dewy even 
That ne'er have left their native heaven. 

She was lovely and fair to see, 

And the cllin's heart beat fitfully ; 

liut lovelier far, and still more fair. 

The earthly form imprinted there ; 

Naught he saw in tlie heavens above 

Was half so <lear as his mortal love, 

For he thought uj)on her looks so meek, 

And he thought of the light fiush on her cheek. 

Never again might he bitsk and lie 

On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye ; 

But in his dreams her form to see, 

To clasp her in his revery. 

To think upon his virgin bride, 

Was worth all heaven, and earth beside. 

" Lady," ho cried, " I have sworn to-night. 

On the word of a fairy knight. 

To do my sentence-task aright ; 

My honor scarce is free from stain, — 

I m.ay not soil its snows again ; 

Betide me weal, betide me woe. 

Its mandate must be answered now." 

Her bosom heaved with many a sigh. 

The tear was in her droojiing eye ; 

But she led him to the palace gate. 

And (sdled the .sylphs who hovered there. 
Anil bade them fly and bi'iiig him straight, 

Of clouds condensed, a sable car. 
With charm and sjiell she blessed it there. 
From all the fiends of upper air ; 
Then round him cast the sh.adowy shroud. 
And tied his steed behind the cloud ; 
And jiressed his hand as she bade him fly 
Far to the verge of the northern .sky. 
For by its wane and wavering light 
There was a star would fall to-night. 

Borne afar on the wings of the blast. 
Northward away he speeds him fast, 
And his cour.ser follows the cloudy wain 
Till the hoof-strokes fall like patti.'ring rain. 
The clouds roll backward as he flies, 
Each flickering star behind him lies. 



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And he has reached tlie northern plain, 
And backed his firefly steed again, 
Ready to follow in its flight 
The streaming of the rocket-light. 

The star is yet in the vault of heaven. 

Hut it rocks in the summer gale ; 
And now 't is fitful and uneven, 

And now 't is deadly pale ; 
And now 't is wrapped in sulphur-smoke, 

And quenched is its rayless beam ; 
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke 

It bursts in flash and flame. 
As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance 

That the storm-spirit flings from high. 
The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, 

As it fell from the sheeted sky. 
As swift as the wind in its train behind 

The elfin gallops along : 
The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud. 

But the syljihid charm is strong ; 
He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire. 

While the cloud-fiends lly from the blaze ; 
He watches each flake till its sparks expire, 

And rides in the light of its rays. 
But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed. 

And caught a glimmering spark ; 
Tlien wheeled around to the fairy ground. 

And sped through the midnight dark. 

Ouplie and goblm ! imp and sprite ! 

Elf of eve ! and starry fay ! 
Ye that love the moon's soft light, 

Hither, — hither wend your way ; 
Twine ye in a jocund ring, 

Sing and trip it merrily. 
Hand to hand, and wing to mng, 

Kound the wild witch-hazel tree. 

Hail the wanderer again 

With dance and song, and lute and lyre ; 
Pure his wing and strong his chain. 

And doubly bright his fairy fire. 
Twine ye in an airy round. 

Brush the dew and print the lea ; 
Skip and gambol, hop and bound, 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 

The beetle guards our holy ground, 

He flies about the haunted place. 
And if mortal there be found, 

He hums in his ears and flaps his face ; 
The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay. 

The owlet's eyes our lanterns be ; 
Thus we sing and dance and play 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 

But hark ! from tower to tree-top high. 
The sentrv-elf his call has made ; 



A streak is in the eastern sky, 

Sliapes of moonlight ! flit aud fade ! 
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring. 
The skylark shakes his dappled wing, 
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, 
The cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. 
JOSEPH Rodman Drake. 



FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. 

Farewell rewards and fairies 1 

Good housewifes now may say. 
For :iow foul sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they. 
And though the}' sweep their hearths no less 

Than maids were wont to do. 
Yet who of late, for cleanliness, 

Finds si.xpence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament, old Abbeys, 

The fairies' lost command ; 
They did but change priests' babies, 

But some have changed your land ; 
And all your children sprung from thence 

Are now gi'own Puritans ; 
Who live as changelings ever since, 

For love of your domains. 

At morning and at evening both, 

You merry wei'e and glad. 
So little care of sleep or sloth 

These pretty ladies had ; 
When Tom came home from labor. 

Or Cis to milking rose. 
Then merrily went their tabor. 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelays 

Of theirs, which yet remain, 
Were footed in Queen JIary's days 

On many a grassy plain ; 
But since of late Elizabeth, 

And later, James came in. 
They never danced on any heath 

As when the time hath been. 

By which we note the fairies 

Were of the old profession. 
Their songs were Ave-Maries, 

Their dances were procession : 
But now, alas ! they all are dead. 

Or gone beyond the seas ; 
Or farther for religion fied ; 

Or else they take their ease. 

A telltale in their company 
Tliey never could endure, 



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And whoso kept not secrftly 

Their mirth, was jiuuislu'd sure ; 

It was a just and Christian deed, 
To pinch sucli black and blue : 

0, how the commonwealth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Richard Curb 



fQ— 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAJT. 

Come, dear children, let us away; 

Down and away below. 
Now my brothers call from the bay ; 
Now the great winds shorewards blow ; 
Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 
Now the wild white horses play, 
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. 

Children dear, let us away. 
This way, this w'ay. 

Call her once before you go. 

Call once yet. 
In a voice that she will know : 

" ilargaret ! Margaret!" 
Children's voices should be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear : 
Children's voices wild with pain. 

Surely she will come again. 
Call her once, and come away, 

This way, this way. 
" Mother deai', we cannot stay ! 
The wild white horses foam and fret, 

Margaret ! ilargaret ! " 

Come, dear children, come away down. 

Call no more. 
One last look at the white-walled town. 
And the little gray church on the windy shore. 

Then come down. 
She will not come, though you call all day. 

Come away, come away. 

Children dear, was it yesterday 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 

In the caverns where we lay. 

Through the surf and through the swell. 
The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 
Sand-strewni caverns cool and deep, 
Where the winds are all asleep ; 
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 
A\Tiere the salt weed sways in the stream ; 
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round. 
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; 
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 
Dry their mail and bask in the brine ; 
Where gi-eat whales come sailing by, 



Sail and sail, with unshut eye, 
Kound the world forever and aye ? 

When did music come this way ? 

Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Chililren dear, was it yesterday 

(Call yet once) that she went away ? 

Once she sat with you and me. 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea. 
And the youngest sat on her knee. 

She combed its bright hair, and she tendc'l it 
well. 

When down swung the sound of the far-off bell, 

She sighed, she looked up through the clear green 
sea, 

She said, "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 

In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 

'T will be Easter-time in the world, — ah me ! 

And I lose my poor soul, Jlermaii, here with 
thee." 

I said : "Go up, dear heart, through the waves: 

Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea- 
caves." 

She smiled, she went up through the surf in tlie 

i«y, 

Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Children dear, were we long alone ? 
"The .sea grows stormy, the little ones moan ; 
Long prayers," I said, " in the world they say." 
" Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in 

the bay. 
We went up the beach in the sandy down 
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled 

town. 
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was 

still, 
To the little gray church on the windy hill. 
From the church came a murmur of folk at their 

prayers. 
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 
We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn 

with rains, 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small 
leaded panes. 
She sat by the pillar ; we saw her clear ; 
" Margaret, hist ! come ([uick, we are here. 
Dear heart," I said, "we are here alone. 
The sea gi'ows stormy, the little ones moan." 
But, ah, she gave me never a look. 
For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 
' ' Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the door. '' 
Come away, children, call no more, 
Come away, come down, call no more. 



Down, down, down, 

Down to the depths of the sea. 



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She sits at her wheel in the hummiug town, 

Singing most joyfully. 
Hark -what she sings : " joy, joy, 
From the humming street, and the child with its 

toy, 
From the priest and the hell, and the holy well. 

From the wheel where I spun. 

And the blessed light of the sun." 

And so she sings her fill, 

Singing most joyfully. 

Till the shuttle falls from her hand. 

And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
She steals to the window, and looks at the 
sand. 

And over the sand at the sea ; 

And her eyes are set in a stare ; 

And anon there breaks a sigh, 

And anon there drops a tear. 

From a sorrow-clouded eye. 

And a heart sorrow-laden, 
A long, long sigh. 
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, 
And the gleam of her golden liair. 

Come away, away, children, 
Come, children, come do\vn. 
The hoarse wind blows colder, 
Lights shine in the town. 
She will start from her slumber 
When gusts shake the door ; 
She will hear the winds howling. 
Will hear the waves roar. 
We shall see, while above us 
The waves roar and whirl, 
A ceiling of amber, 
A pavement of pearl, — 
Singing, " Here came a mortal, 
But faithless was she. 
And alone dwell forever 
The kings of the sea." 

But, children, at midnight. 
When soft the winds blow, 
When clear falls the moonlight. 
When spring-tides are low ; 
Wl\en sweet airs come seaward 
From heaths starred with broom ; 
And high rocks throw mildly 
On the blanched sands a gloom : 
Up the still, glistening beaches, 
Up the creeks we will hie : 
Over banks of bright seaweed 
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
We will gaze from the sand-hills, 
At the white sleejiing town ; 
At the church on the hillside — 
And then come back, down. 



Singing, " There dwells a loved one. 
But cruel is she : 
She left lonely forever 
The kings of the sea. ' 



MATTHEW Arnold. 



THE FISHEE. 

The waters purled, the waters swelled, — 

A fisher sat near by, 
And earnestly his line beheld 

With tranquil heart and eye ; 
And while he sits and watches there. 

He sees the waves divide. 
And, lo ! a maid, with glistening hair. 

Springs from the troubled tide. 

She sang to him, she spake to him, — 

"Why lur'st thou from below. 
In cruel mood, my tender brood, 

To die in day's fierce glow ! 
Ah ! didst thou know how sweetly there 

The little fishes dwell. 
Thou wouldst come down then- lot to share, 

And be forever well. 

" Bathes not the smiling sun at night — 

The moon too — in the waves ? 
Comes he not forth more fresh and bright 

From ocean's cooUng caves ? 
Canst thou unmoved that deep world see, 

That heaven of tranquil blue. 
Where thine own face is beckoning thee 

Down to the eternal dew?" 

The waters purled, the waters swelled, — 

They kissed his naked feet ; 
His heart a nameless transport held, 

As if his love did greet. 
She spake to him, she sang to him ; 

Then all with him was o'er, — 
Half drew she him, half sank he in, — 

He sank to rise no more. 



TAM O'SHANTER. 



When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late. 
An' folk begin to fcvk the gate ; 
While wo sit bousing at the nappy. 



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An' getting fou ami uuco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
Tliat lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn O'Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

Tarn ! hadst thou been but sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at tlie L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon. 
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon ; 
Or eatched wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me gi'eet 
To think how monie counsels sweet. 
How monie lengthened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night 
Tarn had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony. 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, 
And aye the ale was gi-owing better ; 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a mau sae happy, 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread ; 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
A moment white, — then melts forerer ; 
( h- like the horealis race, 



That flit ere you can point their place ; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely fomi 

Evanishing amid the storm. 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 

That hour o' night's black arch the keystane, 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 

And sic a night he takes the road in 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed ; 
That night a child might understand 
The Deil had liusiness on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg,) 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising wind and rain and fire, — 
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
Wliyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glowering round wi' pradent cares. 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-AUoway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoorod ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare himters fand the murdered bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars through the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering through the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ! 
Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn I 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae we '11 face the Devil ! — 
The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he cared na Deils a liodle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonished. 
Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 
She ventured forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance : 
Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast, — 
A towzie tyke, lilack, gi'im, and large,— 



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To gio them music was his ohaige ; 

Ho sci'Ctted the pipes ami gait tliem skirl 

Till roof nil' iiiftei-s u' iliil dill. 

Collins stood round like open presses, 

That shawed the dead ill their last dresses ; 

And by some devilish oantiip sleight, 

Kaeh in its cauld hand held a light, — 

liy which heroic Tiim was able 

To note, upon the haly tiililc, 

A niiii'dcrer's banes in gibbet aims ; 

Twa sjuin-lang, wee, uiiehristened bairns ; 

A thief, now eutted fnie a rape, 

W'V his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' blnid red rusted ; 

Five scyniitai's, wi' muitler crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

\Vhoiu his i\in sou o' life bereft, — 

The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 

Three lawyere' tongues turned inside out, 

Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout ; 

And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 

Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' 

Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Taminie glowered, amazed and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
Tlie dancers (juick and quicker Hew ; 
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coost her duddies to the wark. 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, Tain ! had they been ipieans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead of ereeshie llamien. 
Been snaw-whito seventeen-hunder linen ; 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were phish, o' gnid blue hair, 
1 wad hae gi'en them alf my hunlies 
Kor ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams, aulil and droll, 
Kigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock, — 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what Ai' brawlie. 
There was ae winsome wench and walie. 
That night inlisted in the core 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ; 
For nioiiie a beast to dead she shot, 
And perished monie a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meiklo corn and bear, 
And kept the conntry-side in fear), 
ller cutty sark o' Paisley ham. 
That while a lassie she had worn. 
In longitude though sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vaunty. — 
Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie 



That sark she coft for her wee Nannie 
Wi" twa puiid Scots ('t was a' her riches) 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cower, 
Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and Hang 
(A souple jade she was and Strang), 
And how Tam stooil like aiie bewitched. 
And thought his very ecu enriched. 
Ev'n Satan glowered, and fidgcd fu' fain, 
And botched and blew wi' might and main j 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, — 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither. 
And roai-s out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
And in an instjint a' was dark ; 
And scarcely had ho Maggie ridliod. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering lienls assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes. 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 
When Cutch the thitf.' resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, — the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Taiii ! ah. Tain ! thou '11 get thy fairin' ! 
In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' — 
Kate soon will bo a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, — 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she i:ould make, 
The tient n biil she had to shake ; 
For Nannie, far before the re-st, 
Hani upon noble Maggie pre'st. 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettlo : 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle, — 
Ae spring brought alf her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rnnip. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o" truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
t^r cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Kemember Tam O'Shanter's mare. 

Robert Burns. 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELI>f. 

Hamelin Town 's in Brunswick, 

By famous Hanover City ; 

The riviM- Wcser, deep and wide, 
■Washes its wall on the southern side ; 

A pleas;inter spot you never spied ; 



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But when begins my ditty, 

Almost live Imndreil years ago, 

'J'o see the townsfolk suffer so 
From vermin was a jiity. 

li^ts 1 
Thi-y fought the dogs, and killed the cats, 

And hit the babies in the eradles. 
And ate the cliceses out of the vats, 

And lieked the soup from the cook's own ladles. 
Split ojicn the kegs of salted sprats. 
Made nests inside men's Sunday liats. 
And even sjjoiled the women's chats, 

ISy drowning their speaking 

Willi slii-ieking and squeaking 
in lifty diliei'ent sharps and flats. 

At last the people in a body 

'J'o the Town Hall came flocking : 
" "J' is clear," cried they, "our Mayor 's a noddy ; 

And as for our Corporation, — shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can't or won't determine 
What 's best to rid us of our vermin ! 
At this the Mayor and Corpoiation 
Quaked with a mighty consternation. 

An hour they sate in counsel, — 
At length the Mayor broke silence : 

" Fur a guilder I 'd my ermine gown sell ; 
I wish I were a mile hence ! 

It 's ea-sy to bid one rack one's bi-ain, — 

I 'm sure my poor head aches again. 

I 've scratched it so, and all in vain. 

for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " 

Just as he .said this, what should hap 

At tlie chamber door but a gentle ta[i ? 

" Bless u.s," cried the Mayor, "what 's that ? " 

"Come in ! " — the Mayor cried, looking bigger ; 

And in did come the .strangest figure ; 

He .advanced to the council-teble : 

And, "Plea.se your honors," said he, "I 'ra able. 

By means of a secret chann, to draw 

All creatures living beneath the sun, 

That creep or swim or fly or run. 

After me so as you never saw ! 

Vi4," said he, " poor piper as I am. 
In Tartary 1 freed the Cham, 
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats ; 

1 eased in Asia the Nizam 

Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats ; 
And as for what your brain bewilders, — 
I f I can rid your town of rats, 
Will you give rne a thousand guilders ? " 
"One ? fifty thousand !" was the exclamation 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 

Into the street the piper stept, 
Smiling first a little smile, 



As if lie knew what magic slept 
In his quiet pipe the while ; 

I Then, like a musical adept, 

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 

And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 

Like a candle flame where salt is sjirinklcd ; 

And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered. 

You heard as if an army muttered ; 

And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 

And the grumbling gi'ew to a mighty i-umbling ; 

And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats. 

Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats. 

Grave old ploddei-s, gay young friskers. 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cou.sins, 
Cocking tales and pricking whiskei's ; 

Families by tens and dozens. 
Brothers, sistei's, husbands, wives, — 
Followed the piper for their lives. 
From street to street he ])iped advancing, 
Anil step for step they followed dancing, 
Until they came to the river Weser, 
Wherein all plunged and ]>crished 
Save one who, stout as J ulius Cajsar, 
Swam across and lived to carry 
(As he the manuscript he cherished) 
To Iliit-land home his commentary, 
Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the 

i I'il"-'. 

I I heard a sound as of .scraping tripe, 
! And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 

! Into a cider-press's gripe, — 

i And a moving away of picklc-tub-boards, 
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, 

' And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, 
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks ; 
And it seemed as if a voice 
(Sweeter far than by harp or by p.saltcry 
Is breatlied) called out, rats, rejoice ! 
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ' 
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon. 
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! 

1 And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, 

i All ready staved, like a great sun .shone 
Glorious scarce an inch before me, 

I Just as mcthought it said. Come, bore me ! — 

I I found the We.ser rolling o'er me." 

You should have heard the Hamclin people 
Ringing the bells till they locki'd the steeple ; 
" Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles ! 
Poke out the nests and block up the holes ' 
Consult with carpenters and builders 
And leave in our town not even a trace 
Of the rats ! " — when suddenly, up the face 
Of tlie piper perked in the market-place. 
With a " First, if you please, my thousand 
giiilders ! " 



-ff 



a- 



7H() 



J'OJiMS OF FANCY. 



^ IIiuiihiiimI Kliil.li.m! Hi.' M.iyur Inolir.l l.lnc ; 
Mo <liil Uin Coj'iKimMnn lun. 

I''nl .'i.lMX'lldilHK r» JIhMin fal'll llflVIXI 

Willi i'Imi,.|, M.m..|l.., Viii-.l..(!nivo, Ilnnlt ; 

Anil IiiiU'IIki riiuiii'y wiiiilil ni|ili'nl»li 

'I'liclr im.IIiii'm \<\m™l ImiU wlUi UliiiiiiHli. 

'I'" |iii.y IIiIm hiiiii Id ii. wiuli|cirlii« lnlliiw 

Wil h n ny|iHV iMiiil, (if ri.il iiiiil yrllnw I 

" l'iiMiiiln,"i|imMi llui Miiyor, williii krinwhiKwInk, 

"Our liuiilnnnH wim ilmi" at, llic livrr'a lirink i 

VVii Kiuv wllli iiiir I'yc'M llii' VMiiiiin hIiiIi, 

Anil M'linl: '» iliwl I'liiri I'MMin In lil'n, I lliilik. 

Hi., IVii'iiil, wii'i'n iml lliu IblltH in (.lirink 

li'iiiin llii'ilnl.y (irKlvltiKydii Himinlliln^ I'linlriuk, 

Anil II iniitliir nl' innnny Ui ]iiil. in yimr piikii ; 

Hill III! I'or tlin xuiliiiTH, wlllil wiixpnkii 

(If llii'Mi, III! yiiii vi'iy Willi know, wiih in Jokr. 

lli.M.lr. nnr Inwiw lii'ivii niM.lii n» lliiil\y ; 

A IJM.ii.'mii.l |Mii|.|.-rn I <',,i,in, Ink,' lilly I" 

Till' jMiicr'H I'lii'i' li'll, anil lir i riid, 
■• Nil ri-lllliiK I I ciiiri Willi, I liiniiilii, 
I 'vi' |ii'(iniiiii'il 111 vl»il. Iiy illi r Hum 

ItllK'lllI, IMXI II I'l Ulli '|»'i 

1)1 lliii hmil I'unk'x |iiiIIii»;m, nil lir 'i< liili In, 
Kor liiivliiK li'l'l, in Llin l'iili|,li'ii kilrln'ii, 
I II n Mi'ill 111 lirnl|iliinM llii Hinvi Viil', 
Willi hini I {M'livi'il nil liniKiiin iIi'Ivit ; 
Willi yon, .Iom'I lliiiik I 'II liiili' n iiliviT I 
Anil loIKi who |.iil nil' in n |m'i'iion 
Miiy liii'l till' |ii|H' lo iiiiollii'i rni'lniin." 

'■ llmvr'i'iiiilllii' M.iyor, "il' yi'lhink nilirnnk 

ll.'illK H'ol'll' hl'llll'll I hull M I k I 

lii.iilti'ii hy II lii/y lihiiM 

Willi iilln |>i|miiliil vi'Hliilv pli'Imhl ) 

Voiullii Ii'ii n-i, li'llmv ' Do yonr woi'Ht, 

llh'W yon. |M{H' llii'io till you Imnil 1" 

II ' nmri' hi< m|<'|>I iiilo Iho nIii'i'I ; 

Anil III lii'i li|iH iiKiilii 
l.iii'l hill loiii-; |ii|>n III' Hniinilh hIi'iiIkIiI. riino ; 

Anil 111' hi' Mi'u- Ihi'iiii iinliw (miu'Ii HWcot 
Soil iioli'M III yi'l nuiHlrliin'H (nmiilng 

Ni'viT niivi' Iho i.nni|ilni'ml iilr) 
'riino wiiM a niNlling lliiil. hiu'Iiu'iI liko ii hiiBllIng 
< n iiii'nyriiiwiliijniillinj/iil iiili'liin^rnnilliiiMtlliiK; 

Siuiilll.'.l «.'ii'|iiilli'iiin;. w IrnMlii.iwcliilli.rillg, 

Lilllr liHii'hii'hi|'|>in,'t, mill lillli' lonKiuw rliuttor- 

inr.; 

An. I, IiIm' hiwhi in n hinnyiinl when luiili'y \H 

'.nil I. Tin;;, 
I nil I'linii' III.. .'liil.li'i'H rnnniiif; : 
All I ho III III. lioyHiiml kiiIm, 
W nil niny ..liimkH iinil lliix.'ii .'uiIm, 

An.l ii|.iir'kllnK .'y.'K I l.'.'Hi liku ii.'iii'In, 

■ril|'|iin)j; iin.l Hki|i|iinK. nin in.'irily iiIIit 

ri" uon.l.'iiiil niiuiii. with HliimtinK mill laiiKhd'i'. 



Till' Miiyoi win 'liiinli, iiml Iho ('iniiiiil ...I 

Am illhi'y Willi iliini^;.il iiilo lilooli,, ol' wo.,.1, 

Unidili' U< niovi. ii hL.'|i, w ny 

'I'll 111.' .'hililri'ii nirnily Hki|i|iinj< liy, — 

Anil .'..nl.l.mly ri.llnw'wiUi tin. .'yr' 

TliiiL ,jiiyiiiiH rjfdwil al tlio iiipi'r'H Imck, 

Dill. Iiiiw Mm Miiyiir wiih on tlio rack, 

Anil Irln. wi'.iU'lii'.l ('niMii'il'n lioHoinH liiial;, 

Am tliii iiipi'i' Uirni'il rr.nn tin. liiili .Slri'i'l 

To wli.To Mm W.'HiT r.ill.'il 11h wnt.'m 

KIkIiI' in Mil. wiiy of Mi.'lr hihih and ilanglili'rn I 

ll.iw.'vor. In. Inrni'.l I'l'iiin houMi to wi.hI, 

Anil 1.1 Kiippi<lliur)< Hill liiit HtopH luUlruHHud, 

An.l iil'Uir lilin Mm idillihuii prunauil ; 

Oi'.'id wail Mm .joy In (.viTy lii'(.a»l. 

" III! iii'Vcr I'lin i-riwH Mini nii«li(y lop I 

11.1 'm r.ir<'..il 111 l.il, Mm [lipiiiK drop, 

And wi. hIuiII Hill, our .'liildr.'n xtop ! " 

WImii, 111, iiH Mmy rt.a.'ln'd Mm nnninlain'H Midi', 

A w.indrouM porljil op.'iii'il wido. 

Ah il' II niiv.'rn wiih Hiiildniily li.ilkiw.id ; 

And llin pip.'rinlviin.'.nlainl Mn. I'ldldri'ii I'lillowi'd; 

And wli.'ii 111! wcr.i in, lo llm vrry IiimI, 

Till' .1.1.11' ill Mill ni.innliiiii-Mi.l.' mIiiiI. I'iimI. 

Hid I Hiiy nil I No ! Ilim wiim Ii , 

An.l .'.mill mil. diini'i' Mm wlioli' ol Mm way ; 
An.l in iil'li'r y.iai'H, H' yon w.nil.l lilunm 

ilJH HIldlll'MM, Im WIIH ilHiid lo Hiiy, — 

" II 'm. lull III our town Hin.'n my |ilayiniili'M l.d'l I 

I .'iin'l. I'lirniil Mint 1 'in li.'riil't 

( II' nil Mm pk'aHanlNiKlilM Mmy w<i', 

Wliii'h llm plpi'i' aJHo priiniiM.iil iim ; 

li'or Im l.'il UM, IniHMi.l, In a.j.iy.iUH land, 

.loiinni^' Mm l.ivvn iiinl jiml al liand, 

VVIii'i'i. waliii'H Kimlmil and I'luil-lrcon grow, 

An.l ll.iw.iiH put I'.irlli a I'liircr liiio, 

An.l i'v.,.i'yl,liiiix wiih Hiraii/,;.. iiiid now ; 

Tim MpiirrowH wi'i'o liriglili'r Mian pnni'o.'kH li.'ro, 

And llinir ilogH iinlriin our hill.iw il..i'r, 

An.l lioimydii'i.H Ini.l l.wl Mi.'ir hMiikh, 

.And lioiMi'M w.Ti. li.irn willi i'iihU.m' wiiijfH ; 

An.l ,iuHl HM 1 lii'i'iini.i iiHHnr.iil 

My lanm I'o.il woulil Im Mpi'o.lily .•nriul, 

Thii inilHl.i HLippml and I NtnoilMlill, 

An.l I'.iun.l niyMi'll'.MilMi.h' IIh' Hill, 

li.'l'l. iiloim iiKidiiHl my will. 

To ),;ii now lini]iin/,; ii« h.loi.', 

An.l n.'V.'i li.iar.iI'Miiil .ouiiliy mori' !" 



■nil'; iiAVKN. 

(Im'K upon a iiiiilniKhl .In'uiv. wliil.' I pondiri'.l 

w.'iik and w.mry. 
Cvi'V many a ipniiut and .'nrioiiM vliun.' .'I' lor 

K.illi'n lor.', 
Whil.. I n.iildiiil, nmiMy napping, Hn.ld.mly llinr' 

CHIIKi II lllp|lillg, 



4iJ 



a- 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



781 



n 



A« of noiriB one gently ruii|niig, lapping at luy , " Hurely," saiil 1, " Huiirly tliat U oonielliing at 

cljamber iloor, | njy wiaduw-lattiaj ; 

" 'T in Home visiUji," I iiiuttciwl, " lapping at Let nie »ee tlicii wliat thereat i«, and this inyn- 
my i:liai<il«r iloor ; I teiy explore, — 

Only tliin, anJ notliing more." l-et my lirail l/eutill a moment, and thi/i myistery 

i:X[)loie ; — 
All, di«tinetly I reinem lier, it wa« in the hleak "f in the wind, and nothing more," 

J Jei.-em her, 
And eaeli nefiarat*; dying enihei' wrought itu glio«t j 

upon the \\'Ktv. ' , ^, . . ,. ■ . , 

,. , I ■ I I .1 ■ \ I I I I" there hU-miiA a Htat'dy raven of the Kaint y 

Ivigerly 1 wmheil the morrow ; vainly I liad , ' ' „ ' ' 

1 . , 1 ■ "IflyH ol yore. 

nought U> borrow v , ■ . . , . 

,. 1 i_ 1- < ^ot the leaiit olwuianee niiwie he ; not an iniiUint 

Irom my Ijooks isureeaw; of (sorrow, — w^rrow loi i , , , ' 

,, , . , Btotiped oj' lilayed he ; 

the lost Lenore, - „ , _' 1 ,. ,J^ ^ _, , _• , , 



Oix:n then I (lung the shutter, when, with iriuny 
a llirt and llutler. 



fH^- 



I'or the rare and ladiant maiden whom the angelb 
named Lenore, — 
Namidess here loreverniorc. 

And the uilken, ku\, uiicertiin ruHlling of ea<:li 

puiple enrtain 
Thrillcil me, — filled me with fantaslie t<.Trors 

never fi-lt hefore ; 
8o that now, to still the beating of my heart, I 

(itood ri-jxratitig, 
" 'T Ih (some visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamhei' door, — 
Home Iat»i vitiitor entreating ifntranee at my 

ehamlKfr door ; 
Tliat it is, and nothing more," 

l're«ently my 8oul grew stionger ; lienitating then 
no longer, 

"Hir,"Baiii I, "or niadanj, tiuly your forgive- 
ness I imjilore ; 

lint the fiiet i«, 1 was napping, and so gently you 
came rap|)ing, 

And »o faintly you came tapping, tapping at my 
(;liamlx;r door, 

That I wmxca: waji Hurc I heard you" — Here I 
o|x;ncd wide the door ; 
Darkness tliere, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness pciring, long I nt/jod 

there, wondering, fearing. 
Doubting, dreaming dreanu* no mort-il ever dared 

to dream l*fore ; 
lint the silenec wan unbrolcjn, and the il/irkness 

gave no t/iken, 
And the only word there spoken was the wliis- 

pirwl word " Lenore ! " 
This I whi(i))ered, and an c<;ho tnunnured l>aek 

the word "Lenore !" 
Merely thiw, and nothing more. 

I'aek into the chamber turning, all my soul withi/i 

me burning. 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something hjuder 

tljan before ; 



Dut, with mii-n of lord or hidy, perched alxjve 

my chamlxM' door, — 
rerchcl upon a bunt of I'alhis, jiint aljove my 

chamber door, — 
I'erched, and sat, and nothing more. 

'I'hen thuieljony bird lji:giiiling njy sad fancy into 
smiling, 

liy the grave and st/rn decoriiui of the counte- 
nance it ttor(;, 

"Though thy crest Ik; shorn and sliavcn, thou," 
I said, "art sure no craven ; 

fyhastly, grim, and ancient ravi:n, wandering 
from the nightly shore, 

Tell me wliat thy hjidly name is on the night's 
I'lut/jidan shore ', " 
Quoth the ravi;n, " Nevermore I " 

Much I marveled thi« ungainly fowl to hear 
disconrsi; tfi plainly. 

Though its answer little meaning, little rele- 
vancy liore ; 

Korwe cannot help. -igrwing tliat no living human 
being 

Kver yet wa« blessed with weeing bird above his 
cliiimlxrr door, 

llird or b<;.'ist u|kjii the 8<;ulptuiwlbu8t above hii) 
chamlwr door. 
With such name as " Nevermore I" 

I5ut the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, 

s[>oke only 
Tliat one word, as if hi« soul in that one word 

he did out|(our. 
Nothing further then he uttere<l, — not a feather 

then he llutt/:rcd, — 
Till I scarcely more than mutt/jrwl, " Other 

frii^nds liave flown ly;fore, — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my ho[K* 

have flown Ijefoie," 
Then the bird said, " Nevermore I " 

.Startlwl at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly 

spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " wliat it uttem Is its only 

»t<jck and store. 



■-& 



t& 



78S 



POEMS OF FANCY'. 



-Ui 



6- 



Cawght fivm soiiio vmlmppy mustov, whom uu- 

iiioiviful ilisastor 
FoMowkhI fast tout followed fiistor, till his song 

Olio I'linlou Iviv, 
Till tlio ilii'j^'s of his hoi'O tlmt niolnuoholy Imr- 

ilou Knv, — 
Of • Novi'vmoiv, — iiovonnoiv ! ' " 

Uut thoravoH still boguiliiijtiill my sjul soul into 

sniiUiig, 
Straijjtit 1 wlioele*! « oushionoil s«>t in fivnt of 

Wvxl and linst and tloor, 
Tlu>u, niH>n the volvot sinkinj;, I l>otot>k myself 

to Unking 
Fancy nnto fancy, thinking what this ominous 

l>ii\l of Yoiv- 
■What this gvim, \ing!\inly, ghastly, gaunt, and 

ominous Wnl of yoiv, — 
51 cant in civi»king " Novcrmow ! " 

This 1 Silt engaged in guessing, l>ut no syllable 
oxi>ivssing 

To the fowl whose tiery eyes now burned into 
my K>som's coiv ; 

This and nioiv I sjit divining, with my head at 
ease iwliniiig 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- 
light glo)*totl o'er, 

H\it whoso velvet violet lining, with the lamp- 
light gUviting o'er, 
She shall pivss — all ! nevermoiv ! 

Then inctliouglit the air givw denser, ixn-funied 
fivni an unseen censor, 

Swung hy scmphin), whose fixitfalls tinkled on 
the tultinl thnn'. 

" ^Vn>tch," 1 critnl, " thy liixl hath lent theo, — 
by these ang\'ts he hath sent tlico 

Eosittte, — wsnite and nejK-nthe fivni the mem- 
ories of l.cnoiv ! 

QualV. O, nuair this kind neixmthe, and foi^t 
this lost l.euoiv ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

•" Ihvphct ! " said 1, " thing of evil ! — prophet 

still, if bii\l or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether temiiest 

tossed thct' heiv ashoiv. 
Desolate yet all undauntt'd, on this desert huul 

cnchanttHl, — 
On this home V>y honvrhauutevl, — tell me truly, 

1 iinploiv, — 
Is there — is theiv Iwlm in liilead ? — toll mo, 

— tell me, 1 implore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermoiv ! " 

" Pi-oiJiet ; " said 1, " thing of evil ! — prophet 

still, if biivl or devil ! 
l?y that heaven that K'lids aKne us — hy that 

Ood wo iKitli adoiv. 



Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, wiihin the 
distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the an- 
gels name l.cnoii', 

t^lasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the au- 
gids name l.cnoiv I" 
Quoth the raven, " Kevernum' !" 

•■ 15tf that woul our sign of iwrting, l>ii\l or 

tiend ! " 1 slirieked, ujvstarting, — 
"Oct thee loick into the temjwstand tJie night's 

I'lutonian slioiv ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy 

soul hath spoken ! 
l.cijve my loneliness unbroken ! — unit the bust 

above my doin' ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy 

form from oil' my door ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermoiv ! " 

And the raven, never Hitting, still is sitting, 

still is silting 
On the l>Jillid bust of Talhis, just above my 

chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the swming of a demon 

that is ilrtiaming, 
And the lamplight o'er him stivaniing throws 

his shadow on the lloor ; 
And my sonl from out that shadow that lies 

lloating on the floor 
Shall U< liftiHl — iifiYrmon ! 

l^'UOAR ALLAN IN^K 



THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAUtT 



RITTBN AT NO 



•lRG1^ 



kv,l 



" They tell of « jmhiik «wu >Yho U\^l his iitiiu) uiwii the .K-ath of 
Kirl he Kn-e*l, mvX whi\ ).tKUteut>- ,h>.\pi»e^rtHi: (wni his fUeiuK 
■its never (tt^erwarxls he.tM of. .-Vs he Iwtl ftv,iueiwly s.\Ul h\ his 
,tviiv,;s th,« the tiifl VV.1S not (U-tttl. l>*tt Kone to the UisioAl Sw»iii|>. 

is siii'iHVseO he h.t.l wmulerfsl into thill dfeaty wlMeriiess. (i«(l 
htiuser. or bcvit lost to sortie of its tlr«a^lfVll mo- 

The liievlt Oisiit.il Swnnt)^ Is ten ortvvehtl miles dtstnnt (tsvn Nor- 
(l.«lk. anil the Uko in the miUUW of it (tlbout seven miles Ion.;* is 
calleil Urnnunwwl's INmtl 

" TiiKY made her a grave tiw cold and damp 

For n soul tso warm and true ; 
And she 's g»ine to the Lake of the Pisinal Swamp. 
Whciv all night loiisj. by « tiivtly lamp. 

She iKuldles her ^iSJ'canw. 

"And her tiivfly lamp 1 soon -shall stv. 

And her (Middle 1 soon shall hear ; 
Long and loving mir life shall Ih>, 
.\nd I '11 hide the miiitl in a cypivss-tive, 
When the ftiotstep of death is nt>ar ! " 

Avray to the dismal sswamp he siveds, — 
His jwth was ruggx-d and soiv. 



-^ 



©- 



J'OEMH OF FANCY. 



^ 



Through tangle] junij*<;r, bcls of ifjAn, 
Ttirough uiany a fi;n wh'.-rc the neriiviit fctds, 
And man never tro<l Jjefore ! 

And when on the earth be sunk to sleep, 

If Blum>j«r his eyeliihi kiiew, 
He lay where the <lea<lly vine doth weep 
Its venomnus tear, and nightly steep 

The flesh with hli«t';rii)g dew ! 

And msir him the she-wolf stirred the brake, 
And the copj*er-suake br'sithwl in liis ear, 
Till he starting cried, from his drearn awake, 
" 0, when shall I see the dusky Lake, 
And the white canoe of my dear ? " 

He saw the I^kc, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its mirfa/^: playwl, — 
" Welcjme," he said, " my dear one's light I " 
And the dim shore cihoe*] for many a night 

The name of tlie death-c</ld maid ■ 

Till he hoUowcl a )x>at of the birchen l/ark. 
Which carriwl hirn off from shore ; 

Far he followcl the meteor 6j>ark, 

The wind was high and the dourls were ilark, 
And the boat retumcl no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp. 

This lover and mavl so true 
Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, 
To cross the Lake by a firefly lamp, 

And i<addle their white canoe ! 

THOMA*; MOORE. 



And thus s'l/ake on that ancient man. 
The briglit-eycl mariner ; 

[The ancient mariner, U&vin;; rwklessly eUiu 
an nUfHtr'/hH, "the bird of tiOtA ouifm," has 
bfju;;!)! a curse ui>on hiuiieir aii<J the wh'jle 
tihijj'ti coujj/auy.] 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails droptjJ^Jj^J^ 

down, — Kiddcnly 

'T was sa/i a* sad (xjuld Ije ; 
And we di<l sfieak only to break 
The silence of the sea. 

All in a hot and copjxir sky 
The blooily sun, at noon, 
IJight up alxn-e the m.ist did stand, 
Xo bigger tlian the iii'xiu. 

Day after day, day aft/.-r day. 

We stuck, — nor br<iath nor motion ; 

As idle a* a jwinted ship 

L'j»on a j/ainU-d o'./;an. 

Water, water everywhere, *uu!^ 

And all the lx«rds did shrink ; i<zimw 

Water, water everywhere, 
Kor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot : Christ ! 
That ever this should I* '. 
Yea, slirny things did crawl with 1^ 
t,'fx>n the slimy sea ! 



EIME OF THE ANCIENT MAEINEE. 

Aa^^^iM If ig aj, ancient mariner, 
••xatOi And he stopi«th one of three. 



Unto (Mden" By thy long gray Ijeard and glittering 

ding f«ta, eye, 

ah CM*. N^ow wherefore stoj/p'st thou me ? 

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 

And I am next of kin ; 

The guests are met, the feast is set, — 

ifayst hear the merry din." 

He holds him with his skinny hand : 

"There was a ship," ^juoth he. 

" Hold off ! unhand me, graybeard 

]'>on '. " — 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

VS:^^ He holds him with his glittering eye, — 
ii.^sl '^"'' '*"'l'l>"J?-^^it BttxA still ; 
It:.; •rvt <A Hc listeHs like a three vears' child ; 
Ui-.rri aoD. The manner hath his wilL 

^' h's The wedding-guest sat on a stone, — 
He cannot choose hut hear ; 



Alx.iut, alxjut, in reel and rout. 
The death-fires dan':«d at ni^it ; 
' The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt green, and blue, and white. 

And every tongue, through titter 

drougljt, 
Was withercl at the root ; 
We wuld not s-i>eak, no more than if 
We liad been choked with soot. 






Ah ! well-a-day I what eril looks 
Had I from old and young '. 
Inst/jad of the cross, the allxitross 
A'l'jut my neck was hung. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, J 

Mow: on a wide, wide sea '. g 

And never a saint took pity on i> 
My soul in agony. 

The many men, so l«autiful I ^ 

And they all dead did lie ; g 

And a thousand, thousand slimy things 
Lived on, — and so did I. 



rvjafi bit 



tr 



i 



e 



784 



/■('/'.M/.s' or FANCY. 



■-Cli 



r,X, M".'l>.Mu,.,.Mll„.n.lli„KM,..,. 

IMUVII,, I |,„,|„,| „| (|„. ,,|j.; ,|,VU, 

Ana ih.'i.' iiira,..a m.,.ii u.v. 

1 lo,.|,,'il I.' hi'iivi'ii iiiul Irica to imiy ; 
linl nr I'vrr n |irii,vcM' \mA Kiwlil 
A «i,lv,.a Hlii^.iH.rnuiii., nna iiuia,- 
My lir.nl a-, a.y ir. aii-M. 

1 rlosml luy lia.s. uiul kv\A lli.'iii I'luso. 
Aiul llu' UiiIIm llki' (mlHoa Inmt : 
l''..rllio^<kvniia Miown. im.I lli,>»Kinua 

llu'sUy. 
1,MV lilvoii loMa OH lay «,Miy oyo. 
Aii'a lluMlona noivMl my lool. 

,'l"U''uv,.ii. ''"'"' '"''' ■'"""' ""'"''' '''■'"" ""''■' 
i<'i lilm I'li liiiih.'i, 

iiw.ii.ii.1 Nov I'ol nor icok aia llii'y ; 

'""" Tlio look Willi wliii'li IlioY look.Ml on mo 

ILM novor i.;i...soa MWiiy. 

An oi|.1i,im'-. .Mu-o woniaaniglolioll 

A siuiit I'lon. on liiKli : 

llul O, nioiv lioniWo lli.-ui (Iml 

III llio mnw in ii aoiul mnn's oyo I 

Sovon any«, srvon niKlUs. I sinv lli:il, 

IMII'SI', 

Ana yi'l 1 oonia nol aio. 
I„M>U„.1I 'I'lio moving' nio.Mi ^^onl np ihoskv, 

""n.I'.'o,^^ Ana Mouiioro aia Ml.ia,.; 

1 ' ": Sol'lly t-lio was jtiiiiig np, 
I' Ana 11 still' or two liosiilo. 

"reSr "'■'' '"'-'I"" lii'niookoil llio snltvy umiii, 
l.iko April liOiir-l'iMSl^ siimul ; 
Itnt wluMv llio ship's lini^o slmaow luy 
'I'lio I'luirnioa wiili-r Imrnt iilwiiy 
A still nn.l iiwful n-a. 

!yo",M"«I "''y'""l ''"' ^''■"1"" >'!' til" sliip 

UowVir 1 wMtv-lio.1 tho walorsiiiikos ; 

.rein'um 'I'lu'Y luovoil ill Imi'ks of sliiiiiiis w'l'lto ; 



I'll'™"""' Ami wlKMi tliov iviiiva, tlio ollish light. 
F,-ll..trin lioary llakos. 

Williin tliosluiaowoniu-shtii 

1 wiilolu-a llioir rioh iittiiv. ■ 

lUiio. j{los,sy ({ivou, ana volvot l>luoU, 

Tlioy I'oiloil ana swam ; ami ovory track 

Was a Itasli ot' .uiaa.-n liro. 

"«i'i'atul."i "-^ li'M'Py liviiij; lliinipi ! no tonj-uo 
>i'>ri>"i™. 'Hicir i'oiiuty iiiijjlit doi'liiro ; 

A spring of lovo gnslioa IVun iiiv lioart, 

lio«ti, 8»ro my Uiiul saint took pity on mo, 

Ami 1 I'li'ssoa lliom iiiinwaiv. 



Tho Mollsaino inoin.Mil 1 roiiia pniy ; ,l',|?Jf,',' 
And IVom IM\ no.k so troo ' Ak' " 

Thoulhatross Coll oil', iiml sank 
l.iko load into Mm stm. 

Ana now this spoil was smipt, ; oiiai ^'','« ™" 
nion< oKi>lAivttt 

I viowoa Iho oooaii groon. 
Ami lookoa far forth, yot; littlo saw 
Of what luul olso hoon'soon, - 

l.iko oio' llinl on M lonoNomo road 

l>..lh w.aU in loar Mial aroa.l. 

Ana, having ,aioo Ininoa ronna, walk.s 

Ami turns no inoro his hoail ; 
Uooaiiso ho knows a frightful lloml 
holli oliiso hohina him troaa. 

I!nl Koon Ihoi,. I.io.ithoa a wiihl on mo, 
N.a'soiiml noi inolioii iioolo ; 
Us path was not npoii tho soa, 
In ripploorinshaao. 

It raisril niy hair, if faniioil iiiy olicok, 
Likoa moailow -alo of spring, - 
It niiiiglovl sliaiigiay with my four.s, 
Vol it folf liko a wolooming. 

Swiftly, swiftly How tlio ship. 
Vot sho sailoa softly loo; 
Swoolly, swoollv Mow Iho bivozo, — 
Dm mo'alono it 'hlow, 

t> ari>am of joy ! is this inaooil 

'I'ho lighthonso top 1 soo ,' ;J;;;'i;,|;- 

Is this tho hill / is this tho kirk » >«'''«}' .. 

Is tills iiiino own oountiH'of iii.naiin 

coitittTy. 

Woilriftoa o'or Iho harlu.r-liar, 
Ami 1 with soivs aia pray, — 
0. lot mo ho awako, my tioil 1 
0\- lot mo sloop alwiiy. 

'riio liarlior-liay was oloar as glass, 
Ski .smoothly it wiis stivwii 1 
,\ml oil tho Imy tlio iiiooiilight hvy, 
Ami tho shaaow of Iho moon. 

Tho ivi'k slioiio liright, tho kiik no loss. 
That, stamls ahovo tho rook ; 
Tho moonlight stoopoil in siloiitiioss 
Tho stoaay woathi'ivook. 

Hill ,s,ioii I hoanl tlio dash of oai-s, 
1 hoanl tho pilot's ohoor ; 
My lioaa was tiirtu>a porfon'o away, 
Ami 1 saw ii hoiit appwir. 



U I . 



-p 



cB- 



J'OimS OF FANOV. 



785 



■a 



Tli<! pilot ami the jjilot'd imy, 
I iii;ui'il Uk.'Iii (milling I'aitt ; 
I )>:«!■ lyonl ill lii;av(;ii ! it wm a joy 
'I'Ikj iji.-ful riicn coulil not l)li»»l. 

I «;iw a thii'l, — I lii.-anl liin voico ; 

II M tlio liKnnit g'lwl ! 

Ill; ningistli IoikI IiIh godly liyinnx 

'I'liat li<! inakfin in tliu wood ; 

III; 'II »lirii;vi! my hduI, — lio 'II waiili 

away 
The allAtl'onii'H l)loo'l. 

O W(;(Ming-gu<;Ht ! tliiii miul lialli Ijucii 
Aloiii; on a widi;, widi; »ea, 
Ho lonely "t wa.i, tliat Ood bidiwlf 
Si aice iscenitd tlj<;i<; U> Ix;. 

O, dwecf.-r tlian tluj iiianLigi:-fr;x'it, 
'i" in »wi;(;t<;r far Ui in(; 
To walk fjgetlifci' to 111"; kirk 
Willi a goodly ';oiiii«uiy ! — 

To walk tog«tli';r to tin; kiik, 

And all togi;tIj<!r Jiray, 

Wliili; i;a/:li to liiHglvat Katli';f hkwh, — 

Old iiiijii, and \):i\ji:h, and loving frii'iiilK, 

And youtim aii'l maidens gay I 



by'iKin'' •'"'■"**■'-" ' 'arewell I l.ut thin I l.;ll 
uiS'snd '^'' *■'"'"' "'"" «";''''i">?-gi"«t ' 
aTlTS"' '''^'^'' I"'"''y"'-'' *'-'" w'"' •"V';!'' Wi;II 
iluir,,^) Botli man and bird and Iwaut. 



:,■!-. and 



<„yAl 



Hi- |ira)'<;tli l«»t who lovcth Iifist 
All lliingx botli great and (tniall ; 
I'or tin; dear d'A wlio lovetli UH, 
He iiia/le and lovetli all." 

Tlie mariner, whose eye in bright, 
Whow beard with age i» boar, 
lit gone. And now the W(;<iding-giifii(t 
Turned from the bridegr'xjm'n door, 

Hewent like one that bath l>ec'n stunncj, 
And i» of w;nise forlorn ; 
A Kuhliir and a wi«<;r man 
He row; the morrow morn. 

SAMOIil. TA'/UjV. '^'JUitLllJt^n. 



O-.- 



Tire KINO OK TUi;i,K. 

MAKOAKRTS KOKO IN "PAVHT." 

'I'ni'.KK wait a king in Tbul^, 
WaH faithful till the grave, — 
To whom liin mi«tr<fliH, dying, 
A golden goblet gave. 



Naught wao U) him more iirni-Mm ; 
He drainiyl it at every Ixiut ; 
His eye;* with U;ai« ran ovi:r, 
An oft an be drank tlicreout. 

When eaine bin time of dying, 
The townn in biu land he told. 
Naught else to biij heir denying 
Exeept the goblet of gold. 

He Bat at the royal baii(|iiet 
With bU knight;! of high degree, 
In the lofty hall of bi.s fatherH, 
In the Cautle by the Kea. 

Tlnie Btooil thi- old earomti-r. 
And drank the lant life-glow ; 
And burled the hallowed goblet 
Int/j the tide U-low. 

He «iw it i/lunging and lilling. 
And Hiiikiiig deep in the He.i, — 
Then fell bix eyelidii forever, 
And never more drank be. 



TIIK I'IdLOHOPHEH'H HOALE«. 

A Mo.s'K, when his ritco fia<;erdotal were o'ei, 
I II the depth of hw <«ll with it» istone-covei ed lloor, 
liesigning to thought biii ebimerieal brain, 
Onee formcl theeontrivanwwe nowhball explain ; 
liut whether by magie'o or alebemy's |xjwer« 
We know not ; inde<;<l, 't is no bunineuB of ours. 

I'eihaps it wa« only by patience and earc. 

At huit, that be brought bU invention to lx;ar. 

In youth 't wa« j<roje<;t';d, but years stole away, 

And ere 't wax complete; hewa« wrinkhaland gray ; 

I'ut xixetxm in eceure, unless iiwirt^y lails ; 

And at length be producefl thk i'jn/.o»;o)')/i'.K'» 

HCAI.KS. 

" Wh/it were they ?" you ask. You shall pres- 
ently see ; 
Tlit-se s^aha* were not rna/le to weigh sugar and tea. 
no ; for such pi-operti<d( wondroiia Ii/id they. 
That 'pialitics, feelings, and thoughts they wiuld 

weigh. 
Together with articles small or immense, 
Krorn mountains or planets Ui alomn of «<;nJ!e, 



Naught wiia there m bulky but there it woul 
Ami naught so ethereal but there it woul 



luld lay, 

d stay, t 



[&: 



780 



rOKMS OF FANCY. 



■ti 



B 



Aiiil iiiHi^Ut so ivhiotiuil but in il must go ; 
All wliioli .somo o-\iiiiiiilos iiioiv I'lomly will slinw. 

Tlii'lii'sl tliiiislii>woij;lim( Wiistliflu'iuKir Vollaiiv. 
\Vlii.-liivliiiiirtl«llllu<wittlmlliiulov,'rl>.'oiilli<'iv. 
Aa « \vi'i_:«lit, 111' ihivw in tlu' torn sri.i|i of a li'iil', 
Coiiliiiiiiiiij till' imiyor nl' llu' pcniiiMit lliul'; 
Wlioii tlu- sUllll vosf uUl with NO siiadrii a spoil 
■rii:il 11 I'oiiii.r.l likoiiKiUoiillioiool'ortlu'a'll. 

lliit> limo lit' )mt ill Aloxiimlor tlu' (iivtit, 

\Villi tlio jsiirmont Hint Doiviis liiul inaili' lor n 

w<'i}{lil : 
Aiul llioiij;ln'l<ul ill armor fiiiiii samliila loi'iMwii, 
Till' hi'iii riisi' up, luul tlu> jfanuont wont ilovvii, 

.-. louj; i\nv oraliiislmusos, amply ouilowi'il 
liy a woll-oslooiiiotl Tliaiisoo, Imsy iiiul proiiil, 
Noxt loaiU'il Olio soalo ; wliilo tlio otlioiwas pivsso.l 
Uv llioso iiiitos tliP pool- willow ilioppod into llio 

ohost : 
I'p How tlu> omlowmoiit, not woijjhinj; an ounoo, 
Ami iKnvii, ilown tlio I'avtlunj'-woi'tli oauio with 

a I'oiinoo. 

liy fnvtlior oxpoi'inu'nts (no imittov how"! 

Ho louml thai Ion oliariots woij;lioil loss tluiii ono 

plow ; 
A swoi\l with gilt trapping ivso npin tlio soalo, 
'riioiigh luilamoil l>y only a ton-ponny nail ; 
A sliiolil anil a liolinot, a buoklor ami spoai', 
Woiglioil loss than a willow's unoi'ystiiUi.-oil toav. 
A loi\l ami a liuly wont hji at full sail, 
\Vlion 11 boo oliiinooil to liglit on Iho opposito 

soalo ; 
Tor. ilootoi"s, ton lawyoi's, two oonrtioi's, ono oiwl, 
Ton oonnsolloi-s" wisp, l\ill of powilor anil ouvl, 
All lioapoil in ono Imlanoo iinil swinging ri\nn 

thonoo, 
Woiglioil loss than 11 low grains oroanilornmlsonso; 
A tii'st-watov ilianionil, with brilliants bogirt. 
Than ono gooil potato just washml l'ii>m Iho ilirt ; 
Yot not mountains of silvor ami goUl oonKl sntlioo 
l>no poarl to ontwoigh, — 't was riiK i-KAia. ok 

llKKAT riSlOK. , 

l^ist of all, tlio wliolo world was IkiwIoiI in at tho 

grato. 
With tho soul of a boggav to sorvo lor a woight, 
Wlion tho lornior sprung up with so slivng a iv- 

Imir 
That it inailo a vast itMit and osonpod at the root' ! 
Whon Ivilanood in air, it nsoondod on high. 
And Siiilod up aloft, a Ivdloou in flio sky ; 
Whilo tho soalo with tho soul in "t so mightily foil 
That it jovkod tho pliilosoplior out of liis ooll. 
JANU Taylor. 



'I'llK NIlllll'lNUAl.H AN1> (!l,ll\V WOltM 

A MiiiMlNoAl.K, tli.it nil .liiy long 
Hail ohooml tho villngo with liis song. 
Nor yot nl ovo his noto suspoiiiloil. 
Nor yot wlion ovontido was ondod, 
liogaii to fool as woll ho might - 
Tlio kt'on doniaiuls of appotito ; 
Wlion, looking oagorly aiiiund, 
llo spiod, far oil', upon tho giiiiiiid, 
A soiiiothing shining in Iho dark, 
And know tho glow-worm by his spmk ; 
So, stooping down fnnn hawtliorn top, 
llo thought to put liliii in his oi\>p. 
Tho wonu, awaro of his inloiil, 
llaiangiiod him thus, ipiito olinpiont. - - 

" Hid you adiniiv my lamp," iniolli lio, 
•' As iiiiioh as 1 your minstivlsy. 
Von would abhor to do ino wrong, 
As ninoli ils I to spoil your song ; 
I'or I was tlio soll'sunio Towor diviiio 
Taught yon to sing, and ino to sliiiio ; 
That you with musio, 1 with light. 
Might boaiitify and olioor tho night." 
Tho soiigstor lioaixl his short oiiitioii, 
.\ml, warbling out his appiiiliation, 
lu'loasod him. as my story tolls, 
.\iiil I'oiuul a siipjior soinowhoio olso. 



THE MU-KMAID. 

A MU.KMAU', who poisod a full i>ail on hor Iniul 
Thus inusod on hor piiispoots in lil'o, it is said ; 
" Lot mo soo, — 1 should think that this milk 

will prooni-o 
Ono lumdivd good oggs, or foui-sooio, to bo sini', 

'■ Woll t.lliMl, —stop a bit, it must not bo for- 

gilt toil, 
Somt' of thoso may bo biokon, and soiiio may bo 

rotten : 
Hut if twonty I'or iiooidonl should bo dotaohod, 
Itwill loavo mojnst sixty soundi\ggstobo liatohod. 

" Woll. sixty sound oggs, — no, .sound ohiokons, 

1 moan : 
0( tlioso soino may dio, — wo 'llsuppixsosovontoon. 
Sovonloon ! not so many, — say ton at tho njost, 
Wliioli will loavo lil'ty ohiokons to boil or to ixiast, 

" Hut thou thoiv 's llioir hirloy ; how innoh will 

thoy nood ! 
Why, thoy tako but ono gi-ain at a tiiiio who.i 

thoy food, — 
So that 's a moiv trillo ; now then, lot us soo, 
At afairmarKot prioo how mnoh monoy thoiv'll bi\ 



--& 



[& 



I'OKMH <)lf b'ASQY. 



7H7 



,-a 



"Hix>ihi\\iiii(KHimr — livt — four — thiw-ainl-isU, 
To j<;<;vi;(il all mlitiki;», that low [<ri/« I v/ii) )iz ; 
.Vow wliiit will that i/iaki;? fifty chi/;kciiJi, I «ti»l, — 
Kitty tii(ii;ii ilir<i':-!iii'l-nixi)':iii/i — i'tlankHr'A/ter 

" O, hut ijU))), — tlirfAi-atii'l-nixiintLV! a ;>air I 

mujit Mil 'em ; 
Well, a |iair i»a wuplc, — now then I/;t lus t/sU 'urn ; 
A <ji\i\i\': in fifty will go Crny j/^i/r l/iai(i '.) 
Why, jii«t a »M\i: timeii, and five j/air v/ill nmaUi. 

"Twenty-five jair of fowl» — now Iww iiniufniti: 

it ix 
That I can't reckon up ho mu';)i tiuntny in thix ! 
Well, tluire '» no u»; in trying, vi let '» give a 

ffutm, — 
I '11 fiay twenty [(oun'lx, «w«/ a c«h'< '/« -/w /«*. 

"Twenty fcjun'ln I am 'xrVtiii, will 1/uy me a <y<w, 
Thirty g'^w:, ami two turkeys, — eight pigs an'l 

a w^w ; 
\ow if the>i<; turn out well, at the eml of tin; year, 
I lihall fill Ujlii my [nf.kf.U with guiniana, 't i* 

el/^ar." 

Forgetting her hur'l/;n, wlien thi» eli/; lia/1 (said, 
'J'he maul sujierciliomtly U/mnA up her h<*i/l ; 
When, ala* for Jier j/rosp^t* ! h<;r milk-j^uil 

d<fl>'>;n<le'l, 
And m all her nny-.tw^ for the future were emVi 

'l"hi>' moral, I think, may U; (safely atta/zhfl, — 
" ii>:'M)m Wit on your ehlekemt U;l>>re tliey are 
hiiU:li<A." 

jEPPBEVt TKfUlU. 



l-AhD LA.VOUAOK. 

What do the wremi and tl»e rohinjs oay, 
I'alking »o tunefully all the h/ng <lay ! 
Now on the c^^lar hiusfi, now on the ground, 
Chiri/ing their thouglitt to the hUmnniix around ; 
Now on the willow-tre^;, waving w^ high, 
WarUing their <ainti/;l/« clowj t/j tlie aky. 

What do the wren* and the rohirus (say ? 
Do they fi*l t\t): 'Amnn of thiis l(<rautiful 'lay ? 
iJoeis the wine of IjapiiinetsB wann their veims 
And give the keynot/: fj tlioise womkiful istraims? 
Are they ma/1 with love or drunk with d(:light, 
That they revel »> wildly from mom to night I 

What do the wren« and th<3 roinnx Kay ? 

I>rt ea/:h one arDswer a« best he may, 

For every Ijjst/rner hoWeth a key 

To unl'x.-k the mmsi'sjl myfstery ; 

And differently all traroslate the words 

Of tliat varying language hreathe'I by the Mf i». 



The little ehiM h'sirx in tli/; glad*/<me strain 
A eall t/^ tliij liehla and the flowei-rlad j<Uin ; 
'J'he »i<;k and tlu; we-ary, l;y |(aiii oj/j/ieijw^l, 
it elwrniB with a (/romi)s<; of inlinit'; riflst ; 
And the lover d//th still in ea/;h i;arol rejoi/*, 
For li/j liears in them ever hi* isweetlieart'is voi/*, 

IJut HKrnt <l/j tlie wreiui and the rohin* rejc^at 
To lh<; dreaming jx/^d n l;,'i,;';3;;i ;;v,<-/;t ; 
To hl» finer Wiul anO ■ '-. 

They ii(xsik with a ti ■ , 

And with liaj/j/y t/;;;i . iim, 

Ajs he Ibtis t/> the oft-ieii-al/yi ijyinn. 

The icfAiuMi of 0</l, : ■ ■' '■ ■ ■•' ' • ■^' , 

Are thoughts whi(;h ij, 

ForthcBjdendorof ^' kib, 

Glides with ti. ., , 

Afid the ]j':nu' t.lje strain 

He gives Ui ti ^ i, 

Ajs he wiaves ii«l/> n.any a lo/iti.il lay 

Wliat lie h)a.n the wrenx and tlu; rohins say, 

F.Ky-i.intL hHhtf.uAtf SMiTif. 



BAJBY ZtJLMA'8 CnhViTUAH CAHOL. 

A /.(';(n KJi s/airf of richer fold 
The morning flu*he4 uj<';n our sight. 



And Kve, 
An; 


)f;g tr.tr.n:'-', f,-r lar;:;/: of gold 


An'l 


' ■'■'-# 


And iAiD-. 


wavt-^ tiAht'ji-ji on me M^a 



When 1/aby YmUiia fjutif. to I* I 

Tlie <lay l*tore, a bird lia/1 sung 

Strange j^'-Mir.'^ on the r'/-;? and flown ; 
And Night ;■. ! jng 

A iVvxmiji. 
f'j/'/n tlie ';): 

Whereunt//, a* li.e 'Ii^:'.ja .>i.'i, 
A king '/r <ju<:/;n would vf>n 1* le/i 
liy s//;ne sweet Ait/;1 overliea/1. 

Ere V'rt *Ke fin ha/l 'rr'/!f?e'! the line 
V.'; 

\i. . .. 

Wl/at l.nie li^s hii. 'x/m 

And Ix/uglui of fru j • /rn 

And eljeery eehoe& v..^,.-. .,. .-...,.. 
To gale» of fragran/x; Ijarv'Sit-kiom. 

In feV/iwl sj/f/ts of •. 

And b/e/;zy t*:^\::. -e, 

Tlie trij/ping elv<*-, '. '; 

To join the fairy ';av;i; ,i. 



^ 



f 



788 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



-a 



& 



From blushing cliambers of the rose, 
And bowi'is the lily's buds enclose, 
And nooks and didls of deep repose, 
Where human sandal never goes. 

The rabble poured its motley tide : 

.'^ome npon airy chariots rode, 
By cupids showered from side to side. 

And some the dragon-lly bestrode ; 
Wliilc troops of virgins, left and right, 
Like microscopic trails of light, 
Tlic sweeping pageant made as bright 
As beams a rainbow in its llight ! 

It passed : the bloom of purple plums 

Was rippled by trumpets rallying long 
O'er beds of pinks ; and dwarfisli drums 

Struck all the insect world to song : 
The milkmaid caught the low refrain. 
The plowman answered to her strain, 
And every warbler of the )iluin 
The ringing chorus chirped again ! 

Beneath the sunset's faded arch, 

It formed and filed within our porch. 
With not a ray to guide its march 

Except the twilight's silver torch : 
And thus she came from clouds above, 
Witli spirits of the glen and grove, 
A Hower of grace, a cooing dove, 
A shrine of prayer and star of love ! 

A queen of hearts ! — her mighty chains 
Are beads of coral round her strung, 

And, ribbon-diademed, she reigns, 
t'ommanding in an unknown tongue : 

The kitten spies her cunning ways. 

The patient cur romps in her plays. 

And glimpses of her earlier days 

Are seen in picture-books of fays. 

To fondle all things doth she choose, 

And when she gets, what some one sends, 

A trifling gift of tiny shoes. 

She kisses both as loving friends ; 

For in her eyes this orb of care. 

Whose hopes are heaps of frosted hair, 

Is but a garland, trim and fair, 

Of cherubs twining in the air. 

0, from a soul sullused with tears 

Of trust thou mayst be spared the thorn 

Wliicli it has felt in other years, — 
Across the morn onr Lord was born, 

I waft thee blessings ! At thy side 

Jlay his invisible seraphs glide ; 

And tell thee still, whate'er betide, 

For thee, for thine, for all He died ! 

AUGUSTUS JUI-IAN RkQUIER. 



THE TOAD'S JOURNAL. 

tit is said that Bcl/uiii. the traveler in Eijypt. discovered a living 
toad in a temple, winch had Ijeen for ages buried in the sand.] 

In a land for antiquities greatly renowned 
A traveler had dug wide and deep under grounil, 
A temple, for ages entombed, to disclose, — 
When, lo ! he disturbed, in its secret repose, 
A toad, from whose journal it plainly appears 
It hail lodged in that mansion some thousands of 

years. 
The roll which this reptile's long history reconis, 
A treat to the sage antiijuarian affords : 
The sense by obscure hieroglyphics concealed. 
Deep learning at length, with long labor, revealed. 
The first thousand years as a specimen tiike, — 
The dates are omitted for brevity's sake : 
"Crawled forth from some rubbish, and winked 

with one eye ; 
Half opened the other, but could not tell why ; 
Stretched out my left leg, as it felt rather iiueer, 
Then drew all together and slept for a year. 
Awakened, felt chilly, — crept under a stone ; 
Was vastly contented with living alone, 
thie toe became wedged in the stone like a peg, 
Oould not get it away, — had the cramp in my leg, 
Began half to wish for a neighbor at hand 
To loosen the stone, which was fast in the sand ; 
PuUed harder, then dozed, as 1 found 't was no 

use ; — 
Awoke the next summer, and lo ! it was loose. 
Crawled forth from the stone when completely 

awake ; 
Crept into a corner and grinned at a snake. 
Retreated, and found that 1 needed repose ; 
Ourled ui) my daiuplirabsaud prepared for a doze; 
Fell sounder to sleep than was usual before, 
And did not awake for a century or more ; 
But had a sweet dream, as I rather believe : 
Methought it was light, and a fine summer's eve ; 
And 1 in some garden delicionsly fed 
In the pleasant moist shade of a strawberry-bed. 
There finespeckled creatures claimed kindred with 

me. 
And others that hopped, most enchanting to see. 
Here long I regaled with emotion extreme ; — 
Awoke, — disconcerted to find it a dream ; 
Grew pensive, — discovered that life is a load ; 
Began to get weary of being a toad ; 
Was fretful at first, and then shed a few tears " — 
Here ends the account of the first thousand years. 

MOKAL. 



It seems that life is all a void, 
On selfish thoughts alone employed ; 
That length of days is not a good. 
Unless theii- use be understood. 

Jane Taylor. 



^ 



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POEMS OF FANCY. 



789 



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& 



THE PHILOSOPHER TOAB. 

Down deep in a hollow, so damp and so cold, 

Where oaks are by ivy o'ergrown. 
The gray moss and lichen creep over the mold, 

Lying loose on a ponderous stone. 
Now within this huge stone, like a king on 

liis throne, 
A toad has been sitting more years than is known ; 
And, strange asit seems, yetheconstantlydeems 
The world standing still wliile he 's dreaming 

his dreams, — 
Does this wonderful toad, in his cheerful abode 
In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone. 
By the gray-haired moss and the liilien o'ei'grown. 

Down deep in the hollow, from uioniiug till 
night. 
Dun shadows glide over the giound, 
Where a watercourse once, as it sparkled with 
light, 
Turned a rained old mill-wheel around ; 
Long years have passed by since its bed became 

<lry, 
And the tree's grow so close, scarce a glimpse 

of the sky 
Is seen in the hollow, so dark and so damp. 
Where the glow-wonn at noonday is trimming 

his lamp, 
And hardly a sound from the thicket around. 
Where the rabbit and scjuirrel leap over the 

ground, 
Is heard by the toad in his spacious abode 
I n the inneiTnost heart of that ponderous stone. 
By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. 

Down deep in that hollow the bees never come, 

The shade is too black for a flower ; 
And jewel-\nnged birds, with theirmusical hum, 

Never flash in the night of that bower ; 
But the cold-blooded snake, in the edge of the 

brake. 
Lies amid the rank grass, half asleep, half awake ; 
And the ashen-white snaO, with the slime in 

its trail. 
Moves wearily on like a life's tedious tale. 
Yet disturbs not the toad in his spacious abode, 
In the innermost heai-t of that flinty old stone, 
By the gray -haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. 

Down deep in a hollow some wiseacres sit. 

Like a toad in liis cell in the stone ; 
Around them in daylight the blind owlets flit, 
And their creeds are with ivy o'ergrown ; — 
Tlieir streams may go dry, and the wheels cease 

to ply. 
And their glimpses be few of the sun and the sky. 
Still they hug to their breast every time-hon- 
ored guest, 



And slumber and doze in inglorious rest ; 
For no progress they find in the wide sphere of 

mind. 
And the world 's standing still with all of their 

kind ; 
Contented to dwell deep down in the well, 
Or move like the snail in the crast of his shell. 
Or live like the toad in his narrow alwde. 
With their souls closely wedged in a thick wall 

of stone. 
By the gray weeds of prejudice rankly o'ergrown. 



THE CALIPH AND SATA2». 



VERSIFIED FR 



TRANSLATION OUT OF 



In heavy sleep the Caliph lay. 

When some one called, "Arise, and pray !" 

The angry Caliph cried, " Who daro 
Rebuke his king for slighted prayer ? " 

Then, from the comer of the room, 

A voice cut sharply through the gloom : 

"My name is Satan. Eise ! obey 
Mohammed's law ; awake, and pray ! " 

" Thy words are good," the Caliph said, 
" But their intent 1 somewhat dread. 

For niattei-3 cannot well be worse 

Than when the thief says, ' Guard your purse I ' 

I cannot trast your counsel, friend, 
It surely hides some wicked end." 

Said Satan, " Near the throne of God, 
In ages past, we devils trod ; 

Angels of light, to us 't was given 

To guide each wandering foot to heaven. 

Not wholly lost is that first love. 
Nor those pure tastes we knew above. 

Roaming across a continent, 

The Tartar moves his shifting tent, 

But never quite forgets the day 
When in his father's arms he lay ; 

So we, once bathed in love divine, 
Recall the taste of that rich wine. 

God's finger rested on my brow, — 
That magic touch, I feel it now ! 



^^ 



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790 



POEMS OF FANCY. 



-a 



I fell, 't is true — 0, nsk not why, 
For still to God I turn my eyo. 

It was a chancy by whicli I fell, 
Another takes mo back IVum hell. 

'T was but my envy of mankind, 
The envy of a loving mind. 

Jealous of men, 1 could nut bear 
God's love with this new race to share. 

But yet God's tables open stand. 
His guests tloek in from every land ; 

Some kind aet toward tin' race of men 
May toss us into heaven again. 

A game of chess is all we see, — 
And God the player, pieces wo. 

White, black — queen, pawn, — 't is all the same, 
For on both sides he plays the game. 

Moved to and fro, from good to ill, 
We rise and fall as suits his wiU." 

The Caliph said, " If this be so, 
I know not, but thy guile 1 know ; 

For how can 1 tliy words believe. 
When even God thou didst deceive ? 

A sea of lies art thou, — our sin 
Only a drop that sea within." 

" Not so," said Satan, " 1 serve God, 
His angel now, and now his rod. 

In tempting I both bless and curse. 
Make good men better, l>ad men wors*. 



Good coin is mi.xed with bad, my brother, 
I but distinguish one from the other." 

" Granted," the Caliph saiil, " but still 
You never tempt to good, but ill. 

Tell then the truth, for well 1 know 
You come as my most deadly foe." 

Loud laughed the fiend. "You know me well, 
Therefore my purpose 1 will tell. 

If you had missed your prayer, I knew 
A swift repentance would ensue ; 

And such repentance would have been 
A good, outweighing far the sin. 

I chose this humbleness divine. 

Borne out of fault, should not be thine. 

Preferring prayers elate with pride 
To sin with penitence allied." 

James Freeman Clarke. 



AIRY NOTHINGS. 



Our revels now are endeil. These our actors. 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The clond-eapped towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
Yea, all wliicli it inherit, shall dissolve. 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind. Wo are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. 

SHAKB6PEARE. 



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POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



©-- 



TKE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 

[James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was executed in Edin 
burgh. May 21. 1650. for an attempt to overthrow the Common, 
wealth, and restore Charles II.) 

The morning tla\Tnetl full darkly, 

The rain came flashing down, 
And the jagged streak of the 'eviu-bolt 

Lit up the gloomy town. 
The thunder crashed across the heaven. 

The fatal hour was come ; 
Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat. 

The 'larum of the drum. 
Tliere was madness on the earth below 

And anger in the sky. 
Ami young and old, and rich and poor, 

fame forth to see him die. 

Ah God ! that ghastly gibbet ! 

How dismal 't is to see 
The great tall spectral skeleton, 

The ladder and the tree ! 
Hark ! liark ! it is the clash of arms, — 

The bells begin to toll, — 
" He is coming ! he is coming ! 

God's mercy on his soul ! " 
One last long peal of thunder, — 

The clouds are cleared away, 
And the glorious sun once more looks down 

Amidst the dazzling day. 

"He is coming ! he is coming ! " 

Like a bridegroom from his room 
Came the hero from his prison 

To the scatfold and the doom. 
There was glory on his forehead, 

There was luster in his eye. 
And he never walked to battle 

More proudly than to die. 
There was color in his visage, 

Though the cheeks of all were wan ; 
And they marveled as they saw him pass, 

That gi'eat and goodly man ! 

He mounted up the scaffold. 

And he turned him to tlie crowd ; 

But they dared not trust the people. 
So he might not speak aloud. 



But he looked upon the heavens. 

And they were clear and blue, 
And in the liijuid ether 

The eye of God shone through : 
Yet a black and murky battlement 

Lay resting on the hill. 
As though the thunder slept within, — 

All else was calm and still. 

The grim Geneva ministers 

With anxious scowl drew near. 
As you have seen the ravens flock 

Around the dying deer. 
He would not deign them word nor sign. 

But alone he bent the knee ; 
And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace 

Beneath the gallows-tree. 
Then, radiant and serene, he rose. 

And cast his cloak away ; 
For he had ta'en his latest look 

Of earth and sun and day. 

A beam of light fell o'er him. 

Like a glory round the shriven, 
And he climbed the lofty ladder 

As it were the path to heaven. 
Tlien came a flash from out the cloud. 

And a stunning thunder-roll ; 
And no man dared to look aloft, — 

Fear was on eveiy soul. 
There was another heavy sound, 

A hush, and then a groan ; 
And darkness swept across the sky, — 

The work of death was done ! 

WlLLIANt EDMONDSTOUNE A-iTOL'N. 



CJOD'S JtrDGMEJrT ON A WICKED BISHOP. 

[Hatto, Archbishop of Mentz. in the year 914. barbarously mtrr- 
dered a number of poor people to prevent their consuming a por- 
tion of the food during that year of famine. He was afterwards 
devoured by rats in his tower on an island in the Rhine. — Old 

Thk summer and autumn had been so wet. 
That in winter the corn was growing yet : 
'T was a piteous siglit to see all around 
The gi-ain lie rotting on the ground. 



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792 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



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u^ 



Every day tli» starving jvor 
Civwilcd aroiuul liisliop Hatto's door ; 
For ho liad a pU-ntit'iil last-yoar's store, 
And all the iieij;hl>orhood could tell 
His granaries weiv furaislioil well. 

At last Hisliop llatto apiHiinted a day 

To nuiet the poor without delay ; 

He hide them to his givat bam ivpair, 

.•Vnd they should have food for the winter theiv. 

Kejoiced the tidings good to hear, 
The poor folks lloeked fi\>ni far and near; 
The givat Iwrn was full as it eouUi hold 
Of wonu^u and children, and young mid old. 

Then, when he saw it could hold no more, 
liishop Hatto he niado fast the door ; 
And whilst for nierey on Christ they call, 
He set fire to the btrrn, and burnt tlieni all. 

"I" faith 't is an excellent lioufire ! " tiuoth ho ; 
"And tho country is greatly obliged to me 
For riddiug it, in these times forlorn. 
Of rats tluit only consume tlie corn." 

So then to his psUace l•eturn^d he. 

And he sj\te down to supper merrily, 

And he slept that night like an innocent man ; 

l?ut Bishop Hatto never slept again. 

hi the morning, as he entenxl the hall. 
Where his picture hung against the wall, 
A sweat like death all over him came, 
For the rats had eaten it out of the frame. 

As he looked, there came a man from his farm, — 
He had a countenance white with nlnriu : 
'■ Jty loi-d, I o|icned your granaries this mom, 
And the rats had eaten all your corn." 

Another came running presently. 
And ho was [lalc as jmle could Iw. 
"Fly ! my loi\l bishop, fly '." ipioth he, 
" Ten thousand rats are coming this way, — 
The Lord forgive you for yestenlay !" 

" I "11 go to my tower in the Tihine," replied he ; 
" "T is the safest place in Germany, — 
The walls are high, and the shores are steep. 
And the tide is strong, and tho water deep." 

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away ; 
And he crossed the Uliine without delay. 
And reached his tower, and Iwrred with care 
All tho windows, dooi's, and loop-holes there. 



He laid him down and closed his eyes, 

But soon a scream made liim arise ; 

He started, and saw two eyes of tiame 

On his pillow, from whence the sci-eaming wime. 

He listened and looked, — it was only the cat ; 
But the bishop he grew more fearful for that. 
For she sate screaming, mad with fear 
At the army of rats that were drawing near. 

For they have swum over the river so deep. 
And they have cUuiIhhI the shores so steep. 
And now by thousands up they crawl 
To the holes luui the windows in the wall. 

Down on his knees tho bishop fell. 

And faster and faster his beads did he tell. 

As louder and louder, drawing near. 

The saw of their teeth without he could hear. 

And in at the windows, and in at the door. 

And through the walls, by thousands they (lOur ; 

And down fivm the ceiling and up through tlia 
tloor, 

I'l'om the right and the left, from behind and 
before. 

From within and without, from above and be- 
low, — 

And all at once to the bisliop they go. 

They have whetted their teeth against the stones. 
And now they pick the bishop's bones ; 
They gnawed the tlesli from every limb. 
For they were sent to do judgment on him ! 

KoliRKT SOI'TUHY. 



THE SACK OF BALTIMORE 

[n.altin)ore is a siiwH seaport in the Uirony of CaHtct>*. in Sovith 
MuiJslcr. 11 (jrew up aroiuul u castle of 0'Uriscoll\. and was, after 
his ruin, colonieed by the l£u£lish. On the 20th of June, 1631. the 
crews of two Al^crine galleys landed in the dcjtd of the night, 
sacked the town, and bore otf into slavery all who were not too old, 
or ti>o youiiK, or too fierce, for their purpose. The pirates were 
steered up the intricate channel by one llacfcett. n Dunffarvan lish- 
ern»an. wiioui they had titken at sea for the purp^vic. Twxi years 
after, he was convicted of the crime and execntetl Baltimore 
never recovered from this.) 

The summer sun is falling soft on Caibcry"* 

hundred isles. 
The summer sun is gleiuning still through 

Gabriel's rough defiles, — 
Old Inisherkin's crumbled fane lotiks like a 

molting biixl ; 
And in a calm and sleepy swell the ocean tide is 

heanl ; 
The hookei-s lie upon tho beach ; the children 

cea.se their play ; 
The gossijis leave tho little inn ; the htniM'holds 

kneel to pray ; 



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POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



793 



-a 



And full of lovo and peace and rest, — its daily 

labor o'er, — 
Upon that cozy creek there lay the town ol 

baltimore. 

A 'lijeper rest, a stajry trance, has come with 

midnight there ; 
No sound, except that throbhing wave, in earth 

or sea or air. 
The massive capes and ruined towers seem con- 
scious of the calm ; 
The fibrous sod and stunted trees are breathing 

heavy balm. 
So still the night, these two long barks round 

IJun.ishad that glide 
Must trust tlieir oars — methinks not few — 

af^aiust the ebljing tide. 
0, some sweet mission of true love must urge 

them to the shore, — 
They bring some lover to his bride, who sigbo in 

Baltimore ! 

All, all asleep within each roof along that rocky 

street. 
And these must be the lover's friendB, witli 

gently gliding feet. 
A stilled gasp ! a dreamy noise ! The roof is 

in a llame ! 
From out their beds, and to their doors, rush 

maid and sire and dame, 
And njeet, ujioii the threshold stone, the gleam- 
ing saber's fall, 
And o'er each black and bearded face the whit<; 

or crimson sliawl. 
The yell of " Allah ! " breaks above the prayer 

and shriek and roar — 
blessed God! the Algerine is lord of I'altimore! 

'i'hcn (lung the youth his naked liand against 

the shearing sword ; 
Then sprung the mother on the brand with 

which her son was gored ; 
Then sunk the grandsire on the floor, his grand- 

b;ibr;s cliit<hing wild ; 
Then llr-d lln- ujaiden moaning faint, .and nestled 

with the child. 
J',iit see, yon pirate strangling lies, and crusljed 

with sjilashing heel, 
While o'er him in an Irish hand tliere sweeps 

his Syrian steel ; 
'i'hough virtue sink, and courage fail, and misers 

yield their store, 
There 's o/if: heartli well avenged in the sack of 

lialtimore I 



©^^ 



Miilsummer mom, in woodland nigli, the birds 
begin to sing ; 



They stc not now the milking-maida, deserted is 
the spring ! 

Midsummer day, this gallant rides from distant 
Uandon's town, 

Thes<; hookers crossed from stormy Skull, that 
skill' from AHadown. 

They only found the smoking walls with neigh- 
bors' blood besprent, 

And on the strewe<l and trampled beach awhilo 
they wildly went, 

Then dashed to sea, and pajiscil Cape Clear, and 
saw, five leagues Ijefore, 

The pirat<;-galleys vanishing tliat ravaged lialti- 
more. 

0, sonic must tug the galley's oar, and some 

must tend the steed, — 
Tliis boy will )x>ar a Sclieik's chibouk, and that 

a Bey's jerrecd. 
0, some are for the arsenals by beauteous Dar- 
danelles, 
And some are in the caravan to Mecca's sandy 

dells. 
The maid that Bandon gallant sought is chosen 

for the Dey, 
She 'h safe, — she 's dcail, — slie stablwd him in 

the midst of his Serai ; 
And when to die a death of fire that noble maid 

they liore. 
She only smiled, — O'DriscoU's child, — she 

thouglit of I'altimore. 

'T is two long years since gunk the town beneath 
that bloody band. 

And all around its trampled hearths a larger 
concourse stand. 

Where high u])on a gallows-tree a yelling wretch 
is seen, — 

'T is Haikett of Dungarvan, — he wlio steered 
the Algerine ! 

Ho fell amid a sullen shout, with scarce a pass- 
ing prayer, 

For lie lia<l slain the kith and kin of many a 
liiindred there : 

Some muttered of MacMorrogh, who liad brought 
the Norman o'er. 

Some cursed him with Iscariot, that day in Bal- 
timore. 

THOMAS IJAVIS. 



PARRHASnjS. 

Parrhasius stood, giizing forgetfully 
Upon the canvas. There Prometheus lay, 
r'hained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, 
The vulture at his vitals, and the links 
Of the lame Lemnkn festering in his flesh ; 



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794 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



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Ami, us tlio jxiiiitt'v's iiiiiul I'elt tlinnigli the dim 
Kapt inystevv, aiul jiUukeU the sluulows forth 
With its I'lU'-ivaohiiig fancy, luul with fonu 
Ami ooloi- I'liul them, his tiiio, wirnost uyo 
Fhishi'U with a passiouato tii-o, ami the ijuiek curl 
tlf liis tliiii nostril, ami his nuivering lip, 
Weiv like the winged god's breathing from his 
(lights. 

" Bring me the eapti\e now ! 
My hand feels skillful, and the sliadows lift 
Fixmx my waked spirit airily and swift ; 

And I eould jKiint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens, - aroiuid me play 
Coloi's of siu'h divinity to-day. 

" Ua ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! as rromelheiis in my pietuiv here ; 
Quiik, — or ho faints ! — stand with the eordial 
near ! 

Now, — bend him to the raek ! 
l'^«ss down the poisoueil links into his llesli ! 
And tear agape that healing wound afix'sh ! 

" So, — let him writhe I How long 
Will he live thus >. tjHuek, my good pencil, now ! 
\Vliat a line agony works upon his bi-ow ! 

Ua ! gmy-haiivd, and so stivng ! 
Uow fearfully he stitles that sliort moan ! 
Gods ! if I could but paint a dying gi-oan ! 

•' rity thee ! so 1 do ! 
1 pity the dumb victim at the altnr. 
But does the mbed priest for his pity falter ! 

I 'd rack thee, though 1 knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine ; 
What weiv ten tliou.<«nd to a fime like mine? 

" Ah ! then' 's a deathless name ! — 
A spirit that the snu>thering vaults shall spurn. 
And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn ; 

And though its crown of llame 
Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone. 
By all the tiery stars, 1 "d bind it on ! 

" .\y ! though it bid me rille 
My luNirt's last fount for its insatiate thiret, — 
Though every life-strung nerve li« maddened 
fu-st. — 

Though it .should bid n>e stitle 
The yearnings in my heart for my sweet child. 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild, — 

"AH,— I would do it all,— 
Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot 
Thrust foully in the earth to be foi-got. 

O Heavens ! — but 1 appall 



Your heart, old man ! — forgive — ha ! on your 

lives 
Let him not faint ! rack him till he rovivos I 

" Vain, — vain, — give o'er. His eye 
U lazes apace. He does not feel you now, — 
Stand back ! 1 '11 paint the death-dew on his brow ! 

t!ods ! if he do not die. 
But for one moment — one — till 1 eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those culm lips ! 

"Shivering! Hark! he nuitters 
Brokenly now, — that was a dillicult breath, — 
Another? Wilt thou never come, Death ? 

Look ! how his temple tluttei's ! 
Is his heart still < Aha ! lift np his head ! 
Ho shudders, — gas\)s, — Jove help him ! — so, 
— he 's dead ! " 

How like a mounting devil in the heart 
U\ilos the univined ambition ! Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
Cilows with a beauty that hewildei-s thought 
.\nd unthrones peace foit'ver. Putting on 
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip. 
We look \ipon our splendor, and foi-get 
The thii'st of which we perish ! 

Nathaniel Takkuk Willis. 



THE ROMAN FATHER'S SAORIFICK. 



SriiAioni'WAY Vii-ginius led the maid 

A little space aside. 
To where the reeking shambles stood, 

riled up with horn and hide ; 
Close to yon low dark aivhway, 

Where, in a crimson Hood, 
Leajis down to the givat sewer 

The gm'gling stream of blood. 

Hani by, a tlesher on a blwk 

Had laid his whittle down : 
Virginius caught the whittle up, 

And hid it in his gown. 
And then his eyes gn'W very dim. 

And his throat liegan to swell. 
And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, 

"Farewell, sweet child ! Farewell I 

" 0, how I loved my darling ! 

Though stern I sometimes be, 
To thee, thou know'st, 1 was not so, — 

Who could \)o so to thee ? 



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POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



795 



--a 



h 



And liow my daiUiig lovud mc I 

How glad she was to hear 
My foolfitej) on the thretihold 

\Vh(;n I came back hist year I 

".And h(jw she danced witli nh;asuro 

'I'll SIT my civic crown, 
And tiiok my sword, and liung it up, 

And lironglit mc forth my gown ! 
Now, all those things arc over, — 

Yes, all thy pretty ways. 
Thy needlework, thy jirattle, 

Thy snatches of old lays; 

"And none will grieve when I go forth. 

Or siriile when I retnrn. 
Or watch beside the old man's bed, 

Or weep upon his urn. 
'I'lio house that was tlie happiest 

Within the Roman walls, 
The house lliat cMvii'd not the wealth 

(ItC^iim^'s marble lialls, 

"Now, lor tlie brightness of tliy snnle, 

Must have eti-rnal gloom. 
And for the music of thy voice, 

The silence of the tomb. 
The time is conu! ! See how hi: points 

His eager hand this way ! 
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief. 

Like a kite's upon the prey ! 

"With all his wit, he lillle deems 

That, spurned, Ijctrayed, bereft. 
Thy father hath, in his despair. 

One fearful refuge left. 
He little deems that in this hand 

1 clutch what still can save 
Thy gentle youtli from taunts and IjIows, 

The portion of the slave ; 

"Yea, and from nanudess evil, 

That jiasseth taunt and blow, — 
Foul outrage which thou knowest not, 

Whieli thou shalt never know. 
Then clasp me round the neck oiu.'e more. 

And give me one more kiss ; 
And now, mine own dear little girl, 

There is no way but this." 

With that he lifted high the steel, 

And smote her in the side. 
And in her blood she sank to earth. 

And with one solj she died. 
Then, fiu' a little moment, 

All people held their breath ; 
And through the crowded forum 

Was stillness as of death ; 



And in another moment 

iii-akc forth, from one and all, 
A cry as if the Volscians 

Were coming o'er the wall. 
Some with averte<l faces 

Shrieking lied home amain ; 
Some lan to call a leech ; and some 

Ran to lift up the slain. 

Some felt her lips and little wrist, 

If life might there be found ; 
And somit tore up their garments fast. 

And strove to stanch the wound. 
In vain they lan, and felt, and stanched ; 

For never truer blow 
Tliat good right arnj had dealt in fight 

Against a Volscian foe. 

When Appius Claudius saw that deed. 

He shuddered and sank down. 
And hid his face some little space 

With the corner of his gown ; 
Till, with wdiite lips and bloodshot eyes, 

Virginius tottered nigh. 
And stood before the ju<Igment-8oat, 

And held the knife on high. 

"() dwellers in the nether gloom, 

Avengers of the slain, 
I'.y this dear blood I cry to you 

Do right between us twain ; 
And even as Appius Claudius 

Hath dealt by me and mine. 
Deal you by Apjiius Claudi\is, 

And all the Claudian lino ! " 

So spake the slayer of his child. 

And turned and went his way ; 
Hut first he east one haggard glance 

To wdicrc the body lay. 
And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, 

And then, with steadfast feet. 
Strode right across the markot-placo 

Unto the Sacred Street. 

Then u]i sprang Ajipius Claudiuii : 

"Stii]i him ; alive or deatl ! 
Ten thousand pounds of copper 

To the man who brings his head." 
He looked upon his clients ; 

Hut none would work his will. 
He looked upon his lictors ; 

Hut they trembled, and stood still. 

And as Virginius through the press 

His way in silence cleft. 
Ever the mighty multitude 

Fell back to right and hitt. 



-& 



a-r 



796 



rOKMS OF TRAGEDY. 



-^ 



And lio Imtli jwssihI in safety 

I'nto his wol'iil home, 
And there tn'en hoi-se to tell the eanip 

W'lmt de»ds aiv done in Home. 

THOMAS ISAIUNGION MACAL'LAV. 



LAMENT OF VIRGINIUS. 



1--ROM "Al'l'U'S 



ViROimus. Faivwoll, my sweet Virginia ; 
never, never, 
Shall 1 taste fruit of the most blesstd hope 
I had in thee. Lot me forget the thought 
Of thy most pivtty infaney : when tivst 
Keturning fiwm the wai-s, I took delight 
'J'o roek thee in my target ; when my girl 
Would kiss her father in his Inirgiinet 
Of glittering steel hung 'bout his arm^d neek ; 
And, viewing the bright metal, smile to see 
Another fair Virginia smile on thee ; 
When 1 tii'st taught thee how to gii, to speak ; 
And when my wounds have smarted, 1 have 

snng 
AVith an unskillful, yet a willing voiee, 
To bring my girl asleep. my Virginia, 
When we began to he, Iwgan our woes, 
Ineivasing still, as dying life still grows ! 

John Weustek. 



©- 



A DAGGER OF THE MINT). 



Is this a dagger which 1 see before me. 
The handle towant my hand ' Come, let me 

eluteh thee : — 
1 have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou iuit, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 
Proeeeding from the heat-oppressM brain ? 
1 see thee yet, in form as jialpable 
As this which now 1 draw. 
Thou mai'shal'st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrunuint 1 was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses. 
Or else worth all the rest ; 1 see thee still ; 
And on thy blade, and dudgeon gonts of blood, 
Which was not so before. — There 's no such 

thing : 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half 

world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked drvams abuse 
The eurtained sleep ; witchcraft celebrates 



Tale Hecate's olTerings ; and withered murder, 

Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf. 

Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy 

pace, 
With Tarijuin's nivisliiug strides, towai\ls his 

design 
Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and lirm-set 

earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for 

fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabout, 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he 

lives : 
WorIs to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

(A bell rings.) 
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites mu. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That summons thoo to heaven or to hell. 

SUAKBSrBAKB. 



THE MURDER. 



ScKNK in the Castle. Enter Lady M.\cbkth. 

Lady M.\cbetii. That which hath made them 
drunk hath made me bold ; 
What hath iiuenched them hath given n\e tire. 

Hark ! — IVace ! 
It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal Wlman, 
Which gives the stern'st good night. He is 

alwut it ; 
The dooiis are open ; and the surfeited gi-ooms 
Do mark their chai-ge with snores : 1 have 

druggi>d their possets. 
That death and nature' do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

M.vcitKTii (within). Who "s there ? What, ho ! 
Lady M. Alack, I am afmid they have 
awaked 
And 't is not done ; — the attempt and not the 

deed 
Confounds us. — Hark I — 1 laid their daggers 

ready ; 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father, as ho slept, I had done 't. — My hus- 
Ixind ! 
Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou 

not hear a noise ? 
Lady M. 1 heanl the owl scream, luul the 
crickets cry. 
Did not you speak ? 
AlAor„" When ? 

Lady M. Now. 

Mack. As I descendeil ! 

hAVX M. Ay. 



4 



fi-^- 



POEMH OF TUAGEDY. 



797 



ra 



B^- 



Macd, Hark ! — 
Wlio lies i' the second chamber ? 

I/ADY M. Donalbain. 

Macb. {lofiki-ntj tjnh-inhanda). Thiw is a Horry 

sight. 
I.AUY M. A fijolisli thought, to say a sorry 

sight. 
Macb. There 's one did hiugli in 's Bleejj, and 
one cried, " Murder ! " 
'i'liat they did wake ea<;)i other : I st<jod and 

licard them : 
I'iit they did say tlieir prayers, and addressetl 

tliem 
Again to bleep. 

Lahy M. There are two lodged togetlier. 

Macb. One cried, "God bless iw ! " and, 
"Amen," the other ; 
As they had seen me with tliese liangman's 

liands. 
Listening their fear. 1 could not say, "Amen," 
When they did say, "God bless us." 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macd. Hut wherefore could not I pronounce 
" Amen " '! 
I lia'i most need of blessing, and " Anien " 
fituck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
Macb. Methought 1 heard a voice cry, " Sleep 
no more ! 
Macbeth does murder sleep," — the innocent 

slecj). 
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care. 
The death of ea<;h day's life, sore lalxir's Ixith, 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second coui'sc. 
Chief nourislier in life's feast, — 

Laijy M. What do you mean ? 

Ma':i). Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to 
all the house : 
"Olaniis hath murdered sleep; and therefore 

Cawdor 
Shall slee|( no more, — Macbeth shall sleep no 
more ! " 
LaiiY M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, 
worthy tljane. 
You do unbend your noble strengtli, to think 
So brainsickly of things. — Go, get some water. 
And wiish this filthy witness from your hand. 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
'I'hey must lie there ; go carry them ; and smear 
'J'he sleepy giooms with blood. 

Macb. I 'II go no more ! 

I am afrai<l to think what I Ixave done ; 
Look on 't again, I dare not. 

Laiiy M. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : the sleeping, and the 

dead. 
Are but as pictures ; 't is the eye of chililhood 



That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal ; 
For it must seem their guilt. 

[lijril.. Kiwc.kinij within. 
Macd. Whence is tliat knocking f 
How is 't with me, when every noise ajiiialls me t 
What )ian<is are here ! Ha ! they pluck out 

mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wa.sli this blood 
Clean from my hand I No ; tliis my hand will 

rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine. 
Making the green — one red. 

He-enter Lady .Macbkth. 
Lauy M. My han'ls are of your color ; but I 

sliame 
To wear a heart so white. (JCnockhiy.) I hear 

a knocking 
At the Sfjuth entry ; — retire we to our chamber : 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it, then ! V'our constancy 
Hath left you unatt<;nded. (KiMcIciiifj.) Hark, 

nioie knocking. 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. 
Anil show us to be watchers : — be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my <leed, 't were best not 

know myself. (Kiwckimj.) 
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! J would thou 

couldst. 

SJlAKIiSeeARK, 



LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS OVER THE BODY 
OF LUCKETIA. 

FROM ■■IJKUTCi." 

Wotri,D you know why I summoned you to- 
gether ? 
^k ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, 
"Jlottcd with gore ! IJehold that frozen corse ! 
.See where the lost Lucretia slcejw in death ! 
She was the mark and model of the time, 
The raolc in which each female face was foiTued, 
The very shrine and sar;risty of virtue ! 
Fairer than ever was a form created 
liy youtliful fancy when the bloorl strays wild, 
And never-resting thought is all on fire ! 
The worthiest of the worthy ! Not tlie nymph 
Who met old iSTuma in his hallowed walks. 
And whisjK-red in his car her strains divine. 
Can I conceive beyond her ; — the young choir 
Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'T is wonderful 
Amid the daniel, hemlock, and base weeds. 
Which now spring rife from the luxuiious com- 
post 
.Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, — 
How from the shade of those Ul-neighljoring 
plants 



.4 



\£r- 



798 



POJSMS OF TBAGEDY. 



n 



lliM- tnUicr s1u'Uoi\hI liov. tliiit not a U'lif 
Was Wijthtwl, bul, an-sivod in imitwt j;mi'0, 
Slu- Woonu'il \msiillit'il Wauty. Sucli iK'irootions 
Mij;lit litivi' calUHl \>aik tlu> torpid luvast of aJ,^■ 
To loiig-roi-gvntoii rajituiv ; s>\i'h a uiiiul 
Mijtlil lia\.' iiUisliwl tho boUUst lilHTtiiio 
Aiul tiinunl (ioMiti to ivvi'ix'iitial lovo 
Aiul lioliist alU'ction ! l^ my coimtiymou ! 
You all oaii \vit\u'ss wlirii that slu> wont t'oith 
It was a holiday ii\ liouio ; old aJ^' 
yoi^Mt its nuli'h, labor its ttusk, — a]l nm, 
And inothoi-s, tuniinj; to tlunr daiightoi-s, oriod, 
" 'riu>n\ ihoiv 's lAU'wtia ! " Jvow look y« wUt'i-o 

slu. lit's ! 
That lva»too\is llowor, that imuKviit swoot i\is<>. 
Torn uji by nithlossvioh'Ui'o, — gone ! gouo ! j^mo,' 

Say, would you sook iustruotiou ! woidd yo ask 
AVhat yi> should do > Ask yo you cousoious walls, 
Whioh saw his jKnsoui'il bivthor, — 
Ask yoi> dosortwl stix>ot, whmi 'l\>llia divvo 
ll'or hor dead father's ooi-st>, 't will cry, Kovcugo ! 
Ask y oudor si>nato-houso, whoso stones aw jiurplo 
.With huniau blooil, and it will ory, Uovoiigi' ! 
Uo to Iho tomb whoiv lies his uuuxloivd wife. 
And tho poor nuoou, who loved him as her sou, 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, lu-veuge ! 
The temples of thegvHls, the all-viewinj; heavens, 
The gods themselves, sliall justify tJio ery. 
And swell the gi'ueml sound, Kevongo ! Keveu^ ! 

A\id wo will lie ivvengi'd. my eouutrymen ! 
Urutus shall lead you on ; tSriitus, a name 
Whieh will, when you "re ivvenged, Vw deaivr to 

him 
Than all the noblest titles earth ean Iwast. 

Urutus your king ! — No, fellow -eitizens ! 
If mad ambition iti this guilty frame 
Had strung one kingly lilvr, yw), but one, — 
r>y all the gvHls, this daggt'r whieh 1 hold 
Slundd rip it out, though it intvvined my hejirt. 

Now take the Ixxly u|>. Hear it K'foiv us 
To Tanpiin's jwlaee : theiv we '11 light oiu' toivlu^s. 
And in the bliuing eontlagmtion ittir 
A (lile, for tlu>se chaste ivlies, that slmll send 
Her sovU amongst tlie st<u-s. On ! Brutus loads 
you ! 

John Howaku vavnk. 



BF^VTKICE OENCI. 



FROM "Tm: CKNCl." 



llKATRlCK. 0, 

Jly 01 Oil ! ean it Ih> jH>ssiblo 1 have 

To die so suddeidy * S<> young to gvi 

I'nder the oliseuif, eold, rotting, wormy ground ! 

To Iw nailwl down into a narrv>w place ; 

To see no nioiv sweet sunsliine ; hear no moiv 



lilithe voice of living thing ; muse not again 
I'pou familiar thoughts, sail, yet thus lost, — 
How fearfid ! 

l,i'Oi;KriA. I'hild, perhnjvs 

It will W ^iiwtml. Wo may all then live 
To make those woes a tale for distant years. 
O, w liat a thought ! It gushes to my heart 
Like the warm IJoixl. 

IUlviu. Yet \H>th will soon be eold. 

0, trample out that thought ! \Vorse tJuiii despdr, 
Woi-se than tho bitterness of death, is hope ; 
It is the only ill which can lind place 
l'lK>n the giddy, sharp, and utiri\>\v hour 
Tottering K'neath us. Plead with the swift fivst 
That it shoidd spaiv the eldest llower of spring ; 
riead with awakening oartluiuako, o'er whose 

eoueh 
Even now a city stands, fair, stivng, luid five ; 
Now stench and lilaokness yawns, like death. 

0, plead 
With famine, or wind-walking pestilence. 
Wind lightning, or tho deaf sea, not with man ! 
Cruel, cold, formal man ! righteous in woixls. 
In deinls a Cain. No, mother, we nuist die, 
Since such is the ivwai\l of innocent lives, 
Such the alleviation of worst wrongs. 
And whilst our murderers live, lUid haixl, cold 

men, 
Smiling and slow, walk tluvngh a world of tears 
To death as to life's sleej>, "t weiv just the grave 
Wen> some strang\> joy for us. t.\ime, ol>scniv 

Death, 
And wind n\e in thine all-embracing arms ! 
Uike a fond mother hide me in thy iKvtoin, 
And i\K-k me to tlie sleep from whieh noiui wake. 

I'HKCV llVSSIlIi SHBLLKV. 



THK YOUNO OKAY HEAD. 

GiUKK hath Ihhmi kiunvu to turn the young head 

gray, — 
To .silver over in a single day 
The blight hn'ks of the Iwmtiful, their piiine 
Seaively o'eriwst ; as in the fearful time 
Of l^allia's nn\dness, that discrowned IkwI 
Seivne, that oi\ the accursM altar bled 
MiscalU4 of Lilwrty. martyitnl Queen ! 
What must the sufferings of that night have 

lH>en — 
That I'lir- — that sprinkUxl thy fair tj-essiw o'er 
With time's nutimely snow ! Hut now no molts 
Lovely, august, unhappy one I of thtH> — 
1 have to tell a hnnihler history ; 
A vilhigi> tale, whose only charm, in six>th 
^lf any), will Ih) siid and simple trnth. 



-^ 



[S- 



rOMMS OF TRAGEDY. 



799 



■a 



" MotLor, " ijuotli AinbroHe to liis tlirifty darat, — 
So oft our peasant's u«e his wil'i; to name, 
" Fatlier " and "Manter" to hiiiiHell' ajijjlieii. 
Ah life's fjravo duties niatronize tlic biide, — 
" Mollier," quoth Ambrose, ashefaeed tlienorlli 
Willi liard-set teeth, before lie i«»ued forth 
'I'o his day labor, I'roiii the cottage door, — 
" I 'ill thinking that, tu-niglit, if not before, 
Thi-re 'U be wild work. Dost hear old Cliewton* 
roar J 

I I 'k browing up down westwaid ; and look there, 
I 'lie of those sea-gulls ! ay, there goes a pair ; 
And such a mdden thaw ! If rain eonies on, 
.\s threats, the wat<:rs will lie out anon. 

'I'liat path by the ford 's a nasty bit of way, — 
liisl li't the young ones bide from sehool to-day." 

" \)i), mother, do ! " the ijuiek-earcd urchins 

cried ; 
Two little lasses to tlie fatlier's side 
''lose elinging, as they looked from him, to spy 
Tlie answering language of the mother's eye. 
Tlu.re was di;niul, and she shook liei' head : 
" Nay, nay, — no hanii will come to them," she 

said, 
" 'I'lie riiislress lets tlioni off these short dark days 
All li.jiii I lie earlier ; and our Liz, she says, 
,M;i\ i|iiili: lie trusted — and I know 't is true — 
To take eare of herself and .Jenny too. 
And so she ought, — she '« seven come lirst of 

May, — 
years the oldest ; and they give away 
< 'liristmas bounty at the school to-day." 

The mother's will was law (alas, for her 
TIkiI hapless day, poor soul !) — sAc could not eiT, 
Tliciiight Ambrose ; and his little fair-liaired .lane 
(llir namesake) to his heart he liugged again, 
Whin each had had her turn ; she clinging so 
As if that day she could not let him go, 
lint Labor's sons must snatch a hasty bliss 
in nature's tendere.st mood. One last fond kiss, 
"i;od bli-ss my little maids ! " the father said. 
And cheerly went his way to win their bread. 
Then might be seen, the ])layiiiate jiarent gone. 
What looks demure the sister pair put on, — 
Not of the mother as afraid, or shy, 

III i|iir,ii.,iiing the love that could deny ; 
Kill Mn|ilv, as their simple training taught, 
111 .iiiiri, [ilaiu straightforwardness of thought 
(.Siil.iiii.ssively resigned the hope of play) 
Towards the serious business of the day. 

To me there 's something toucliing, I confess. 
In the grave look of early thoughtfulncKs, 
•Seen often in some little childish face 

♦ A freiih- water aprlnif rui,1ilnK Imo the lica, called Clicwton 



Two 

The 



*]- 



Among the poor. Not that wherein we trace 
(.Shame to our land, our rulers, and our race !) 
'i'he unnatural sufferings of the fact'jry child. 
But a staid ijuietness, reflective, mild, 
Jjctokening, in the depths of those young eyes. 
Sense of life's cares, without its miseries. 

So to the mother's charge, with thoughtful brow. 
The doc;ile Lizzy stood attentive now, 
I'loud of her years and of iuijjuted sense, 
And prudence justifying confidence, — 
And little .Jenny, more demurely still, 
licside her waited the maternal will. 
So standing hand in hand, a lovelier twain 
(Jaiiisborough ne'er painted : no — nor he of 

Sjiain, 
Glorious Murillo ! — and by conti'ast sliown 
More beautiful. The younger little one, 
With large blue eyes and silken ringlets fair, 
Uy nut-brown Lizzy, with smooth parted hair. 
Sable and glossy a.s the raven's wing. 
And lustrous eyes as dark. 

"Now, mind and bring 
.Jenny safe home," the mother said, — "don't 

stay 
To jiull a liough or berry by the way : 
And when you come to cross the ford, hold fast 
Your little sister's hand, till you 're (|ulte past, — 
That plank 's so crazy, and so slippery 
elf not o'erllowed) the stepping-stoins will bo. 
lint you 're good children — steady as old folk — 
I 'd trust ye anywhere." Then Lizzy's cloak, 
A good gray duflle, lovingly she tied. 
And amply little .Jenny's lack supplied 
With her own warmest shawl. " lie sure," said 

she, 
" To wraj) it round and knot it carefully 
(Like this), when you come home, just leaving 

free 
Une hand to hold by. Now, make haste away — 
Hood will to school, and then good right to play." 

Was there no sinking at the mother's heart 
When, all equipt, tliey turned them to dejiart ? 
When down the lane, she watched them as they 

went 
Till out of sight, was no forefeeling sent 
( If coming ill ! In truth I cannot tell : 
.Such warnings luivc been sent, we know full well 
And must believe — believing tli.at they are — 
In mercy then — to rouse, restrain, preiiare. 

And now I mind me, something of tlie kind 

Did surely haunt that day the mother's mind. 

Making it irksome to bide all alone 

I!y her own (|uiet hearth. Though never known 

For idle gossipry was .Jenny Gray, 

Yet so it was, that mom she could not stay 



-S 



fl-J 



800 



POEMS OF TllAGEDY. 



^ 



Al li.Muo Willi hn- own tlu>uj;lit,s, Imt look hw 

way 
'I'o ln>r in'xt iU'ij;lilHii''s, liiilt' a hml' U> U>i'i\>w, — 
\ it iuij;lit lior stoiv Imvo liistoil out tlu> iiioi- 

ivw, -- 
Ami with llio liwu olitninotl, sho liiif^Mxul still, 
Siiiil nIu', " My miisloi'. it' lio M hail liis will, 
WouUl liavo ko[it Imok out' lilt-Ui oiio,s I'wim school 
'riiis ilix'iull\il u\oruiiig ; iiiitl I 'ill suoh n fool, 
Siuoo tlioy 'vo liroii jj^nio, 1 'vo wislioil tliom Imi'k. 

uiil tlion 
It wiml ilo ill siu'li tJiiiijp to liiimor moii, — 
l>ui' Anibi\>so s|ii'i'iall,v. If let iiloim 
11(1 M sjioil llioso wi'iiolios. Uiit it '» i'oniiu){ on, 
That stonii lu' sitiil wiis Invwiiig, sun oiiough, - 
Wi'll ! wlml of that? 'IV think what iilU' stiill" 
AVill ooino into ono's h«ul ! Ami lii>iv with yon 
I slop, as if 1 \l notliiiijj olso to ilo 
Anil tlioy 11 oonio homo, (li\>wmHl iiitji. I must 

1h> ji^mo 
To _i;ol vhy tliinjpi, ami sot llio kottlo on." 

Ilisilay'swoikiloiio. ihivoiiuiilal iiiilos, aiul nioiv, 
l.jiy Ivlwooii Amhroso ami his oottaijo-iloor. 
A woaiy way, liod wot, for woaiy wijjlit I 
Hut yot far oll'tlio oiulinj; siiioko in sight 
Fiviii his own ihimnoy, ami his heart frit light. 
How (iloasaiilly tho liumhlo homostcail stood, 
Oown tho gu>on laiio, l>y slu'ltoriiigShiiloy wood ! 
How swoot tho waftiiij; of tho ovoiiing lnvo/o. 
In sining-linio, fivni his two oUl ohon-y-tiws, 
Shoot oil with Mossoni ! And in hot .Uily, 
Wnn tho luMwn moor-traok, shadowloss and dry. 
Mow jji-atofnl tho oool oovorl to ivgaiii 
0( his own lUvitKc, that slnuly lano, 
With tho wliilo oottaui>. in a slantinj; glow 
iM'snnsot i;loiy, gloaming l>i'i>{ht holow. 
And jasniino non'li, his nisli> |>ortioo ! 

With what a thankful gladiioss in liis faoo, 
(.Siloiit lioart-liomag<>, — \ilant of sjiooial graoo !) 
.\t tho lano's ontramo, slaokoning otY his (Woo, 
Would .\nil>i\wo solid a loving look Ivforo ; 
t\inooitiiig tho oagiul Maokbinl at tho door, 
'l^ho vory Waokbiixl, strainotl its littlo tlii\>at. 
In woloomo, with a nu»\> ivjoioiiig nolo ; 
.\nd lionost Tinkor, diig of douM ful luvod, 
.Ml brislhs Ivaok, and tnil, Imt " gvxwl at not>d," 
Ploasant his giwting to tlio aoonslomoil oar ; 
Uul of all woloonios ploasanlost, most ilwir, 
Tho ringing voioo.t, liko swoot silvor Ih-Us, 
0( his two littlo onos. llow fondly swoUs 
Tho fathor's hoart, as, danoing np tho lano, 
K,tioh olas]<s a hand in hor small hand again, 
.'\iid <-aoli must toll lior talo and " say luu- si»y," 
Im|H>ding as sho loads with swwt dolay 
(OhildluH>d's Most tliouglitlossne^i !) his onwiii'd 



t way. 



Ami wlioii tho wintor day olosod in so fiust ; 
Soaivo for his task would droary daylight last ; 
.\nd ill all woatliors- driving sloot and snow - 
Homo l.y thill haro, hloak moor-tnuk must ho go, 
Harkling and louoly. O. tho lilo,s.sod sight 
(.His polostar) of that littlo twinkling light 
l''ixmi ono small window, through tho loalloss tivos, 
lilimnioring so lit.t'uUy ; no oyo hut his 
ll.id spiod it so tar oil'. And suro was hi>, 
Kntoring tho lano, a stoadi»r hoam to soo, 
Kuddy and hi-oad as poat-fod lioarth oouhl poui, 
^^tlvalllillg to moot him from tho opoii door. 
Thou, though tho hlaokhird's wohoiiio was m. 

hoard, -- 
Silonood l>y wintor, noli' of summor l>ii\l 
Still hailod him from no mortal fowl alivo. 
lint I'lviii tho ouokoo olook just striking livo. 
.Vml f inkor's oar and Tinkor's noso w oiv koon, 
l>ll'slartod ho, and thon a form was .soon 
I'ai'koning tho doorway ; and a .simdlor .sprito, 
.Viid thon anothor, pooivd into tho night, 
Ivoavly to follow fivo on Tinkor's tniok, 
lint tor tho mothor's hand that hold hor haok ; 
.■\nd yot n moinont — u low stojis — ami tlioiv, 
Tnllod o'or tho thiY.shold by that oagx-r pair, 
Ilo sits by his own hoartli, in his own oliair ; 
Tinkor takos post bo.sido with oyos that .say, 
" Mastor, wo'vo doiio onr biisino.ss for tho day," 
Tho kottlo sings, tho oat in oliorus put's, 
Tho bu.sy housowifo with hor toa-things stii's ; 
Tho iloor 's mado fast, tho old stulf onrtain 

drawn ; 
How tho hail olattoi-s ! Lot it olattor on ! 
How tho wind ravos and rattlos ! What oaivs lio f 
Safo liousod and warm iH'iioath liisown ivot'-lroo. 
With a woo lassio prattling on oaoh knoo. 

Suoli was tho lunir — hour saoivd and apart — 
Wnrniod in oxpootjuioy tho i«>or man's heart. 
Simunor and wintor, as his toil ho pliod. 
To him and his tho litoral doom appliod, 
l^vnouiiood on .Vdam. Hut tho bivad was swoot 
Sooarnod. for suoli doar months. Tho woaiy foot, 
HoiH>-sliod, sli'pt lightly on tlio liomowanl way •, 
So spooially it I'aivd with Atubi\>so lliiiy 
That timo 1 toll of. Ho had workod ail day 
At a givat oloaring ; vigorous stroko on stroko 
Striking, till, wlioii ho stopt, his hiok sooniod 

bivko. 
Ami tho strong arms dropt norvoloss. What of 

that > 
Thon> was a tixwsiuv hiddon in his liat. — 
.\ plaything for tlio young onos. Ilo had found 
A dormonso nost : tho living Kill ooilod ixiiuid 
For its long winter sloop : and all his thoiiglit. 
As ho trudgx'd stoutly homowai\i. was of naught 
l>ut tho glad wondoiniont in .lonny's ovi-s. 
And gravor I.iitey's ipiiotor surprise. 



-^ 



I'OKMH Oil' TUAaiiliY. 



801. 



-a 



WliKii III! hIkiuIiI yir;|il, )iy naurn and kuM and 

IIhj'J WDii, till; rn./i;ii I'ujiijvit tij lli':ir ciiru. 

"r wan II wild (jvi.iiiiig, — wild mid rough. "I 

knew," 
'I'liDU^^hl. AiiiIjiow!, " llioHo imluuky giill« Bpoku 

tl'lli;, — 
And O.iller ChnviUm w.vf.v growlo lor iiauglit, — 
I Blioidd \»; iiioi't'il 'rmi/ud now if I tlioiigtit 
My lillji; iiiiiid)! wr;ri; not. (wfi! Iioiiwiil l^doro 
'i'lial lilinding )mil-ntorni, — iiy, Uux tioiu and 

inori;, 
(JnlcHH by tliat old c.niv.y liit of lic;aid, 
'I'licy 'v(j not, j«iHw:d dryd'oot ovi;r Sliallow ford, 
'I'liat I 'II I)'! Iiocind for, i(Woll<:n a;i il iiMiJit 

U- 
W'ldl ! if my niiatr<:nH liad l«;i:n ridird liy mo — " 
I5ul, idnwking tin: lialf-tljouglit m lii;ri!Ky, 
H'-. lor,ki;d out, for tliB Ilonii; Star. Tlicro it 

hIioipi', 
AnrI with a gla<ldi;ii<:<l li«:art. Ik; li;i«li:nr;il on. 

Ill; 'h ill till! lain; again, — and tlicru Ixilow, 
Stri;amn from tin; o])!;!! doorway llmt r<;d glow, 
Wliiidi warnix Iiim Imt Ui look at. Kor 1m« prizo 
','aiItioilH III; f<;i;l», — all Kafi; and nniig it lii:». — 
" Uown, Tinker ! ilown, old iKjy ! - not ijnitc mi 

fr<;i;, — 
'I'Ih! tiling tlioii HnidVjut w no gainu for tin*. — 
IJiit wliat'M tin; meaning '( no lookout tonight I 
No living Koul luilir ! I'ray God, all 'h right ! 
Who 'h llilt/;ring round tho i«jat-nta<;k in nuch 

w<;atlii;r ? 
.\rotli<;r ! " you might havu fi;lli;il him with a 

f.-ath.;r, 
Winn the nhort an»wi;r t'l hix loud " Uillo ! " 
And hurriud <|ii<;Mlion, "Are they come?" wa« 

" .N'o." 

To throw IiIh toolH down, h/uttily unhook 
The old erai'ked 1,-intern from itn du«ly nook. 
And, while he lit it, Bjieak a ehe<:ring word, 
Thutalni'wt ehoked him, and wan wareely beard, 
WaH hut a niomi;nt'» iu;t, and he wan gone 
To wheie a fearful foresight If;*! him on. 
I'aiwing a iieighl«)r'H (xjttjige in IiIh way, — 
Mark Kentfjn'H, — him he took with Bhort delay 
To hear him ^mpany, — for who wuld nay 
What iii;i;<l might he 'I They dtruck intf< the track 
The children hliould have taken eoming tja/.k 
From wdiool that djiy ; and rn«ny a ryill and nhout 
Int/) the iilt';hy darkneiiB they Hftnt out. 
And, hy the lant';ni light, jiwjred all aUmt, 
In every roa<l«ide thicket, hole, and nook, 
'i'ill Buddenly — a» n<«iring now the Vjrook — 
Something bru»he«l [Kust them. Tliat wao Tink- 
er'* l/ark, — 



fB-- 



Lfnhewied, lie luul followixl in the dark, 
C'loHij at hix iii«Mt<!r'B heolB ; hut, Bwift iiH light, 
l)arti;d hefoii: them now. " I5e Burn he 'b right, 
He 'h on the tra':k," eried Anihio»<;. " Hold the 

light 
liOW down, — he 'b niiikingfor the wat<;r. Mark ! 
1 know that whim;, the old dog 'b found them, 

Mark." 
Ho BpiHiking, hreathleBBly he hurried on 
'I'oward the old crazy foot-hriilge. It wiui gone I 
And all hix dull contriu;t<;'l light <;<juld Bhow 
Wa* the hla<;k voiil and ikrk Bwollen Btreain Udow. 
" Vet there 'b life B'imewhere, — more Ihitn Tink- 

er'B whine, — 
Th.it 'b Bure," wiid Mark. "Ho, let the lantern 

Bhine 
Down yonder. There 'b the dog, — and, hark I " 

" O dear I " 
And a low boIi came faintly on the ear, 
Mocked hy the B<ihhing ginit. iJown, i|uick aB 

thought, 
Int<j the Htieuni |iui|<t AmljroB<i, wheie he caught 
l''aBt hold of itoinething, — a iJark hudiJJiMl 

lieai), — 
Half in thcwat'jr, where 't wa« B':arce knee-di;i;[> 
Kor a tall man, and half ahove it, i/ro(i|/ed 
I5y Bome old ragged «ide-|»ileB, that hail ntopt 
KndwayB the broken plank, when it gave way 
With the two little onen that lueklcBB <L-iy ! 
" My lialicB I — my lanibkinn ! " waH the father'n 

cry. 
One lilUe amoi riiaile an/twcr, " Here am I ! " 
'T wan Lh/.y'it. There bIio crouched with fa';e 

ax whit<!, 
More ghaBtly by the lliekcring lant/;rndight 
Than Bhi;el<;d ij>r\>ni:. The [Kile blue lijiB drawn 

tight. 
Wide [Kirted, showing all the |x;arly t/;eth. 
And eycM on nome dark object underneath, 
WiiBhed by the turbid wat<;r, fixed as ulunn, — 
One arm and hand Htret<;hed out, and rigid 

grown, 
OniBping, an in the d<»ith-griii<:, .Jenny'B frock. 
There she lay drowned. Could he nu/ital/i that 

Bhock, 
The doling father ? Where 'b the unriven rock 
Can bi<le Huch bLa«ting in itB flinticBt [lart 
Ax that wih B<;ntient thing, — the human heart? 

They lilWl her from out tier wat'jry l/<yl, — 
Itn <:overing gone, the lovely little hea/1 
Hung like a broken Bnowdroji all .-tidde ; 
And one small hand, — the mother'B shawl wax 

tied, 
f/caving tli/d fri*, about the child's small form. 
Ax was her last injunction — "fuM and warm " — 
'I'oo well obcyi;/], — t'jo faxt ! A Oit'd Jiold 
Affording to the Hcrag by a thick fold 



^ 



f 



802 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



*i3i 



t^^ 



Tlmt caught and iiiiiiiod her in tho vivor's Iwd, 
Whilo thron.;h lli(> ivcklcss waliM- ov.'rlioaa 
Ih'Hir.-l.iciith l.iil.l.Ua up. 

"Sli,. iiii},'ht have livinl, 
Sti'uj,'f;liuj; liki< l.i/zy," was tlui tluiuylil that 

riv.'il 
'I'ho wivtrhi'il umthor's heart, whon sho know nil, 
" luit ti.r my loolishnrss aluuit that sluiwl 1 
Au.l master wouUl liavo kept tliem hack the day ; 
I'mt 1 was willful, driviiif; them away 
\usurl, wil.l Wealhel !" 

Tims I he tortured heart 
I'uMalurally a,i,'iiinst itselt tukes part, 
Priviuf,' the sharp edjje di'i'per nt a wcie 
'I'lHi deep already. They liad raised her iu>\v, 
And partiiij; the wi't ringlets from hor hrow, 
Til that, and the eold check, and lips iis cold, 
I'he lather glued his warm ones, ere they rolled 
(Inee more tlic fatal shawl — her winding-sheet — 
Ahout tin' prceious day. One heart still beat. 
Warmed hy hU 1,,-nrfs hlood. To his oiiln t-hihl 
He turned him, but her jnteous moaning mild 
I'iereed him afresh, — ami now she kitcw him not. 
"Jlolher!" slii< miuinured, "who .says 1 for- 
got \ 
" Motlier ! indeed, ind.'ed, 1 k.'pt last hold. 
And tied tlie shawl (inite close she can't he 

eold — 
lint she won't movo — wo slipt — 1 don't know 

how — 
lint 1 held on — and I 'm so weary miw — 
.\nd it 's so dark ni\d cold ! dear ! dear ! — 
.\nd she won't move — if daddy was but here !" 

I'oor lamli ! she wamlered in lur mind, 't was 

clear; 
Hut soon the iiileous nuirmur died away, 
And quiet in her father's arin,>i she lay, — 
They their dead burden had resigned, to tilko 
The living, so near lo.st For her dear sake, 
.And om> at home, ho nnned himself to boar 
His misery like a man, — with temler eare 
Polling his coat her shivering I'm'in to fold 
(His neighbor bearing that which felt no cold), 
He clasped her close, ami .so, with little said, 
llomewnril they bore the living and the dead. 

From Ambrose Gray's poor cottagi> all that night 
Shone litfnlly a little .shifting light. 
Above, below, — for all were watchers there. 
Save one sound sleeper, //cc, parental eare, 
rarei\tal watchfulness, availed not now. 
Uut in the yoting survivor's throbbing brow, 
And wandering eyes, delirious fever burned ; 
And all night long from side to side she turned, 
Piteously plaining like a wounded dove, 
With now and thou the murmur, "Sho won't 
movo. " 



Aiui lo ! when morning, as in mockery, bright 
Shone on that pillow, passing strange the sight. - 
That young head's raven hair was streaked w ith 

white ! 
No idle liclion this. Such things have boon. 
Wo know. .\nd now / Ifll irhat I have seen. 



that .small 
All became 



Life struggled long with death in 

frame. 
Hut it was strong, and conipiered. 
As it had been with the poor family, — 
All, saving that which nevermore might be : 
Thero was an empty place, — thoy were but three. 

CAKOLINtl OOWLUS SOU! UKV. 



FRA GIACOMO. 

Al..\s, Fill ("Jiaconto, 

Too late ! — but follow mo ; 
Hush ! draw the cnrtain, — so I — 

She is deail, ipiite dead, you seo. 
Poor little lady ! she lies 
With the light gone out of her eyes, 
Unt her featm-es still wear that soft 

Oniy meditative expression. 
Which you nmst have noticed oft. 

And admired loo, at eoid'ession. 
How saintly she looks, and how meek ! 

Though this he the chamber of death, 

I fancy 1 feel her breath 
As 1 kiss her on the chcok. 
With that pensive religious face, 
She has gone to a holier place ! 
And 1 hardly appreciated her, — 

Her praying, fasting, confessing. 
Poorly, 1 own, 1 mated her ; 
I thought her too cold, and rated hor 

For her endless imago-cai'cssing. 
Too saintly for me by far. 
As pure aiul as cold as a star. 

Not fashioned for kissing and pressing, — 
But made for a heaveidy crown. 
Ay, father, let us g«i down, — 

IJut first, if you please, your blessing ! 

II. 
Wine 1 No ? Come, come, you nuist ! 

Yon '11 bless it with your prayers, 
.\nd ipialVa cup, 1 trust, 

To the health of the saint up staii-s ? 
My heart is aching so I 

And I feel so weary and sad. 

Through the blow that I have had, — 
You '11 sit, Fra (liaeomo / 
My friend ! (ami a friend I rank you 

For tho sake of that saint,) — nay, nav I 



\tr 



POEMH OF TRAOEDY. 



803 



ra 



Hi!rc '« the wine, — an you lovo mc, stay I- 
'T is Montcjml'.iano ! — Tliaiik you. 



IIi;igh-ho ! "f in now hix summere 

Since I won Diat angel anil niarriwl her : 

I wax ri';l), not old, ami carried her 
Oflin the la<;e of all cornerH. 
So (Vesli, yet so briniining with soul ! 

A tenderer rnorsel, I swear. 
Never rruulft tlie dull bliuik coal 

Of a monk's eye glitter anrl glare. 

Your pardon ! — nay, keep your chair I 
I wander a little, but mean 
No olfence to the gray gabardine : 
Of the eliurch, Kra Oio'jomo, 
I 'm a fiiithfnl upholder, you know, 
liut (hunjor nie I) she was as sweet 

As the saintH in your convent windows, 
Ho gentle, so meek, so discreet, 

She knew not what lust docs or sin doi.-s. 
I 11 confess, though, before we were one, 

I deemed her less saintly, and thought 

The blood in her veins ha*! caught 
Some natural wannth from tlie sun. 
I was wrong, — I was blind as a Iwt, — 

I'rut^! that I was, how I lilundered ! 
Though such a mistake as that 
Might have occurred as pat 

To ninety-nine men in a hundred. 
Yourself, for e»imple ? you 've seen her ? 
Sjiite her rnoilest and pious demeanor, 
And the manners so nice and precise, 

Secmwl there not color and light, 

liright motion and appetitf;. 
That were scarcely consist<;nt with ice ? 
Kxttrnalj) implying, you see. 

Internals less saintly than human ? — 
Pray speak, for between you and mo 

You 're not a ^ml judge of a woman I 



A jest, — but a jest ! — Very tnio : 
'T is hardly Ijeconjing to jest, 
And tliat saint up stairs at rest, — 
Her soul may >^ listijning, t'>o I 
1 was always a brute of a fellow 1 
Well may your visage turn yellow, — 
To think how I doubted and doubted, 
SuKijected, gnimbled at, floutfid 
That golden-haired angel, — and solely 
Ikcause she was zealous and holy I 
Noon and night and mom 

She devoted ht^rsclf to piety ; 
Not that she seemed to scorn 

Or dislike her husband's society ; 
But the claims of her smtl superseded 



All that I aski^l for or needwl. 
And her thoughts were far away 
From the level of sinful clay. 
And she trembld if earthly matters 
Interfered with her avcH and poUnrn. 
Poor dove, she so /lutt<-rcd in flying 

Alove the ilim vajwrs of hell — 
Hent on self-sanctifying — 
That she never thought of trying 

To save her huslmud as well. 
And while she was duly electwl 
Kor place in the heavi;nly roll, 
I (brute that I wiis !) susjiccted 

Her manner of saving her soul. 
So, half for the fun of tlie thing, 
Wluit dill I (blasphemer !) but fling 
On my shoulders the gown of a monk — 
Whom I njanagetl for tliat very day 
To get safely out of the way — 
And seat me, lialf sober, half drunk, 
With the cowl throwli over my face. 
In the father cnnfcssoi's pla<;e. 
JCIwM I Ijcrw.dir.iie ! 
In her orthwlox sweet simplicity. 
With that pensive gray expression. 
She sighfully knelt at confession. 
While I bit my lips till they \,\iA, 
And ling my nails in my hand. 
And heard with averted head 

Wliat I 'd guessed and couhl understand. 
Kach word was a seqient's sting, 

I5ut, wrapt in my gloomy gown, 
I sat, like a rnarble thing. 
As she U>\'l me all ! — Sir Dow.v. 



More wine, Fra Giacomo ! 
One cup, — if you love me ! No f 
What, have these dry lips drank 
So deep of the swi'ets of pleasure — 
Sub rom, but quite without measure 
That Montcpulciano tastes rank ? 
''ome, drink ! 't will bring the streaks 
Of crimson back to your cheeks ; 
Come, drink again to the saint 
'W\i(>%i; virtues you loved to paint. 
Who, stretched on her wifely bed. 
With the tender, grave expression 
You used to ailmire at confession, 
Lies poisoneiJ, overhead ! 



Sit still, — or by heaven, you die ! 
Face to face, soul to soul, you and I 
Have S(!ttled accounts, in a fine 
I'leasant fashion, over our wine. 
Stir not, and seek not to fly, — 



-^ 



L& 



804 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



■^ 



U 



Nay, whothei' w not, yov\ mv mine ! 
Tlimik MoiiteimU'Wuo for s'viug 

You ilwuli i\i sui'U lU^licato siiva ; 
'T is not t^vjMV luouk I'lMisra living 

With so (Jrtisaut a tasto on his lijw ; 
15nt, U^st MontojmU'iiuio unsmvlv slumUl kis«, 

'I'iiko this ! auil this ! aiul this ! 



Covor hvn\ ovev, Pietro, 

Ami hniy him in the co\ut Mow, — 

You inn be soorot, hul, 1 know ! 

A\ul, hark you, then to the convent go, — 

liiil every Imll of the convent toll. 

And the monks say n\ass for yonr nsisti'ess' soul. 

KOBEKT UCCHANAN. 



THK ROSE ANU 'I'llK OAUNTUi'V 

Low siwke the knight to the jieasjiut maid, 
'" 0, he not tlms of my sviit alViuvl ! 
Fly with me li'om this gaixlen small. 
Anil thou slialt sit in my castle hall. 

"Thou shalt have iionip and wealth and i>leasui«, 
Joys lieyond thy I'auoy's meiisnre ; 
llcn> with my swoul and howe 1 stand, 
To bear thee away to my distant land. 

'"Take, thou faii-est ! this full-Mown i-ose 
A token of love that as ripely Wows." 
With his glove of steel he jjuekeil the token. 
And it feli funn thegsvuntlet cruslieil and broken. 

The maiden exclaimeil, "Thou seest. Sir Knight, 
Tliy lingers of iron can only smite ; 
And, like the rose thou hast torn and scatterod, 
1 in thy gias)' should Iw wivcked and sliatterod ! " 

She tivmblcd and blushed, and her glances fell. 
But slie turned from the knight, and said, " Fare- 
well •• ; 
"Not so," he cried, "will 1 lose my juize, 
1 h<H'd not thy vv-onls, but I I'ead thiue eyes." 

He lifted hev up in his grasp of steel. 
And he monntetl and spnnwl with fiery heel ; 
Hnt her cry drow forth her hoary aire, 
AVho si\atched his K>w from above the fir«. 

Swift from the valley the warrior tied, 
Kut swifter the bolt of the ciMss-lww sped ; 
And the weight that pitissed on the lleet-foot 

hoise, 
"Was the living man and the woman's corae. 



That morning the i-ose was bright of hue, 
That morning the maiden was sweet to view ; 
lint the evening sun its bea\ity shed 
On the witherod leaves and the maiden dead. 

John WILSI>.\ ItURISTUFHBR NOK'iH). 



KBVOGIO MlNti, NOKTHHKN MKXICO. 

Drvnk and sensele.sa in his place, 
l*>t>ne and sprawling on his face, 
Moif like brute than any nnin 
Alive or dead, — 
By his gitiat pump out of gtiar. 
Lay the peon engineer. 
Waking only just to hear, 

t>verhead, 
Angry tones that called his name, 
l">aths and cries of bitter blame, — 
^Voke to hear all this, ami waking, turned and 
tied ! 

"To the man who '11 bring to me," 

Cried Intendant Harry Lee, — 
Harry Lee, the Kngli.sh foreman of the mine,— 

" Bring the sot ali\e or dead, 

1 will give to him," he saiil, 

" Fifteen hundrod ji><'.«M." down. 

Just to set the rascal's crown 
l'ndern«»th this heel of mine : 
Since but death 

Deserves the nian whoso deed. 

Be it vice or want of he«l, 

Stojw the punn)s that give ns breath, — 

Stoi>s the p>imi>s that snek the death 
Fix>m the puisone*! lower levels of the mine ! " 

No one answeitKl, for a cry 
Fi^om the .sliaft ivsie up on high ; 
.-\nd shuttling, scrambling, tumbling from Kilow, 
lame the mind's each, the bolder 
Mounting on the wcaker's shoulder, 
Grappling, clinging to their hold or 

Letting go. 
As the weaker gasped and fell 
From the ladder to the well, — 
To the poisoned pit of hell 

Uown below ! 

"To the man who sots them flee," 
Cried the foitnuan, Harry Lee, — 
Harry Lee, the English foronnm of the mine, — 
" Brings them out and sets them flx-e, 
I will give that uran," said he, 
"'IVice that sum, who with a x-ope 
Face to face with death sliall cope : 
L«t hinx come who darvs to hoi>e ! " 



-^ 



[fl- 



POEMH OF TllAGEDY. 



805 



-a 



" ilold your peac« 1 " some one replied, ( 

Htaiidiiig by the foreman's side ; i 

"There has one already gone, whoe'er he \)f,\" 

Then they held their breath with awe, 

I'ulling on the iojk-, and saw 

Fainting figures r'aijipear, 

On the hla<;k ro]M; swinging clear, 
Fastene'l by some skillful Ijand from below ; 

Till a s<;ore the level gain<i<J, 

And but one alone remained, — 

He the hero and the last. 

He whose skillful liand maxle last 
The long line tliat brought them Ijack to hoj* 
and eheei ! 

Haggard, gapping, down dropjx^l he 
At the teet of Harry I^ee, — 
Harry Ijne, the Knglish foreman of the mine ; 
" 1 liave come," he gaspe^l, "to claim 
Bijth rewards, Seiior, — my uame 

Is liamon I 
I 'm the drunken engineer, — 
I 'm the cowaid, >S(rfjor — " Here 
He fell over, by that sign 
Dead as sUjne ! 

BR£T HaKTS. 



& 



THE KING LS COLD. 



Kakk the emljers, VJow the 'i/jals. 

Kindle at once a roaring fire ; 

Here 's some f>ajjer — 't is nothing, sir — 
Light it (they 've save<I a thousand souls), 
Kun for fagots, ye s<.urvy knaves. 

There are plenty out in the public S'juare, 

You know they fry the heretics there. 
(But God rememl>er thcii' nameless graves !) 
Fly, fly, or the king may die ! 

L'gh ! his royal feet are like snow. 
And the wld is mounting up to his heart, 

(But tliat was frozen long ago '.) 
liasi^als, varlets, do as you are told, — 
The king is cold. 



Hl-i bed of state Is a gi-aud affair. 
With sheets of satin and pillows of down, 
And close l;eside it stands the crown, — 

liut that won't keep him from djTug there I 

His liands are wrinkle*!, lus hair is gray. 
And his ancient blood is sluggish and tliin 
When he was young it was hot with sin, — 

But that is over this many a day ! 

Under these sheets of satin and lace 
He slejit in the arms of his concubines ; 



Now they carouw; with the prince instea«l, 
Orinking llie ma<idest, njerriest wines ; 
It 's pleasant l/j hear such cat«hes troUwl, 
Now the king is cold ! 



What sliall I do with His Majifsty now ? 

For, tlianks to my i>otion, the man is dead ; 

■Supj><.ise 1 Ixdster him up in l>i?4, 
And fix the crown again on his brow ? 
Tliat would Ije merry ! but then the prince 

Would tumble it down, I know, in a Xtvm ; 

'T wouU puzzle the iJevil t<j nanie a viij« 
That would make his Kx%dh-nt Highness wince! 

Hark ! he 's coming, I know his step ; 

He 's stealing to »>v. if his wishes are true ; 
Sire, may your fathei^'s end \ai youra ! 

'With just such a son t/> murder you '.) 
I'koix Xki the dead ! Ut the Ulhi Ije tolhjd — 
The king is wjU ! 

KofcJdRT BROWMWC- 



SATAN-S ADDEESS TO THE SUN. 

FKOM " J-AKAJylSE 1^:'^ I " 

TUOl', that, with surjrassiug glory ciowned, 
Look'st from thy sole dominion like tlie g/A 
Of this new world ; at whos<; sight all th« stars 
Hide their diminished heads ; to thee 1 call. 
But with no frien<lly voice, and a/id thy uame, 

Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy Ijeams, 
That iM-ing to my remembi-auce from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once aUjve thy sj/here ; 
Till piide and woise ambition threw me down, 
Warring in heaven against heaven's matchless 

King : 
Ah, wherefore ? he deserved no such return 
From me, whom he created what I was 
In tliat bright eminemje, and with his good 
Upbraided none ; nor was his servi<;e hard- 
What could Ije less tlian \/i afford him praise, 
The easiest ivMuiyx-.u^'u and pay him tlianks. 
How due '. yet all his goo<l piove<l ill in me. 
And wrought but malii.« ; lifted up so high 
I 's<lained subjection, and thought one step 

higher 
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 
The debt immense of eu'iless gratitude 
Ho burdensijme, still joying, still to owe : 
F'orgetful wliat from him I still receive(l, 
'. Ajid understood not that a grateful mind 
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once 
Indebteii and discharge"! ; what burden then ? 
ha/i his powerful destiny orilaiued 
Me some inferior angel, I had st/jo"! 
Then happy ; no unb'.iuuded hope had raised 
Ambition, Yet why Jiot ? S'/me other jwwe 



^ 



p 



806 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



-^ 



As great might have asinred, and me, though 

mean, 
Drawn to his part ; but other powers as gieat 
Fell not, hut stand unshaken, from within 
Or from without, to all temptations armed. 
Hadst thou the same free wUl, and powerto stand? 
Thou hadst : whom hast thou then or what to 

accuse, 
But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all ? 
Be then his love accursed, since love or hate. 
To me aUke, it deals eternal woe '. 
Nay, cureed be thou ; since against his thy will 
Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 
Jle miserable ! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wTath, and infinite despair ? 
Which way I fly is hell ; ni^-self am hell ; 
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 
Still threatening to devour nie opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 
0, then, at last relent : is there no place 
Left for repentance, none for pardon left ? 
None left Vnit by submission ; and that word 
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced 
With other promises and other vaunts 
Thau to submit, boasting I could subdue 
The Omnipotent. Ah me ! they little know 
How dearly I abide that boast so vain ; 
Under what torments inwardly I groan. 
While they adore me on the throne of hell. 
With diadem and sccj-vter high adviuiced. 
The lower still I fall, only snpivme 
In misery : such joy ambition finds. 
But say I could repent, and could obtain, 
By act of grace, mj' fonner state ; how soon 
Would height recall liigh thoughts, Low soon 

unsay 
What feigned submission swore ! Ease woiJd 

recant 
Vows made in pain, as violent and void. 
For never can true reconcilement grow- 
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so 

deep : 
Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 
And heavier fall ; so should I purchase dear 
Short intermission bought with double smart. 
This knows my punislier ; therefore as far 
From granting he, as I from begging peace ; 
All hope excluded thus, behold, instead 
Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight. 
Mankind created, and for him this world. 
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, 
Farewell remorse : all good to me is lost ; 
Eril, be thou my good ; by thee at least 
Divided empire with heaven's King I hold. 
By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; 
As man ere long, and this new world shall know. 



& 



COtr^fTESS LAtTRA. 

It was a dreary day in Padua. 
The Countess Laura, for a single year 
Fernando's wife, upon her bridal bed. 
Like an uprooted lily on the snow, 
The withered outcast of a festival, 
Lay dead. She died of some uncertain ill, 
That struck her almost on her wedding day. 
And clung to her, and dragged her slowly down, 
Thinning her cheeks and pincliing her full lips, 
Till, in her chance, it seemed that with a year 
Full half a century was overpast. 
In vain had Paracelsus taxed his art. 
And feigned a knowledge of her malady ; 
In vain had all the doctors, far and near, 
Gathered ai-ound the mystery of her bed, 
Draining her veins, her husband's treasury. 
And physic's jargon, in a fruitless quest 
For causes equal to the dread resiUt. 
The Countess only smiled when they were gone. 
Hugged her fair body with her little hands, 
And turned ujmn her pdlows wearily. 
As though she fain would sleep no common sleep, 
But the long, breathless slumber of the grave. 
She hinted nothing. Feeble as she was. 
The rack could not have WTUUg her secret out. 
The Bishop, when he shrived lier, coming forth. 
Cried, in a voice of liea\-enly ecstasy, 
" blessed soul ! with nothing to confess 
Save virtues and good deeds, which she mis- 
takes — 
So humble is she — for our human sins I " 
Praring for death, she tossed upon her bid 
Day after day ; as might a shipwrecked bark 
That rocks iipon one billow, and can make 
Xo onward motion towards her port of hope. 
At length, one morn, when those around hersjiid, 
' ' Surely the Countess meuds, so fresh a light 
Beams from her eyes and beautifies her face," — 
One mom in spring, when every flower of earth 
Was opening to the sun, and breathing up 
Its votive incense, her impatient soul 
Opened itself, and so exhaled to heaven. 
AVhen the Count heard it, he reeled back a pace ; 
Then turned with anger on the messenger ; 
Then craved his pardon, and wept out his heart 
Before the menial ; teare, ah me ! such tears 
As love sheds only, and love only once. 
Then he bethought him, "Shall this wonder die, 
.\nd leave behind no shadow? not a trace 
Of all the glory that environed her. 
That mellow nimbus circling round my star?" 
So, with his sorrow glooming in his f:)ce. 
He paced along his gallery of art. 
And strode among the paintere, where they stooil, 
With Carlo, the Venetian, at their head, 
Studvius; the Mastei-s by the dawning light 



-^ 



[& 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



807 



-a 



u 



or liis traiiM'.iMnleiit genius. Tlirougli tlic groups 
Ofgiiyly vestured artists moved tlie Count, 
i\s some lone cloud of thick and leaden hue, 
I'actkeil with the secret of a eoiniiig stoini, 
Jloves tlirough tlie gold and crimson evening 

mists, 
l)i'.Mlrni?ig their splendor. In a moment still 
\V;is ( 'arlo's voice, and .still the prattling crowd ; 
Ami a great shadow overwhelmed thcni all, 
As tlieir white faces and their an.xious eyes 
Puisued Fernando in his moody walk. 
II c^ paused, a.s one who balances a doubt. 
Weighing two courses, then burst out with this : 
' ' Ye all have seen the tidings in my face ; 
Or has the dial ceased to register 
The workings of my heart ? Then hear the bell. 
That almost cracks its frame in utterance ; 
Tlic Countess, — she is dead ! " " Dead ! " Carlo 

groaned. 
iViid if a bolt from middle heaven had struck 
His spl(!ndid features full ujion the brow. 
He could not have appeared more scathed and 

blanched. 
" Dead ! — dead ! " He staggered to his easel- 
frame. 
And clung around it, buffeting the air 
With one wild arm, as though a drowning man 
Hung to a spar and fought against the waves. 
The Count resumed : "I came not here to grieve, 
Kor see my sorrow in another's eyes. 
WIio Tl paint the Countcs.s, as she lies to-night 
hi state within the chapel ? Shall it be 
That eartli must lose her wholly ? that no hint 
I It her gold tresses, beaming eyes, and lips 
That talked in silence, and the eager soul 
That ever seemed outbreaking through her clay. 
And scattering glory round it, — shall all these 
lie dull corruption's heritage, and we, 
I'licir bi'ggars, have no legacy to show 
Tliat love she bore us? That were shame to love, 
And shame to you, my masters." Carlo stalked 
Forth from his easel stiffly as a thing 
Moved by mechanic impulse. His thin lips, 
And sharpened nostrils, and wan, sunken cheeks. 
And the cold glimmer in his dusky eyes. 
Made him a ghastly sight. The throng drew 

back 
As though they let a specter through. Then he. 
Fronting the Count, and speaking in a voice 
Sounding.remote and hollow, made reply : 
' ' Count, I shall paint the Countess. 'T is my 

fate, — 
Xot pleasure, — no, nor duty." But the Count, 
Astray in woe, but understood assent. 
Not the strange words that bore it ; and he flung 
His arm round Carlo, drew him to his breast. 
And kissed his forehead. At which Carlo shrank; 
I'erhaps 't was at tlic honor. Then the Count, 



A little reddening at his public- state, — 
I'nseemly to his near and recent lo.s.s, — 
Withdrew in haste between the downcast eyes 
That did him reverence as he rustled by. 

Night fell on I'adua. In the chapel lay 
The Countess Laura at the altar's foot. 
Her coronet glitti'red on her palliil brows ; 
A crimson pall, weighed down with golden work. 
Sown tliick with pearls, and heaped with early 

flowers, 
Draped her still body almost to the chin ; 
And over all a thousand candles (lamed 
Against the winking jewels, or streamed down 
The marble aisle, and Hashi:d along the guard 
Of men-at-arms that slowdy wove their turns. 
Backward and forward, through the distant 

gloom. 
Wlien Carlo entered, his unsteady feet 
Scarce bore him to the altar, and his head 
Diooped down so low that all his shining curls 
Poured on his breast, and veiled his countenance. 
Upon Ids easel a half-finished work. 
The secret labor of his studio. 
Said from the canvas, so that none might err, 
" 1 am the Countess Laura." Carlo kneeled, 
And gazed upon the picture ; as if thus. 
Through those clear eyes, he saw the way to 

heaven. 
Then he arose ; and as a swimmer conies 
Forth from the waves, he shook his locks aside, 
Emerging from his dream, and standing firm 
Upon a purpose with his sovereign w ill. 
He took his palette, murmuring, " Not yet ! " 
Confidingly and softly to the corpse ; 
And as the veriest dnidge, who plies his art 
Against his fancy, he addressed himself 
With stolid resolution to his task. 
Turning his vision on his memory, 
.\nd .shutting out the present, till the dead, 
The gilded pall, the liglits, the pacing guard. 
And all the meaning of that solemn scene 
Became as nothing, and creative Art 
Resolved the whole to chaos, and refornieil 
The elements according to her law : 
So Carlo wrought, as though his eye and hand 
Were Heaven's unconscious instruments, and 

worked 
The settled purpose of Omnipotence. 
And it was wondrous how the i-ed, the white, 
The ocher, and the umber, and the blue. 
From mottled blotches, hazy and opaque. 
Grew into rounded forms and sensuous lines ; 
How just beneath the lucid skin the blood 
Glimmered witli warmth ; the scarlet lips apart 
Bloomed with the moisture of the dews of life ; 
How the light glittered through and underneath 
The golden tresses, and the deep, soft eyes 



-ff 



fh- 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



y- 



Became intelligent with conscious thought, 
And somewhat troubled underneath the arch 
Of eyebrows but a little too intense 
For perfect beauty ; how the pose and poise 
Of the litlie figure on its tiny foot 
Suggested life just ceased from motion ; so 
That any one might cry, in marveling joy, 
"That creature lives, — has senses, mind, a soul 
To win God's love or dare hell's subtleties ! " 
The artist paused. The ratifying " Good ! " 
Trembled upon his lips. He saw no touch 
To give or soften. " It is done," he cried, — 
" My task, my duty ! Nothing now on earth 
Can taunt me with a work left unfulfilled ! " 
The lofty flame, which boj'e him up so long, 
Died in the ashes of humanity ; 
And the mere man rocked to and fro again 
Upon the center of his wavering heart. 
He put aside his palette, as if thus 
He stepped from sacred vestments, and assumed 
A mortal function in the common world. 
"Now for my rights!" he muttered, and ap- 
proached 
The noble body. " lily of the world ! 
So withered, yet so lovely ! what wast thou 
To those who came thus near thee — for I stood 
Without the pale of thy half-royal rank — 
When thou wast budding, and the streams of 

life 
Made eager struggles to maintain thy bloom. 
And gladdened heaven dropped down in gi'acious 

dew.s 
On its transplanted darling ? Hear me now ! 

I say this but in justice, not in pride. 
Not to insult thy high nobility. 

But that the poise of things in God's own sight 
May be adjusted ; and hereafter I 
May urge a claim that all the powers of heaven 
Shall sanction, and with clarions blow abroad. — 
Laura, you loved me ! Look not so .severe, 
With your cold brows, and deadly, close-drawn 

lips ! 
You proved it, Countess, when you died for it, — - 
Let it consume you in the wearing strife 

I I fought with duty in your ravaged heart. 
I knew it ever since that summer day 

I painted Lila, the pale beggar's child, 
At rest beside the fountain ; when I felt — 

Heaven ! — the warmth and moisture of your 

breath 
Blow through my hair, as with your eager soul — 
Forgetting soul and body go as one — 
You leaned across my easel till our cheeks — 
Ah me ! 't was not your purpose — touched, and 

clung ! 
Well, gi'ant 't was genius ; and is genius naught ? 

1 ween it wears as proud a diadem — 
Here, in this very world — as that you wear. 



A king has held my palette, a grand-duke 

Has picked my brush up, and a pope has begged 

The favor of my presence in his Kome. 

I did not go ; 1 ]iut my fortune by. 

I need not ask you why : you knew too well. 

It was but natural, it was no way strange, 

That I should love you. Everything that saw, 

Or had its other senses, loved you, sweet, 

And I among them. Martyr, holy saint, — 

I see the halo cui-ving round your head, — 

I loved you once ; but now I worship you, 

For the great deed that held my love aloof, 

And killed you in the action ! I absolve 

Your soul from imy taint. For from the day 

Of that encounter by the fountain-side 

Until this moment, never turned on me 

Those tender eyes, unless they did a wrong 

To nature by the cold, defiant glare 

With which they chilled me. Never heard 1 

word 
Of softness spoken by those gentle lips ; 
Never received a bounty from that hand 
Which gave to all the world. I know the cause. 
Y'ou did your duty, — not for honor's sake, 
Nor to save sin or suffering or remorse. 
Or all the ghosts that haunt a woman's shame. 
But for the sake of that pure, loyal love 
Your husband bore you. Queen, by grace of God, 
I bow before the luster of your throne ! 
I kiss the edges of your garment-hem. 
And hold myself ennobled ! Answer me, — 
I f 1 had wronged you, you would answer me 
Out of the dusty jiorches of the tomb ; — 
Is this a dream, a falsehood ? or have I 
Spoken the very truth ? " " The very truth ! " 
A voice replied ; and at his side he saw 
A form, half shadow and half substance, stand. 
Or, rather, rest ; for on the solid earth 
It had no footing, more than some dense mist 
That wavers o'er the surface of the ground 
It scarcely touches. With a reverent look 
The shadow's waste and wretched face was bent 
Above the picture ; as though greater awe 
Subdued its awful being, and appalled, 
With memories of terrible delight 
And fearful wonder, its devouring gaze. 
"You make what God makes, — beauty," said 

the shape. 
"And might not this, this second Eve, console 
The emptiest heart ? Will not this thing outlast 
The fairest creature fashioned in the flesh ? 
Before that figure. Time, and Death himself, 
Stand baffled and disanned. What would you ask 
More than God's power, from nothing to create ?" 
The artist gazed upon the boding form. 
And answered : " Goblin, if }'ou had a heart, 
That were an idle question. What to me 
Is my creative power, bereft of love ? 



-^ 



0- 



POEMS OF TUAGEDY. 



809 



--a 



Or what to God wouUl lie that selfsame jiowi-r, 
if so bereaved.'" "And yet the love, thus 

mourned, 
You calmly forfeited. For had you said 
To living Laura — in her burnmg ears — 
t_Mie half that you professed to Laura dead, 
She would have been your own. These contraries 
Sort not with my intelligence. But speak, 
Were Laura living, would the same stale play 
Of raging passion tearing out its heart 
Upon the rock of duty be performed ? " 
"The same, phantom, while the heart I bear 
Trembled, but turned not its magnetic faith 
From God's fixed center." " If I wake for you 
This Laura, — give her all the bloom and glow 
01' that midsummer day you hold ho dear, — 
The smile, the motion, the impulsive soul. 
The love of genius, — yea, the very love, 
Tlie mortal, hungry, passionate, hot love, 
She bore you, flesh to fle.sh, — would you receive 
That gift, in all its glory, at 7ny hands 'i" 
A smile of malice curled the tempter's lips. 
And glittered in the caverns of his eyes. 
Mocking the answer. Carlo paled and shook ; 
A woful spasm went shuddering throughhis frame, 
Curdling his blood, and twisting his fair face 
With nameless torture. But he cried aloud. 
Out of the clouds of anguish, from the smoke 
Of very martyrdom, "0 God, she is thine ! 
Do with her at thy jileasure ! " Something grand. 
And radiant as a sunbeam, touched the head 
He bent in awful .sorrow. " Jlortal, see — " 
" Dare not ! As Christ was sinless, I abjure 
These vile abominations ! Shall she bear 
Life's burden twice, and life's temptations twice. 
While God is justice ? " " Who has made you 

judge 
Of what you call God's good, and what you thhik 
God's evil ? One to him, the source of both. 
The God of good and of permitted ill. 
Have you no dream of days that might have been, 
Had you and Laura filled another fate ? — 
Some cottage on the sloping Apennines, 
lioses and lilies, and tlie rest all love ? 
1 tell you that this tranquil dream may be 
Filled to repletion. Speak, and in the shade 
Of my dark pinions I shall bear you hence. 
And land you where the mountain-goat himself 
Struggles for footing." He outspread his wings. 
And all the chapel darkened, as though hell 
Had swallowed up the tapers : and the air 
Grew thick, and, like a current sensible. 
Flowed round the person, with a wash and dash. 
As of the waters of a nether sea. 
Slowly and calmly through the dense obscure, 
Dove-like and gentle, rose the artist's voice ; 
" I dare not liring her spirit to that shame ! 
Know iiiv lull iiuMiiiu'.,', — I who neither fear 



t& 



Your mystic person nor your dreadful power. 
Nor shall 1 now invoke God's potent name 
For my deliverance from your toils. 1 stand 
Upon the founded structure of his law. 
Established from the first, and thence defy 
Your arts, reposing all my trust in that ! " 
The darkness eddied olf ; and Carlo saw 
The figure gathering, as from outei' space. 
Brightness on brightness ; and his former shape 
Fell from him, like the ashes that fall oti'. 
And .show a core of mellow fire within. 
Adown his wings there poured a lamljent Hood, 
That seemed as molten gold, which plashing I'ell 
Upon the Hoor, enringing him witli llame ; 
And o'er the tresses of his beaming head 
Arose a stream of many-eohnvd light. 
Like that which crowns the morning. Carlo stood 
Steadfast, for all the splendor, reaching up 
The outstretched palms of his untainti'd so\il 
Towards heaven for strength. A moniont thus ; 

then asked. 
With reverential wonder quivering through 
His sinking voice, "Who, spirit, and what, art 

thou * " 
' ■ I am that blessingwhich men fly from, — Death. " 
"Then take my hand, if so God orders it ; 
For Laura waits me." " But, bethink thee, man. 
What the world loses in the loss of thee ! 
What wondrous art will suU'er with eclipse ! 
What unw'on glories are in store for thee ! 
Whatfame, outreachingtimeand temporalshocks. 
Would shine upon the letters of thy name 
Graven in marble, or the brazen height 
Of columns wise with memories of thee ! " 
"Take me ! If 1 outlived the Patriarchs, 
1 could but paint those features o'er and o'er : 
Lo I that is done." A smile of pity lit 
The seraph's features, as he looked to heaven. 
With deep inquiry in his tendei' eyes. 
The mandate came. He touched w'ith downy wing 
The sufferer lightly on his aching heart ; 
And gently, as the skylark settles down 
Upon the clustered treasures of her nest. 
So Carlo softly slid along the prop 
Of his tall easel, nestling at the foot 
^ As though he slumbered ; and the morning broke 
j In silver whiteness over Padua. 

George Henry boker. 



THE DREAM OF CLARENCE, 



ScEXE, a room in the Tnurt: Enter Clarence 
and Bi:AKENBin;v. 
Bkakenbury. Why looks your giace so heav- 
ily to-day ? 
Clakence. 0, 1 have passed a miserable night. 



-^ 



[fi-' 



810 



POEMS OF TRAQEDY. 



ftj 



S.. lull orirniliil .livHMii, ..IukIv ^i^■j|l^ 
'I'liiir.M.sl Miiinrliii.hi.n luillilul immii, 

1 Wlinl.l IM.I :,|.,'1mI , Ihnl Hllrli „ m-^\i\ . 

TImmikI. 'I «rh. lo l.ii^ ,1 woiia nrh,ii.|.v .liiyn; 

S(l lull c.r,I.M,i,ll lrll,,l «m. III.' li 

IlliMv. \VllMlHll^.V..lll.lll■ llvliM.I :' I |.niV 

V,m, l,.ll ,„.•, 
Cl.Ali. Mi.IIm.ukIiI IIihI I IuhI l.i..l..n li.Mii lln' 

'I'liWrl-, 
Au.l wiiH,.inhMrli,Ml |„ n„>iH I,. !!iir..iiii.l,v ; 
Ah.l ill my .'"iiiiHUiy, my linillu'i (ll.mlor, 
W 111. Ir..iii my I'liliiii li'iiiplml iim lo »>ilk 
|l|„,„ |l„l„il,llrM; llirlinwi-l.inknl linMil.l Kllf^- 

Ihii.I, 
Ami .11, a ii|. II llmiiMiml li.Mivy lim..M, 
iiiuiii- III" H'.irM..r Y.iik Kiul l.iimM>.l..i', 
'I'Iml liml l...r»ll..ii iw. As w.. imm.il mI.hik' 
ll|um llu. kI'I'I.V ru..lliiK>inlmliiil.Oi,.M, 
Mflli.iiiKlit. Iliiil (il.mlir sUimlil.'il; iiii.l, in liill- 



i»K. 



rl...iir.l, 



SIriiiU WW, tliiil lli..iif;lil I.. -Iriy li 
lulu llir luml.Uiix liUI..«-, .il IIh- m.nii. 
() liLMVim! im.l)i.mnlil «li.il |.mii il u.i,-. I...ln.»ii ' 
Wliiil ai..M,ll\ll imis,. ol w.iU'r 111 mini, riirn ! 
Wluil sIk'IiI^ nr ukI.V ili'iilli "illiiii nilm. t-yi.n ! 
i\l,.||ioiiKlil 1 Niiw 11 llmiimuia IViu'rnl hiv.'Kh; 
A tlmiisunil men, lliiil llslii'.s f^irnvvwl ii|.im ; 
\Vi<a>;ua urf^nia, nit.|i|. iincamlM, \\m\>h i.l |.nirl, 
hmsliniiiMi. hli.ni'.s, nnviilm.a jowcls, 
All Hi'iUli.n.a in till. Liillnm iilllioHni, 
Soini'lii.v iiMli'iia nii.n'MNliiills ; iiiiil in llmsi. ImlcH 
WliiTii <'\vi.n ilia iiu.'i. inluiliil, tlmri. woiv rivpl 
(An '1 wm'o in Nimin iil' i>yi'»') lolloi'tinj; Kcnw, 
Tliiit wnoi.il tin. .slimy li'iiltoni ul' llm awp, 
Ami ni...lu'.l llira.'Mii ImiiLSllinl lay hnillrml l.y, 
lii:Ak, lliiil yi.ii sm-li liiisniv in llir linii' ol' 
a,.Mlli 
'I'll Hiizii n|iiin llmsi. sinTi'ts ul' lln' il.i'l. ' 

Cl.Ai!. MotliimKla. lima; iiml ..ll.n .li.l Uliiv<. 
'I\. yii.ia llm kIu'sI •, 1ml still llm i-nvions llmnl 
Kiipt in n\y sunl. uml woiUa not Ua il rortli 
'I'.i Min.k till' I'lni'ly, Mist, 1111(1 wiimli'iinK iiir ; 
I'.nl sill. . 111. i.'.l it williin my I'linlinK l>nlk, 
W lii.'li iiliii..'.! I.iii'.l I.. I.i'lrli it in tlio son. 

I'.M>. Awnli.sl >..n n..l « illi this sni<. iif^oiiy f 
Cl \K. I>, n... mv .liviiiii WHS l,.nKll»'nca iil'ti.l' 
lifi., 
O, Hmn lii'^an tin. l.>in|>i.sl In my smil ! 
1 imssril, nii'llmnKla, llm nn^Unrlioly lli.oil. 
Willi tlml Kiiiii I'l'i'iyniun wlik-li i»>i.ts writo ul', 
Until tin. UnKaoni nf |ii'r|«it\n\l uIkIiI. 
Tim livsl Unit lli.'iv ilia Kiis'l my stnmKt'V sonl, 
Was my Kiviil fiillnT-inlaw, >vim\vn.M Warwi.'U, 
Wlni orii.a iilonil, " Wliat si.nnrj'c I'nr |a'VJui'y 
fan lliis aaiU nmnavi'liy ullni'il liilsn ("iaivni'i' '(" 
Anil s(i ho vanislnul ; tlifiii nanm wanai'i'ln); l>y 
A shaai.w lik,. an anf><'l, with hd.nlit hair 
Hal.l.hsl in l.lu.iil: an.lhi. >hrlrlMsl ...it ah.n.l. 



•'rluii'iii'ii Ih C'omo, — lalsn, lli.iling, |imjnrcil 

I 'lurnncia, — 
riiiit^ sl,.ililii.il nm in tin. lichl hy T.nvUHl.nry ; 
.S..i/iiiin him, Kiirii.H, lakahim tnyonr liirnn'nU!" 
Willi that, nn'thmiKht, a IrKlnnnl' I'onl hanils 
l\ii\ ii..iii.a UII1, anil Iniwli'il in mini. I'arn 
Sm h hiih.ims (.vies, that with tin' very nnisK 
I livnililin^; wakn.l, ami, I'ur a wiismi all. r, 
I'nnhl 111. I liiOii'Vi' lint that I was in lull, 
in.h li'i'iihlr impivssinn niailn my aiciim. 



'I'lltl |i|!1.;AM ll|.' KIUIKNI'I AliAM 

"r WAS In Ihi. |irinn> nl' hnniniiT (ina.. 

An I'ViminK nilni ami rnnl, 
Ami rmiraml twenty hapny ImyN 

( 'am.. I.iaiiiilinf; o\it of arlmnl ; 
Tli.'i.' vv.'H. si. Mil' that van, ami sclm' tliiit li'a|.t 

Like linnth'ls in a )innl. 

Away Ihry s|i,..l with j,'ann.s..im. niiii.l-. 

Ami si.nls nntiiinOn'il liy sin ; 
'I'l. a h.v.a mrail th.y .'Mnm, ami llii'lv 

•rin.y ilravn tin. w'ii.knts ill i 
rii'iisanlly nIioiii' tin. si'ltiiiK siiii 

Over till' I..HII 111 Lynn. 

l.iko s|uiitivii aai'V lliay c'nur.si.a al'.ail, 

Ami slmuti.a as tliay ran, 
'rnniinK' I" niirih all lliiii;;s ..f .nilli 

As ..nly Imylnual oan ; 
Uiit llu' nsln.i'.sat ri'iiml.' rr.aii all, 

A nnaiim'lmly man ! 

Ills hat was oil', liis vlsI ai.ait, 
To I'litrh la'avan's lilasswl Invr/.i. ; 

l''iii' a luirnin^' thout;lit was in Ills lirow, 
Ami his liiisniii ill at t'lisn ; 

Si> ho loanoil his In.na nn liis liainis, ami road 
Tin. hook liotwoou hts Uiioos. 

l.oarartoi' loaf lio tnrnoil it n'or, 

Nov ovor glanooa asi.lo, ■ 
For tho jioai'o of his siinl ho voail that liook 

In thoHolilon ovonliao ; 
Mmh St inly Innl imalo him vory loan, 

Ami iialo, ami loailon-oyoil. 

At hisl ho shut tlio iiomlovmis toiiio ; 

Willi a I'a.st anil I'otvont nvasp 
llo Mliuinoil llio lUisky envoi's elo.so, 

.Villi lixoil llio liriwoii lins|i ; 
"O (Joil I eonlil I .so oloso my iiiiml, 

Ami olasp it willi a olasp ! " 



Thou loapinj; on Iii.s foot uiivij;lit, 
.•^oino nioiuly tunis lio took, — 



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POEMH OF THAaF.DY. 



81 



r^ 



Now iiji Llii' iiii'iiil, Uk.'Ii down \.\n: iiii^ii'l, 

And \MHt a nliiidy nook, — 
And, lo ! Ill) Hiiw a littlij lioy 

Tlml; jioii'd M|M,ii a l,ook. 

" My giMil.li: licd, ttlial irt 'I you read, — 

lloiiianiui or I'aiiy I'alili! ? 
Or \n it. Homo liintorii; jiagi-, 

or kiiigh and crowns iinslalilc ?" 
'I'lir: young lioy gave an iijiward glani:e, — 

"Ilia 'Till! DwiUi of Al«,l."' 

Tin: iiMlinr took hIx liaaty HtridoH, 

Am aniil wllh Hiiddcn pain, — • 
Mix liaxly ntridcn l)i:yond tin- plai'O, 

Tliaii alowly ljai:k again ; 
And down lic^bal. li.Md.- Ilir: la.l, 

And l;.ll<.'d willr liijn of I ain ; 

And, long ninrc Ua-n, ol' lilooily men, 

Wl.ow: iIi'imIh tradilion mivch; 
And lon.dy lolk niloirunwrn, 

Ajid Idd ill xiiddcn gi'uvca ; 
And liorrid hIuIik, In giovcM forlorn ; 

And iniiidi:r» iloiii: in cuvi'H ; 

And liow l.lii' h)irili'H of injiin-d mun 

ShiiHc upward IVoin Lli'i: aod ; 
Ay, liow till' glioMJlv liiind will point 

'To hIiow till' lairial ,:loil ; 
And iiiiKiiowii IilIh of guilty aiilH 
An- :<.•. II ill di.ann from hod. 

Ill: told lii/w iiiiirdiTcrM walk tlio earth 

lli'iii-atli tlic ciirHe of Cain, — 
Willi iriniHoii idoiicl.H liefori- tlicir eyes, 

And llaiiM'M al»iiit tlieir laain ; 
fill l.lood luiH li'ft upon tlii:ir houIh 

IIh I'Vi'iliiHting Hiaiii I 

" And well," i|Uotli lie, " I know for Iriilli 
'I'lii'ir pangH miiat lie extreme — 

Woe, woe, iinullerulile woe I — 
Will) Mpill lil'e'a mured Ntream. 

i-'or why ' Meilioiiglit, la:<t iiiglit I wrought 
A miirdei, in a dieaiii ! 

"One that had never done me wrong, — 

A feelile man and old ; 
I led him to a lonely lielil, — 

Tin: moon alione elear and eold : 
Now here, Hiiid I, tliia man hIiiiII die. 

And I will have hi,, gold ! 

"Two liiitlden l.loWH with a ragged stick. 

And one with a heavy atone. 
One hurried gaah with a lianty knife, — 

And then the deed waa done : 
There wan notliing lying at my feet 

But lifeless llesli and bone I 



" Notliing Imt lifeleHH llenh and hone, 

'i'lial r.oiild not do nie ill ; 
And yet 1 feared iiiin all the umv. 

For lying there ho still ; 
'I'here WHS a manhood in liia look 

That muriler eouhl not kill I 

"And, lo ! tin; universal air 

.Seemeil lit with ghastly lliime, — 

Ten thousand thoimand dreailful eyes 
Were looking down in hiaiiii: ; 

I took the dead man liy his hand, 
And ealled upon his name. 

" (iod I it made ine i|Uake to HCO 

•Siieli sense within the slain ; 
I5ut, when I touehed the lilelesH clay, 

The Mood gushed out iiniain ! 
I'Vii' every elot a hiirning sjiot 

Was scoreliing in my lirain I 

"My head was like an ardent coal. 

My heart as solid ice ; 
My wrelehed, wretehed soul, I knew, 

Was at the Devil's priee. 
A dozen times I groaned, — the ilead 

Had never groaned hut twii:e. 

"And now, from forth the frowning sky, 
l''roni the heaven's topmost height, 

I heard a voice, — the awful voice 
Of the lilood-avenging sprite : 

'Thou guilty man I take up thy dwid, 
And hide it from my sight I ' 

" And I took the dreary body np. 

And eaat it in a stream, - 
The sluggish water black as ink. 

The depth was so i/xtreine ; 
My gentle boy, remember, this 

is nothing but a ilreain ! 

" Down went tin: e'orn.' willi a hollow plunge, 

And vanished in tin- po<d ; 
Anon 1 eleaiised my bloody hands. 

And washed my forehead cool. 
And sat among the iirehins young, 

Tliat evening, in the scliool. 

"O Heaven ! to think of their white souls. 

Ami mine so black and grim ! 
1 could not share in childish player, 

Nor join in evening hymn ; 
Like a devil of the: pit I seemed. 

Mid holy chenibim ! 

"And Peace went with them, one and all, 

And each calm pillow spread ; 
lliit Oiiilt was my grim ehambeiUin, 

That lighted nie to bed, 



-{? 



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81: 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



-a 



And drew my miduiglit eiivtaius vound 
With tingere bloody it'd ! 

" All "..iglit 1 lay in agony. 

In anguish daik and deep ; 
Aly I'cveitnl eyes 1 ilaii^l not close, 

But stared aghast at Sleep ; 
For Sin had lenden'd unto her 

The keys of hell to keep ! 

"All night 1 lay in agony. 

From weary chime to ehime ; 
With one besetting horrid hint 

That racked me all the time, — 
A mighty yearning, like the first 

Fierce impulse unto crime, — 

" One stern tyrannic thought, that made 

All other thoughts its slave ! 
Stronger and stronger e\ery pulse 

Did that temptation crave, — 
Still urging me to go and see 

The dead mau in his grave ! 

" Heavily I ivse up, as soou 
As light was in the sky, 

And sought the black accursed pool 

With a wild, misgiving eye ; 
And 1 saw the dead in the river-bed, 

For the faithless stivum was dry. 

" Merrily ixwe the lark, and shook 

The dew-drop from its wing ; 
But I never marked its morning flight, 

I never lieaixl it sing. 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 

" With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

1 took him up and ran ; 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day Ix'gan, — 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the nuiixlered man ! 



" And all that day I read in school, 
But my thought was otherwheiv ; 

As soou as the midday task was done, 
In secret 1 was there, — 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And still the corse was bare ! 

"Then down 1 cast me on my face. 

And lirst begiin to weep. 
For 1 knew my secret then was one 

That earih refused toTvcei), — 
t)r land or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep, 

"So wills the fierc'o avenging sprite, 

Till blood for blood atones ! 
Ay, tho\igh he 's buried in a cave. 

And tredden down with stone.s. 
And yeai-s have rotted otl" his llesh, — 

The world shall see his bones ! 

" Ood ! that horrid, honid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Agiiin — again, with dizzy brain. 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hami grows raging hot. 

Like I'liinmer's at the stake. 

" .Vnd still no peace for the restless clay 
Will wave or mold allow ; 

The horrid thing pui-sues my soul, — 
It stands lH<lbre me now ! " 

The fearful boy looked up, and saw- 
Hugo drejis upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin's eyelids kissed. 
Two stern-faced men set out freim Lynn 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Kugene Aram walked between. 

With gTvcs upon his wrist. 

Thomas Ho 



fr- 



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JlrCb o'^U,U>.>T,cJirLY ■m.a^'-fi-' d A..>«- /^""^ hj!^-r- o-fv^ . 
<?>- ^-r-^»-c A-iy ^ -r-oA^C-tuJt^ ^rv-TTL- iA-ey-r ^-rf^oLa c'tOo^f— , 






^/Li/o ^UT!^ /^c^c^ OCuO ^coiv,t*A-^J^'O^Zr' 



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r 



-^ 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, AND WHAT HE 
HATH LEFT US. 

To draw no env}-, Shakespeare, ou thy name. 
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; 
AVhile I confess thy writings to be such 
As neither man nor Muse can prai.se too much. 
'T is true, and all men'.s suffrage. But these ways 
AVere not the paths I meant unto thy praise ; 
For silliest ignorance on the.se would light, 
'Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; 
Or blind affection, wliich doth ne'er advance 
The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance : 
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise. 

But thou art proof against them, and, indeed. 

Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 

I therefore will begin : Soul of the age ! 

Tlie applause, delight, the wonder of our stage ! 

My Shakespeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by 

Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 

A little further off, to make thee room : 

Thou art a monument without a tomb. 

And art alive still, while thy book doth live. 

And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 

That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, 

I mean with great but disproportioned Muses : 

For if I thought my judgment were of years, 

I should commit thee surely with thy peers. 

And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, 

Or sporting Kyd or Marlowe's mighty line. 

And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, 

From thence to honour thee 1 will not seek 

For names ; but call forth thundering Eschylus, 

Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 

To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, 

And shake a stage ; or when thy socks were on, 

Leave thee alone for the comparison 

Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 

Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 

Triumph, my Britain, tliou hast one to show. 

To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe 

He was not of an age, but for all time ! 

And all the Muses .still were in their prime. 



Wlien, like Apollo, he came forth to wai-m 

Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm ! 

Nature herself was proud of liis designs. 

And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! 

Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 

As, since, slie will vouclisale no other wit. 

The merry Greek, tart Ari.stophane.s, 

Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please : 

But antiquated and deserted lie. 

As they were not of nature's f:iraily. 

Yet must I not give nature all ; thy art, 

My gentle Shakespeare, mu.st enjoy a part. 

For though the poet's matter nature be. 

His art doth give the fashion ; and, that he 

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat 

(Such a.s thine are) ami strike the .second heat 

Upon the iMuse.s' anvil ; turn the same. 

And him.self witli it, that he thinks to frame ; 

Or for the laurel, he may gain a .scorn ; 

For a good poet's made as well as boiii. 

And such wert thou ! Look how the father's face 

Lives in his issue, even so the race 

Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly 

shines 
In his well turned and trae filed lines : 
In each of which he seems to shake a lance. 
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 
Sweet Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were 
To see thee in our water yet appear. 
And make those Mights upon the banks of Thames 
That so did take Eliza and our James ! 
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 
Advanced, and made a con.stellation there ! 
Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage. 
Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage 
AVhich since thy flight from hence hath mourned 

like night. 
And despairs day, but for thy volume's light ! 

BEN JO.NSOS. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

The soul of man is larger than the sky, 
Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark 
Of the unfathomed centre. Like that ark. 
Which in its sacred hold uplifted high. 



fS-^- 



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& 



■a 



814 



PERSONAL JVEMS. 



O'er the drowned hills, the human fnmily, 
And stock reserved of every living kind, 
So, in the comjiass of the single niiud, 
The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie, 
That make all worlds. Great jioet, "t was thy 

art 
To know thyself, and in thyself to he 
■Whate'cr love, hate, ambition, destiny. 
Or the tirni fatal purpose of the heart 
Can make of man. Yet thou wert still the 

same, 
Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame. 

Hartley Coleridge. 



ON A BUST OF DAUTE, 

See, from this counterfeit of him 
AVhom Arno shall remember long, 
How stern of lineament, how grim. 
The father was of Tuscan song ! 
Tliere but the burning sense of wrong, 
Perpetual care, and scorn, abide — 
Small friendship for the lordly throng, 
Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faitliful if this wan image he, 

No dream his life was — but a fight; 

t'ould any Beatrice see 

A lover in that anchorite ? 

To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight 

■\Vho could have guessed the visions came 

Of beauty, veiled with lieaveuly light, 

In circles of eternal llame ? 

The lips as Cumie's cavern close. 
The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin. 
The rigid front, almost morose, 
But for the patient hope within. 
Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, though still severe, 
"Which, through the wavering days of sin, 
Kcjit itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his haggjird look 
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed, 
With no coTupauion save his book, 
To Corvo's hushed monastic shade; 
AVhero, as the Benedictine laid 
His palm upon the pilgrim guest. 
The single boon for which he jirayed 
The convent's charity \Tas rest. 

Peace dwells not here — this rugged face 
Betrays no spirit of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace, 
The marble man of manv woes. 



Such was his Uiien when first arose 
The thought of that strange tale divine — 
When hell lie peopled with his foes, 
The scourge of many a guilty line. 

"War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of eartli; 
Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 
Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth; 
He used Rome's harlot for his mirth; 
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 
Transmitted to the rolls of time. 

time ! whose verdicts mock our o\vn, 
The only rigliteous judge art thou; 
That poor, old exile, sad and lone. 
Is Latium's other Virgil now. 
Before his name the nations bow; 
His words are jiarcel of mankind. 
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow, 
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 

Thomas William Parsons 



ANNE HATHAWAY. 

, OF MV EVE AND DELIGHT OF MY 



Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng, 
With love's sweet notes to gi-ace your song, 
To pierce the heart with thrilling lay. 
Listen to mine Anne Hathaway! 
She hath a way to sing so clear, 
Phtebus might wondering stop to hear. 
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay. 
And nature charm, Anne hath a way; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway ; 
To breathe delight Anne hath a way. 

When Envy's breath and rancorous tooth 

Do soil and bite fair worth and truth. 

And merit to distress betray. 

To soothe the heart Anne hath a way. 

She hath a way to chase despair. 

To heal all grief, to cure all care, 

Turn foulest night to fairest day. 

Thou know'st, fond heart, Anne hath a way; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway; 
To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way. 

Talk not of gems, the orient list. 
The diamond, topaz, amethyst. 
The emerald mild, the ruby gay; 
Talk of my gem, Anne Hathaway ! 
She hath a way, with her bright eye. 
Their various lustres to defy, — 



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[fl- 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



815 



r^ 



Tlie jewels she, and tlie foil they, 
So sweet to look Anue hath u way ; 

She hatli a way, 

Anne Hatliaway ; 
To shame bright gems, Anne hath a way. 

But were it to nij- faiiev given 

To nite her charms, I 'il call them heaven ] 

l'"cir thoiigli a mortal maile of clay. 

Angels must love Anno Hathaway ; 

Slic hath a way so to control, 

To rapture, the imprisoned soul. 

And sweetest heaven on earth display, 

Tliat to lie Iienven Anne hath a way ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway ; 
To ho heaven's self, Anne hath a way. 



CINDER THE PORTRAIT OF JOHN MILTON 



TiliU';E Poets, in three distant ages born, 
(ireece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The fh'st in loftiness of thought surpassed ; 
The next in majesty ; in both the last. 
Tlic force of nature could no further go ; 
To make a tldrd, she joined the former two. 
John Drvden. 



TO MILTON. 

Jlii.TON ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : 
Englanil hath need of thee : she is a feu 
Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen. 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. Wo are selfish men ; 
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart : 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea ; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 
So didst thou travel on life's common way, 
In eheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself iliii lay. 

William Wordsworth. 



TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON. 

The Mu.se's fairest light in no dark time. 
The wonder of a learned age ; the line 
Which none can pa.s3 ! the most proportioned 
wit, — 



To nature, the liest judge of what was fit ; 

The df.lir.l, pl.MIM.sl, l,i-l,r.|, ,lr;liv.t lirll ; 
The voir,. li,„,t ,., |m„<1 !,V rnnM'lllill- 111, 11 ; 

The soul winri, misunvd l.rsl 1,. all wril .said 
By others, and which mosE reijuital made ; 
Tuned to the highest key of ancient Rome, 
Keturning all her music with his own ; 
In whom, with nature, study claimed a part. 
And yet who to luniself owed all his ait : 
Here lies Ben Jonson ! every age will look 
With sorrow here, with wonder on his book. 

JOH.N CLEVELA.ND. 



iurely without much i 



f&-- 



ODE TO BEN JONSON. 

An Ben ! 
Say how or when 
Shall we, thy guests, 
ileet at those lyric feasts, 

Made at the Sun, 
The Dog, the Triple Tun ; 
Where we such clusters had 
As made us nobly wild, not mad ; 
And yet eacli versc' of thine 
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. 

My Ben ! 

Or come again, 

Or senil to us 
Thy wit's great overplus ; 

But teach us yet 
Wisely to husband it, 
Lest we that talent spend : 
And having once brought to an end 

That precious stock, the store 
Of sucli a wit, the world should have no mor«. 

ROBERT HERRICK. 



PRAYER TO BEN JONSON. 

WiiKN I a vei-.se shall make, 
Know I have prayed thee. 
For old religion's sake. 
Saint Ben, to aid me. 

Make the way smooth for me, 
When I, thyHerrick, 
Honoring thee, on my knee 
Offer my lyric. 

Candles 1 '11 give to thee. 
And a new altar ; 
And thou. Saint Ben, shalt be 
Writ in my psalter. 



Robert Herrick. 



^ 



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816 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



-a 



UKN JONSONS COMMON PI. Al'H ROOK. 

His U'nniinj; siu-li, im imtlior, oUl or innv, 
Escnpi'ii his niiiliiif; tliiil dcsoivoil his viow ; 
Ami such his juilgiiii'nt, si> oxiu't his tjusto, 
or whiil was host in books, or whiit hooks host, 
Tlml luul ho joiiK'il thoso iiotos his liilwi-s took 
From t'lifh most imiisinl mui )iii>isi>-iiosi'rviug 

hook, 
Ami >'oiil(l till' wovUl of llmt ohoioo tivnsuTO 

boast. 
It lu'od not I'liii" thonuli «Il tho n<st were lost, 

LUCIUS Cakv (LOKU 1-alxlam>). 



PRAXITELES, 



\v.\vs(!i>quiliir\ rnris, Anohises. and Adonis - 

thivo, 
Thive only, did me ever naked see ; 
l!ut this i'n>.\iteles — when, whero, did ho f 



SlU PHIUP SIDNEY. 

A swiir, attmetive kind of grace, 
.\ fidl nssumneo given by looks, 
Continual comfort in a face. 

The lineaments of Uospel books ! 
1 trow, that eouiiteiianee eannot lie 
"Whose thotiglits lU'e legible in the oyo. 

Was ever eye did see that laee, 

Was ever ear did hear that tongue, 
Was ever utiud did mind his graee, 
That ever thought the travel long ? 
But eyes and ears, and every tliouglit, 
Were with his sweet jierfeetions eaiight. 

MATruHW ROVDEN. 



©-- 



F.rrrAru on the countess of Pembroke. 

UnukkniCvVTII this marble hearse 
l,ies the subjeet of all verse, 
Sydney's sister, — Pemhi-oke's mother. 
Peath, elx^ thou hast slaiu another 
Fair and wise and good as she. 
Time shall throw a dart at thee ! 

Slarhle \nles let no mail raise 
To her name in after days ; 
Some kind woman, born as she, 
Keading tliis, like Niohe 
Shall turn marble, and Ixn'ome 
BotJi her mourner luid bar tomb. 

Bfn Jonson. 



Kl'lT.MMl ON F.lJZAllKTH L. H. 

Woi'i n.si- thou heare what nnm can say 

In a little f — ivader, .stay ! 

I'nd.'rneath this ston.' doth lyo 

As much beauty as eovdd dye, — 

Wliii'h in life did harbor give 

To more vertue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault, 

Leave it buried in this vault. 

One name was Kli/abeth, — 

The other, let it slee). with death : 

Fitter where it dved to toll. 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 

HKN Jonson. 



CRORCe VU-l-lURS. POKR Ol' IH'CKINGHAM. l6Sa. 

SoMK of their ehiefs wore prinees of the land ; 
In the tirst rank of those did Zimri stand ; 
A man so various, that he seemed to be 
Xot one, but all mankind's ejutome : 
Still' in opinions, always in the wrong; 
Was everything by starts;, and nothing long ; 
Hut, in the course of one revolving moon, 
Was ehymist, tiddler, statesman, and buH'oon ; 
Then lUl t'orwomou, painting, rhyming, drinking, 
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thiidcing. 
Blest madman, who ei>\dd every hour employ. 
With something new to wish or to enjoy ! 
luiiliug and praising wi'ro his usual themes ; 
And both, to show his jiulgment, in extremes : 
So over-violent or over-civil. 
That every man with liiin was goit or devil. 
In squandering wealth was his iioculiar art ; 
Nothing went nuiYwanled but desert. 
Bcggi\ivd by fools, whom still ho found too late; 
Ho iiad his jest, and they had his estate. 
Ho laughed himself from court, then sovight relief 
By forming parties, but could nc'or be chief ; 
For, spite of him, the weight of business fell 
On Alisaloin, ami wise Achitophel. 
Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft. 
He left no faction, but of that was left. 

JOHN DRVDILN. 



CHAK1.es XII. 

On what foundations stands the warrior's pridi 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide 
A frame of adamant, « soul of tiiv, 
Ko dangers fright him, and no labors tiro ; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
Uneonqueivd loiil of pleasure and of jjoiu. 
No joys to him pacific scepters yield, 



^ 



[tr- 



I'KHHiJXAL I'OKM.S. 



8J7 



-a 



War doundu the trump, he nj»Iii)S to the field ; 
IJchold ourrouiiiling king* their [wwer cornbitic, 
And one capitiilat';, and one reoijjn ; 
I'eaee coiirtH hi8 liand, hut opna/Li her eharnm in 

vain ; 
" I'liink nothin;^ gainwi," he erieH, "till naught 

rrjmain, 
On MoHcow'o walls till Gothic utan'lardH fly, 
And all Yxt mine beneath the polar Hky." 
Tin; inareh beginH in military utate, 
And nation*) on his eye HUBpend'^il wait ; 
Stern famine guanls the W)litary eoast, 
And wintiir barriea<les the realnw of froot. 
He eome», nor want nor k<A<1 hi» course delay; 
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultiiwa'« day ! 
Till; van')ui<ihed hero leaves his broken bands, 
And shows his miseries in distant laniU ; 
Condemned a needy supplicant to wait. 
While lailies interpose and slaves deliat*;, 
lint did not chance at length her error mend ? 
Did no Hul)Vert':d empire murk his end f 
l>id rival nionarclis give the faUil wound, 
<)r hostile millions [jress him U) the ground ? 
Hi/i fall was destined to a liarren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a <lubious hand ; 
He left the name, at which the world grew pale. 
To jwint a moral or adom a tale. 

SAHUCL J0HN50M, 



OLIVER CEOMWELL. 

How sliall I then begin, or where conclude, 

To draw a fame so truly circular I 
For in a round what order fan U; «how(;d. 

Where all the [larts so cjual jwrfect are ( 

His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone ; 

For he was great, ere fortune ma<le liirn so : 
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun, 

llafJe him but greater seem, not greater grow. 

Xo borrowed Ixiys his temples did ml'jm, 
Hut tij our crown he di'l fresh jewels bring ; 

Nor was his virtue ]X)m>wA soon as Ix<m, 
With the too early thoughts of lji;ing king. 

Fortune — that easy mistress to the young, 
liut to her ancient servants coy and hard — 

Him at that age her favorit';s rankcl among, 
When she her best-love<l Pompiy did discard. 

He, private, marked the lault of others' sway 
And K<;t as sea-marks for himself to shun : 

Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray 
By acts their age too late would wish undone. 



y- 



.Swift and rcmllmH througli the land he j«st, 
Like that Ixdd Greek who ilid the F,;ist subdue. 

And made U) l»attles suf;h heroic haste. 
As if on wings of victory he (lew. 

He fought, secure of fortune as of fame : 
Still, by new majis, the island might tx; shown. 

Of TOnf£Uests, which he strewed where'er he ram<;. 
Thick as the galaxy with slai-s is n(>v,n. 

Xor was he like those stars which only shine. 
When ti) jralc mariners they st<jnns jiortend : 

He ha<l his calmer influence, and his mien 
Did love and majesty together blend. 

'T is true, his count';nance did Imprint an awe ; 

And naturally all wjuls to his did Ixiw, 
As wands of divination downward draw. 

And jKjiiit U) Isxis where wivereign gold doth 
grow. 

For from all temjK;rs he r;ould service draw ; 

The worth of i«u;h, with its alloy, he knew ; 
And, as the confiilant of .N'aturc, siiw 

How she complexions did divide and brew. 

Or he their single virtues did survey, 
By intuition, in his own large breast, 

Where all the rich id(«i« of them lay, 
Tliat were the rule and measure to the r>wt. 

Such was our prince ; yet ownwl a soul alx>ve 
The highest acts it wjuld produce to show : 

Thus [xxjr mechanic arts in publii; move, 
Whilst tlie deep Bc<;rets l>eyond practi';/; go. 

Nor died he when his ebbing fame went less, 
But when fresh kurels cMnrtiA him Vj live : 

He w^mcl but to prevent wjme new »ui;<x;ss, 
As if alxive what triumplis earth wuld give. 

His latest victories still thickest came, 
As, near the cent<;r, motion doth increase; ; 

Till he, iiKHHeA down by his own weighty name. 
Did, like the vestal, under sfioils i\ivj-mv:. 

JOItU DV.VIjiiU. 



TO THE LOED-GENERAL CEOMWELL, 

CiioMWBf.r,, ourchief of men, who through a cloud. 
Not of war only, but detractions rude, 
Ouidcl by faith and matchlc-ss fortitude, 
To jieacc and truth thy glorious way hast ]Ariv/<A ; 
And on the nr;<;k of crowned fortune proud 
Hast rcare/J God's trophies, and his work pur- 
sued, 
Wliile Darwen stri;am, with blood of .Scots iin- 
Vmed, 



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818 



PEHSONAL POEMS. 



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Aiul Dunlwv (leW wsomuls thy praises loud, 
Auil Woivoster's liiureate wnnith. Yet much re- 

lUiUllS 

To comniei- still ; Teaee hath her victories 
No less iviiowned than War : new foes arise, 
Thivattninj; to l>iiul our soulswith secular chains : 
lli'll> us to siivo I'lt'c conscieuco lixuu the jww 
lU liireUng wolves, whose j;i«[h1 is their maw. 

MILTON. 



SPORUS.-LOKD IIERVEY. 



FKOM THE "rROLOGUB TO ^ 



LEr Sjiorns ti'enible. — A.* What? that thing 
of silk, 
SjKUUs, that mere white cuul of asses' milk ? 
Satiiv of sense, alas ! can Sporus feel ? 
Who breaks a butterfly ujK>n a wheel / 

1'.+ Yet let me tlap this bug with giUlwl wings. 
This jwinteil chiUl of ilirt that stinks and stings ; 
Whose h[xzz the witty and the fair annoys. 
Yet wit iu''er tastes, and beanty ne'er eiyoys : 
So well-bred sjwniels civilly delight 
In mvimbling of the giiuie they daro not bite. 
Ktorual smiles his emptiness lietmy. 
As shallow streiuns run dimpling all the way. 
Whether in tlorid imfKitence he speaks. 
And, as the pivuipterbi'eathes, the puppet sijueaks. 
Or at the ear of Kve, familiar toad. 
Half fixith, half venom, spits himself abroad. 
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies. 
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies ; 
His wit all seesaw, l>etween that and this. 
Now high, now low, now master \\\\ now miss. 
And he himself one vile antithesis. 
.\iupliibious thing ! that, acting either part, 
'riie tvitling head, or the corrupted heart, 
Fi>p at the toilet, flatterer at the boanl, 
Now tritvs a lady, and now struts a loitl. 
Kve's tempter thus the rabbins have exprest, 
-V cherub's face, a reptile all the rest ; 
Heauty that shocks you, jwrts that none will trust, 
AVit that can creep, and pride that licks the dnst. 

.\LE.XANDEK POPE. 



00, — SHADWELL, THE DRAMATIST. 

Now stop your noses, readei's, all and some. 
For here 's a tun of midnight work to come. 
Og, fivni a tivason-t«vern rolling home ; 
Round as a gloW, and liquored every chink, 
tniodly and great he sails Whind his link : 
With alt this bulk there 's nothing lost in Og, 
For every inch that is not fool is rogue ; 



fB- 



A monstixius nu»ss of foul, corrnpteil matter, 
As iJl the devils had spewed to make the batter. 
The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull. 
With this prophetic blessing, — " Be thou dull ; 
Drink, swear, and mar, forliear no lewd delight 
Fit for thy bulk ; do anything but write : 
Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men ; 
A strejig mitivity — but for the pen ! 
Eiit opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink. 
Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink." 
1 see, 1 see, 't is counsel given in vain. 
For treason Uitchod i« rhynu> will be thy liane ; 
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck, 
'T is fatal to thy fame and to thy neck ; 
Why sliould thy meter good King David blast ? 
.\ jwabu of his will surely be thy last. 
-V double noose tJiou on thy neck dost pull 
For writing treason and for writing dull. 
To die for faction is a common evil. 
But to be hanged for nonsense is the devil. 

JOM.N DRVDBN. 



SMOLLETT. 

Whence could arise the mighty critic spleen, 
The muse a tritler, and her theme so mean ? 
What had 1 done that angry heaven shonld send 
The bitterest foe where most 1 wislied a frientl ! 
Oft hath my tongue Iwn wanton at this name, 
And haileil the honore of thy matchless fame. 
For me let hoary Fielding bite the ground. 
So nobler Hckle stands sujvrbly liound ; 
From Livy's temples tear the historic crown, 
Which with more justice blooms upon thy own. 
Comjwiwl with thee, K' all life-writei-s dumb. 
But he who wix>te the life of Tommy Thumb. 
Who ever read the Regicide but swore 
The author wrote as man ne'er wrote before ? 
Othei-s for plots and underplots may call. 
Here 's the right uu'thod, — have no plot at all ! 
JOHN Churchill. 



FROM THE "PROLOCOE TO THE S.\TIRBS. 

Peace to ah such I but were there one whose fires 
True genius kiiuUes, and fair fame inspire's ; 
Blest with ejich talent and each art to please. 
And born to write, convei«e, and live with ease : 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear, like the Turk, no bixithor near the throne, 
Yiew him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes. 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
AVilling to wound, and yet afraid to strike. 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



819 



■a 



^- 



Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading even fooLs, by flatterers Ijesieged, 
And so obliging that lie ne'er obliged ; 
Like C'at<j, give his little senate laws. 
And sit attentive Ui )iis own applause ; 
AV^hilst wits and templars every sentence raise. 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise : — 
Who but must laugli, if such a one there be ? 
Who would not weep, if Atticos were he ? 

ALtXAKDEK POPH- 



THE PRINCESS CHAKLOTTE. 

FKOM '-CHILDE HAROLD." 

Hai'.k'. forth from the abyss a voiiic proceeds, 
A long, low, distant murmur of diead sound, 
.Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
With some deep and immclicable wound ; 
Tlirough storm and darknes's yawns the rend- 
ing giouiid. 
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
Seems royal still, though with her head dis- 
crowned. 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no 
relief. 

.Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? 
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? 
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 
.Some less majestic, less )jelove<l bea4 ? 
In the sad midnight, while thy h<:art still bled, 
The motlier of a moment, o'er thy Ijoy, 
Death hushed that pang forever : with thee fled 
The present happiness and jMomised joy 
Which filled the imperial isles so full it seemed 
to cloy. 

Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, 
thou that wert so happy, so a^lored ! 
Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee. 
And rree<lom's heart, grown heavy, cease to 

hoard 
Her many griefs for One : for she had poured 
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy he3;<l 
Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord. 
And desolate consort, — vainly wert thou wed ! 
The husljand of a year ! the father of the dead '. 

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; 
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes ; in the dust 
The fair-liaired Daughter of the Isles is laid. 
The love of millions I How we did intrust 
Futurity to her '. and, though it must 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deemed 
Our children should obevher child, and blessed 



Her and lier hojjed-for seed, whose promise 
seemed 
Like stars to shepherds' eyes : — 't was but a 
meteor l.)eamed. 

Woe unto tis, not her ; for she sleejjs well : 
The fickle reek of jxipular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow c^iunsel, the false oracle. 
Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung 
Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung 
Nations have anned in madness, the strange fate 
Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath 

flung 
Against their blind omuiiwtcncc a weight 
Within the opjKising scale, which crushes soon 

or late, — 

These might have Ijecn her destiny ; but no. 
Our hearts deny it : and s<j young, so fair. 
Good without eflort, gr<iat without a foe ; 
But now a bride and mother, — and now t/urnJ 
How many ties did that stern moment teai ' 
From thy sire's to his humblest subject's breast 
Is linked the electric chain of that despair. 
Whose shock was as an eaith<|uake's, and op- 

prest 
The land which loved thee so that none could 

love thee best. 



ODE TO NAPOLEON. 

'T IS done, — but yesterday a king ! 

And armed with kings to strive, — 
And now thou art a nameless thing ; 

.So abject, — yet alive ! 
Is this tlie man of thousand thrones, 
WTio strewed our earth with hostile bonee. 

And can he thus survive ? 
Since he, miscalled the Morning Star, 
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far. 

Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind 

Who bowe<l so low the knee ? 
By gazing on thyself grown blind. 

Thou taught' St the rest to see. 
With might umjuestioned, — power to save, — 
Thine only gift hath Ijeen the grave 

To those tliat worshiped thee ; 
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess 
Ambition's less than littleness '. 

Thanks for that lesson, — it will teach 

To after warriors more 
Than high philosojjhy can preach. 

And vainly preached before. 
That spell ujjon the minds of m«i 



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820 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



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L 



Breaks never to unite again, 

That led them to adore 
Those Pagod things of saber sway, 
With fronts of brass and feet of clay. 

The triumph and the vanity, 

The rapture of the strife ; 
The earthquake voice of Victory, 

To thee the breath of life ; 
The sword, the scepter, and that sway 
Which man seemed made but to obey, 

Wlierewith renown was rife, — 
All quelled ! — Dark spirit ! what must be 
The madness of thy memory ! 

The desolator desolate ! 

The victor overthrown ! 
The arliiter of others' fate 

A suppliant for his o\vn ! 
Is it some yet imperial hope. 
That with such change can calmly cope ? 

Or dread of death alone ? 
To die a prince, or live a slave, — 
Thy choice is most ignobly brave ! 

He who of old would rend the oak 

Dreamed not of the rebound ; 
Chained by the trunk he vainly broke, — 

Alone, — how looked he round ! 
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength. 
An equal deed hast done at length. 

And darker fate hast found : 
He fell, the forest-prowlers' prey ; 
But thou must eat thy heart away ! 

The Roman, when his burning heart 

Was slaked with blood of Rome, 
Threw down the dagger, dared depart. 

In savage grandeur, home. 
He dared depart in utter scorn 
Of men that such a yoke had borne. 

Yet left him such a doom ! 
His only glory was that hour 
Of self-upheld abandoned power. 

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 
Had lost its quickening speU, 

Cast crowns for rosaries away, 
An empire for a cell ; 

A strict accountant of his beads, 

A subtle disputant on creeds, 
His dotage trifled well : 

Yet better had he neither known 

A bigot's shrine nor despot's throne. 

But thou, — from thy reluctant hand 
The thunderbolt is wrung, — 

Too late thou leav'st the high command 
To which thy weakness clung. 



All evil spirit as thou art. 

It is enough to grieve the heart 

To see thine own unstrung ; 
To think that God's fair world hath been 
The footstool of a thing so mean ! 

And Earth liath spilt her blood for him, 

AVho thus can hoard his own ! 
And monarchs bowed the trembling limb, 

And thanked him for a throne ! 
Fair Freedom ! we may hold thee dear, 
WTien thus thy mightiest foes their fear 

In humblest guise have shown. 
0, ne'er may tyrant leave behind 
A brighter name to lui'e mankind ! 

Thine evil deeds are WTit in gore, 

Nor written thus in vain ; 
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more. 

Or deepen eveiy stain. 
If thou hadst died as honor dies. 
Some new Napoleon might arise. 

To shame the world again ; 
But who would soar the solar height, 
To set in such a starless night ? 

Weighed in the balance, hero dust 

Is vile as vulgar clay ; 
Thy scales, Mortality ! are just 

To all that pass away : 
But yet methought the living great 
Some higher spark should animate, 

To dazzle and dismay ; 
Nor deemed Contempt could thus make mirth 
Of these, the conquerors of the earth. 

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, 

Thy still imperial bride ; 
How bears her breast the torturing hour ? 

Still clings she to thy side ? 
Must she too bend, — must she too share 
Thy late repentance, long despaii-, 

Thou throneless homicide ? 
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem ; 
'T is worth thy vanished diadem ! 

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, 

And gaze upon the sea ; 
That element may meet thy smile, — 

It ne'er was ruled by thee ! 
Or trace with thine all-idle hand, 
In loitering mood, upon the sand, 

That earth is now as free ! 
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now 
Transferred his byword to thy brow. 

Thou Timour ! in his captive's cage, — 
What thoughts will there be thine. 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



821 



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Wliile brooding in thy prisoned rage ? 

But one, — "The world was mine ! " 
Unless, like him of Babylon, 
AU sense is with thy scepter gone, 

Life wUl not long confine 
That spirit poured so widely forth, — 
So long obeyed, so little worth ! 

Or, like the thief of fire from heaven, 

AVilt thou withstand the shock ? 
And share with him, the unforgiven. 

His vulture and his rock ! 
Foredoomed by God, by man accurst, 
And that last act, though not thy worst. 

The veiy fiend's arch mock : 
He in his fall preserved his prWe, 
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died ! 

Lord Byron. 



u 



NAPOLEON. 

FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." 

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men. 
Whose spirit antithetically mixed 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
On little objects with like firmness fixed. 
Extreme in all things ! hadstthou been betwixt. 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st 
Even now to reassume the imperial mien. 
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the 
scene ! 

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than 

now 
That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became 
The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god unto thyself : nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert, 
Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst 

assert. 

O more or less than man — in high or low, 
Battling witli nations, flying from the field ; 
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, 

now 
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield : 
An empire thou couldst crush, command, re- 
build, 
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor 
However deeply in men's spirits skilled. 
Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of 
war, 
Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the lofti- 
est star. 



Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning 

tide 
With that untaught iimato philosophy. 
Which, be it «-isdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by. 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast 

smiled 
With a sedate and aU-enduring eye, — 
When Fortune fled her spoiled and favorite 

child. 
He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him 

piled. 

Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
Ambition steeled thee on too far to show 
That just habitual scorn which could contemn 
Men and their thoughts ; 't was wise to feel, 

not so 
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, 
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
Till they were turned unto thine overthrow ; 
'T is but a worthless world to win or lose ; 
So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who 

choose. 

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock. 
Thou haiist been made to stand or fall alone. 
Such scorn of man had helped to brave th« 

shock ; 
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved 

thy throne. 
Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; 
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then 
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) 
Like stem Diogenes to mock at men ; 
For sceptered cynics earth were far too wide a den. 

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, 
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 
And motion of the soul which will not dwell 
In its own narrow being, but aspire 
Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; 
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, 
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core. 
Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. 

This makes the madmen who have made men 

mad 
By their contagion ! Conquerors and Kings, 
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things 
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs. 
And are themselves the fools to those they fool ; 
Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school 
Which would unteach mankind tlie lust to shine 

or rule. 



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822 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



Their breath is agitation, and their life 
A storm wliereon they ride, to sink at hist, 
And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 
Tliat slioiihl their days, surviving perils past, 
Welt to calm twilight, thoy feel overcast 
With sorrow and supineuess, and so die ; 
E\ en as a llame, unfed, which runs to waste 
\\'\\h its own flickering, or a sword laid by, 
Wliich cats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. 

Ilo who ascends to nuuintain-tops shall (ind 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and 

snow ; 
lie who surpasses or subdues mankind 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Tliough high above the sun of glory glow, 
And fir beneath the earth and oceiui spread, 
liuund liim are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
Contending tempests on his naked head, 
Andthus reward the toils which to those sumnuts 

led. 



e 



ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF REICH- 
STADT (NAFOLEON II.). 

Heiu of that name 
■Which shook witli sudden teiror the far earth ! 
Child ofstnuige destinies e'en from thy birth. 
When kings luid princes round thy cradle 
came. 
And gave their crowns, as playthings, to thine 

hand, — 
Thine lieritage the spoils of many a land ! 

IIow were the schemes 
Of hnmnn foresight battled in thy fate, 
Thou victim of a parent's lofty state ! 

Wliat glorious visions tilled thy father's dreams, 
AVhen first ho gazed upon thy infant face. 
And deemed himself the Kodolph of his race ! 

Scarce had thine eyes 
l^chchi the light of day. when thon wert Ixmnd 
With ])owcr's vain symbols, and thy yomig brow 
crowned 

With Kome's imperial diadem, — the prize 
From priestly princes by thy proud sire won. 
To deck the pillow of his cradled son. 

Yet where is now 
The sword that ilaslied as with a meteor light. 
And led on half the world to stirring fight, 

Kidding whole seas of blood and carnage flow? 
Alas ! when foiled on his last battle plain. 
Its shattered fragments forged thy father's chain. 



Far worse thy fate 
Thau that which doomed him to the barren 

rock ; 
Through half the universe was felt the shock. 

When down he toppled from his high estate ; 
And the proud thought of still acknowledged 

power 
Could cheer him e'ou in that disastrous hour. 

Hut thou, poor boy, 
Hadst no such dreams to cheer the lagging hours ; 
Thy chain still galled, though wi'cathcd with 
fairest flowei-s ; 

Thou had'st no images of by -past joy. 
No visions of anticipated fame, 
To bear thee through a life of sloth and shame. 

And where was she 
Whose proudest title was Napoleon's wife '/ 
She who first gave, and should have watched thy 
life, 

'I'rcbling a mother's tenderness for thee? 
Despoiled heir of empire I on her breast 
Did thy young head repose in its unrest ? 

No ! round her heart 
Children of luunbler, happier lineage twined; 
Thou couldst but bring dark memories to nund, 

or ]iageants where she bore a heartless jiart : 
She who shared not her monarch-husband's doon\ 
Cared little lor her first-born's living tomb. 

Thou art at rest, 
I 'hild of Ambition's martyr ! Life had been 
To thee no blessing, but a dreary scene 

Of doubt and drcail and suffering at the best ; 
For thou wert one whose path in these dark 

times 
Must lead to sorrows, — it might be to crimes. 

Thou art at rest ! 
The idle sword has worn its sheath away, 
The spirit has consumed its bonds of clay ; 

And they who with vain tyranny con\]ircst 
Thy soul's high yearnings, now forget their fear, 
.\nd fling Ambition's purple o'er thy bier. 

EMMA C. UMia-RV. 



POPTTLAE RECOLLECTIONS OF BONAPARTE. 

A Kr.NnF.KING OF BtKANGER'S "SOUVENIRS IH' IM-.urLE." 

TiiF.Y '11 talk of him for yeai-s to come. 
In cottage chronicle and tivle ; 

When, for aught else, renown is dumb, 
His legend shall prevail ! 

When in the hamlet's honored chair 
Shall sit some aged dame. 

Teaching to lowly clown and villager 



--EP 



[0- 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



-n 



823 



h 



That narrative of fame. 
"'T is true," they 'II say, " his gorgeous throne 

France bled to raise ; 
But he was all our own ! " 

" Mother, say something in his praise, — 

O, speak of him always ! " 

" I saw him pass, — his was a host 

C'jiuiUi-ss beyond your young Imaginings — 
My ibildn'n, he could boast 

A train of conquered kings ! 
And when he came this road, 

'T was on my bridal day, 
He wore, for near to him I stood. 

Cocked hat and surcoat gray. 
I lilushed ; he said, ' lie of good cheer I 
Couragi', my dear ! ' 

Tliat was his very woril." 

" Mother ! (J, then, this really occurred, 
And you his voice could hear." 

" A year rolled on, when next at Paris I, 

Lone woman that 1 am, 
.S.'iw him pass by, 

i;irt witli his peers to kneel at Notre Dame, 
I knew, liy merry chime and signal gun, 
(Jiid granted him a son. 

And O, I wept for joy ! 
Fur why not weep when warnor men diil. 
Who gazed upon that sight so splendid. 

And blessed the imperial boy ? 
Never ilid noonday sun shine out so bright ! 
0, what a sight ! " 

" Mother, for you that must have been 

A glorious scene." 

" lint when all Europe's gathered strength 
r.urst o'er the French frontier at length, 

"1" will scarcely be believed 

What wonders, single-handed, he achieved ; 

Such general ne'er lived ! 
One livening on my threshold stood 

A guest, — 't was he ! Of warriors few 

111- had a toil-worn retinue. 
Ill' Mung himself into this chair of wood. 

Muttering, meantime, with fearful air, 

' (Quelle guerre ! 0, quelle guerre ! ' " 

" Mother ! and did our emperor sit there, 

Upon that very chair 1" 

" Hi: said, 'Give me some food.' 

liiown loaf I gave, and homely wine. 
And made the kindling fire-blocks shine 

To dry his cloak with wet bedewed. 
Soon by the bonny blaze he slejit, 
Tlien waking chid me, — for 1 wejit ; 

' Courage ! ' he cried, ' I '11 strike for all 

Under the sacred wall 
Of France's noble capital 1' 



Those were his words : I 've treasured up 

With pride that same wine-cup ; 
And for its weight in gold 
It never shall be sold ! " 

" Mother, on that proud relic let us ga/e. 

0, keep that cup always ! " 

" But through some fatal witchery 

He, whom a pope had crowned and blest, 
Perished, my sons, by foulest treachery, 

Cast on an isle far in the lonely West '. 
Long time sad rumors were afloat, — 

The fatal tidings we would spurn. 
Still hoping from that isle remote 

Once more our hero would return. 
But when the dark announcement drew 

Tears from the virtuous and the brave, 
When the sad whLsijer proved too true, 

A Hood of grief I to his memory gave. 
Peace to the glorious dead ! " 

" Mother, may God his fullest blessing shed 

Upon your aged head ! " 

Francis .Maho.vv (Father prout). 



FROM "ODE FROM THli FRENCH. 

TiiEitE, where death's brief pang was quickest. 
And the battle's wreck lay thickest. 
Strewed beneath the advancing banner 

Of the eagli-'s burning crest — 
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her. 
Who could then her wing arrest — 

Victory beaming from her brea-st?) 
While the broken line enlarging 

Fell, or lied along the plain : — 
There be sure Murat was charging ! 

There he ne'er shall charge again ! 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 

TUB DUKE OF Wl^LLINGTON. 

A MIST was driving down the British Channel ; 

The day was just begun ; 
And through the window-panes, on floor and 
panel. 

Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pinnon, 

And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowningrampart, the black cannon 

Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and 
Dover, 
Were all alert that day. 



^ 



\Br- 



S'2-l 



rSIiSONAL POEMS. 



b 



'I'o 800 tlio Fivuoli wiiv-sloiiinoi's siiooiliii^ ovor 
Wlu'ii tho l'i>j! olouit'il Hwuy, 

Sulloii mill siloiil, Kiul Uko oouolmut lions, 

Tlioiv Oiumoii, thiwi};!! tlio \\\^\\\, 
lloKlinj{ lhoi\' l>iv«tli, liiul waloliod in itiim do- 
liiuioo 
Tlio soii-oivist oi'luwito ; 

Aiul MOW tliov iwuvd, :\t ilnimtviit, I'lVlil tJloir 
stittioiis 

l.^u ovoiy oitiulol ; 
V'.:\ol\ i\ii»\\wiiij; «ioli. Hitl\ wioiniiii; siiUitidiims, 

Tlmt nil wos woll I 

Aiul ildwii ll<o (•'iMisi, M Isikiiij! up tlio lmi\lon, 

Koplirtl tl\o (listtinl iVwts — 
As if (i> sumuiou I"imi\i his sloop tho wnniou 

Aiiil li>i\l of tho CiiH(Ui> Ports, 

Uini sliall uo smisl\iiio fivm tlio tioUls ofswrnv, 

No (Inim-lvjil l'i\>iu tlio WivU, 
N>> moniiiij;i;iii\ liviu llio l>luok I'oits' oml>i-,isui\>, 

Awakoii w itii tlioir cuU ! 

No moiv. sm'WYiiijt with iiii oyo iin|^iiliiil 

Tlio loiij; liiio of tho iwist, 
Shall tho ij:\iiut tijsiiix' of tho oUl tioUl in:i\-shill 

Ho siHMi mvu his lHV>t ! 

For in I ho uijjht. vniswn, a sinijlo Wiirrioi'. 

In soniK'i' hainoss niailtHl, 
Pn-aihsl of man, ami sniiiamrtl tho 0(>sti\\wi', 

Tho n\\ni>rtit w^ill has soalwl ! 

llo (vissihI inti< tho ohamlyr of tho shviw, — 

Tho ilavk anil silont ivom ; 
An>l, as ho onton><l, darkor i!ix>w, and iUH<\H<r 

Tho silonoo ami tho gloom, 

llo ilivl not (viusp tv> jwrloy, or dissomWe, 

I hit smotv tho wai\lo>i hiwr — 
Ah. what » hlow ! that mailo all Knjslf'iul tiyrnVJo 

Anil siwin fivni shoiv to slioiv. 

Mo,anwliilo, without, tho smly oajinon waitixl, 
Tho snn >\v«' hrijslit o"oi'hi\ul, — 

Nothinj; in Natmv's asjuvt inti^natt^l 
That a grwit man was ili>ail ! 

HCNKV w,M\s«vKvn Li.\\>»-nu.ow, 



MIRAUKAr. 

Not oti Ivloiv has jvsiplinl <\>rth sont up so 

ilivp auil wiilo a jtiwm. 
As whon tho \\vi\l swvpt ovvr Franco. "Tho Ufo 

of MiraboAU is tlowu ! " 



Kivm its Olio lioarl a iialioii wailoil, lor woll Iho 

slui'tloil sonsp iliviiu-il 
A (jivator powor hail (loil away than iiii};hl that 

now ivniainoil Ih'IiiiuI. 

Tho soalhoil ami liajjjpiixl faoo. ami look so hrif»ht 

with swoi\l-liko thoiij;lit 
llail hoon to many a million houit.s (ho all ho- 

twoon thomsolvos aiul iian};lil ; 
Ami so thoy stooil aghast aiiil (nilo, as if tlioy 

saw tho a.-iiiv sky 
Oonio shattoriiig ilown, ami show In'yonil tho 

Mack ami liaiv inlinity. 

For ho. whilo all mon pooivil ami jpiroil upon tho 

fiitmv's ompty sivioo. 
llavl stivujjth to bid aliovo tho void llio oiiu'lo 

unvoil its faoo ; 
And whoii his voioo ooiihl rulo no moiv, a thiokor 

woijjht of darkiioss loll. 
And IoiiiIkhI in its sopnloliral >-!iiilt tho wojiriod 

maslor of tho spoil, 

(,> wastod stiviigtli ! O light and oalm. ami hot- 
tor lio|H>s so vainly givon ! — 

l.iko rain mnni tho horhloss ••sini jKiiuvd down hy 
too iH'iiigiiant hoavon.- 

\Yo soo not stai-s liko oloiuls iH'tiwsod, ami onisli 
in aimloss thniidor-iwals. 

Hut man's laI>^' soul, tho star snpix'mo. in guido- 
U>ss whirl how oft it iwls ! 

Tho mountain htvirs tho torivnt dash, hut iwks 

will not liko wator run ; 
No wijilo's talons WMid awsiy tlioso oyos that joy- 

ons drink tho sun ; 
Yet man, by choitv and pnrpiv!i> woiik, upon his 

own dovotod hoad 
Csills down tho Hash, as if its rin>s a oivwn of 

lH>)»ivl\il glory shod. 

Alas ! — >n>t wliowfow mourn f Tho law is holior 

than a s;vgv's pwyor ; 
Tho giHlliko (Hiwor l>ostow<Hl on mon domauds of 

thorn a givlliko cai\< ; 
.\ud nobhvst giftJi, if l>asol,v usisl. will stoniliost 

a\\'Ug<> tho wivnji. 
And grind with slavish jwii^s tho slavo whom 

ouiv tlioy mado divinoly stixuig. 

Tho lamp th!>t, mid tho s,ior»Hl ooll, on hi-avonly 

forms its glory slnnls. 
I'utondiHl diivs, and in tlio gKvun a jhusoiious 

vsHXM- glimmoring spt>>;ids. 
It shiuos ami tlaixvs. and nH'linjj ghi^sts onormous 

thivugh tho twilight swvll. 
Till o'or tho withoivd world and Inxart rings loud 

Aud slow tho dooming knoll. 



-ff 



[& 



PEUHONAL I'OEMH. 



82 



.-C] 



No mini; I )i<:iir a nation 'h dlmut around tl«; In every BfM Wicath th« wniling sun, 

hero'!) tr'Kfl |)r<;V!»ilin;{, St*;* wlicrf; the f!i>ringi( of living wat'.-re lie ; 

No Jn//r(! I hear aUiVc hijj U/mh a nation')* fiCTC; fJiim-jni awhilfc they al^p, till, tijai:lu-A by the«, 



tlj- 



UiwiUleri-A wailing ; 
1 otaH'i anii/1 the tiilent niglit, an'l think of man 

and all liiy, win; 
With fear and pity, grief and awe, when / re- 

inerntxjr Miral;eau. 

I',ll:i Wiu/M 



TO MAUAMK L»K HKVION^, 

II.AVirif, Bl.tKO MAIC!! Blyl'l'. 

Vor; ehann when you talk, walk, or move, 
Still more on thix ihiy than another : 

When hlindfj*! — you 're tfiken for lyjve j 
When tlie Uimhige i» off — for hiH mother ! 

hll Hfjiflkl'.VU,. 



TO WOUmwOii'lH. 

'I'/i/.-.c. ill a Htrain to rea/1 among the hilln, 
The old anil full of voieeit ; — by the kdutiji 

Of ft<;me free ctieain, whoite gladdening [irewaice 
filk 
The fiolitude with wjund ; for in its eoiir* 

Kven Hueh U thy deep Hong, that wieiri!* a jrart 

Of thf*: high wv:W;H, a fountJtin from their heart. 

Or ito ealm Bpirit fitly may he taken 
To the alill hrea»t in Bunny garden Ixjwertt, 

Where vernal windji e!W!h tree's low toncH awaken, 
And bud and tjell with ehangcn mark the houro. 

Then let thy thoughti tj* with me, while the day 

Hinkn with a golden and Kerene decay. 

Or by Home hearth where happy faf;«s meet, 

When night hath hushed the woodft, with all 

their birdx. 

There, from nome gentle voi(;e, that lay were gwcet 

AH!intl(|ue muHJe, linked with hou»ehold wordtt ; 

While, m pleanwl murmurH, woman'o lip might 

move, 
And the raided eye of childhood ohine in love. 

Or where the Hhadowa of dark wdemn yew« 
I'rood Hilently o'er Hfimc lone burial-ground. 

Thy verm; hath power that brightly might dilfiwc 
A breath, a kindling, a* of Hpriiig, around, 

Krom ito own glow of hope and courage high, 
And Hte;ulfa»t faith's vict<iriouB constancy. 

True bard and holy ! — Thou art e'en «» one 
Who, by Home «ecret gift of ooul or eye, 



bright healthful wavcit flow forth to (:ach gla'i 
wanderer fre<;. 



ON A POETEAIT Oe WOKDHWOETH, 



WoKDKWoiiTll uj^on Jlelvellyn ! I>!t the cloud 
Kbb audibly ah/ng the mountain-wind. 
Then br<aik again-^t the rv;k, and show >x:hind 
The lowland valleys (heating up t« crowd 
The (f;/!*; with U«iuty. //«:, with forehead lx>we<l 
And humble-lidde'l eyist, aa one inclin<«l 
U<;fore tlic sovran thought of his own mind, 
And very m<;<:k with inspirations proud, — 
Tak(»t here hi.s rightful pl;i/y: aj) jioet-priest 
By the high-altar, singing prayer and prayer 
To the higluir iliaivenit. A noble vioion free. 
Our Hayiion'ii luind hiMi flung out from the 

mi«t ! 
No {(ortrait thia, with AiMilemii: air, — 
Tlii« in the [Kiet and hiji jKjrtry. 

LUZAhliUI IJAKKETT BROWKIHC. 



EOTJ88EAU AND COWPHE. 



FkfjU '"IlUi 



KoCBHEAi; could weep; ye», withahcartofstone, 
The impir^u-t s'jphi.st could re(;line Upside 
The pure ami [Kiacefu] lata;, and muw; alone 
On all itx lovelines* at eventide — 
On its small ninning waves, in [lurfile dycl, 
I'enrsith bright eloudd on all the glowing sky. 
On the whit<: flailn that o'er its ^nivmi glide. 
And on Hurrounding mountains wihl ami high. 
Till tears unbid/icn gushed from his cnchan tcl eye. 

But his were not the tears of feeling fine 
Of grief or love ; at fancy's flash they flowed, 
Ijike bumingdrops from some proud lonely pine 
Bylightningfirwl ; his heart with piissionglowwl 
Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed 
A chilling coldness Ijoth to friend and foe; 
As Ktna, with its cent<:r an abode 
Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow 
Of all its desert brow the living world Vdow. 

Was he but justly wretched from his crimes? 
Tlien why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen. 
With all the Heaven-lxini virtue that sublimes 
Genius and feeling, and hi things unseen 
Lifts the pure heart through clouds, that roll 
between 



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[Q- 



82G 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



■•ijj 



h 



Thii oiirtli ami skios, to iliukon Imiimii liopo ( 
Or \\\wwUiw iliil tluiM' ilomis thus iiitcrvoiio 
Til ivmli'i' viiiu failli's litlwl t.'li's,'o|,(., 
And Iwvvo liim in tliiok j;U)Oin liis wciiiv way to 

He, too, ooulil jjivo liimsolf to iiuisiiij; iloop ; 
Uy till' calm lako, at cvouinj;, lu' louUl staiul, 
l.oiu'ly anil sad, to si<o tlio nioonli{;ht sUu'i> 
On all its bivast, by not an instvt liinnod. 
And lioai- low voices on the t'ar-oll' strand, 
Or, thi'oiijih the still and dewy atmosphere, 
The pipe'ssoritones,wakedliysoniejj<Mitle hand, 
l''rom tVontinj; shoiv and woody island near 
In echoes niiicU reliirned loore mellow and more 
clear. 

And he conldcherislnvild and mournful divanis. 
In the pine };ivve, when low the lull moon, fair, 
Shot under lofty tops her level beams. 
Stretching the shades of trunks erect and Imre, 
lu stripes drawn parallel with onler rare. 
As of some temple vast or colonnade. 
While on given turf, made smooth without his 

care, 
lie wandeivd o'or its stripes of light and shade. 
And heanl the dying day-bree/.o all the boughs 

pervade. 

'T was thvis, in mitnre's Moom and solitude, 
Ho nursed his grief till nothing could assuago ; 
"r was thus his tondor spirit was subdued, 
Till in lilb's toils it eouUl no moiv engago ; 
And his had been a useless pilgrimage. 
Had he been gifted with no sacred powei', 
T'o send his thoughts to every future age ; 
But ho is gone where grief will not ilcvour, 
Wlioro beauty will not lade, and skies will never 
lower. 

To that bright world wheiv t hings ofea rtli appear 
Stripped of false charms, my fancy often (lies, 
To ask liiiu thero what life is happiest hei-e ; 
And, as he points aiwiud him. anil ivplies 
With glowing lii>s. my heart within nu' dies, 
.\nd conscience whispoi-s of a divadl'id Ivar. 
When, in some scene wlieiv every beauty lies, 
A soft sweet pensiveness Ivgins to nuir 
Th» joys of social life, and with its claims to war. 

CARLOS Wn,cox, 



No mow these simple tlowors Mong 
To Scottish maid and lover ; 

Sown in the common soil of song. 
Thev bloom the wide world over. 



In suules and tears, in sun and showers, 

The minstrel and the heather. 
The ilealhlcss singer and the llowers 

He sang of live together. 

Wild hi'athcr-bells and Uobcrt liurns ! 

The moorland Ihwcr and pca.<ant ! 
How, at their mcution, memory turns 

llor pagi's old and pleasant ! 

The gray sky wears agivin its gold 

And purple of adorning. 
And manhood's noonday shadows hold 

The dews of boyhood's nuirniiig : 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 

Krom olf the wings of pleasuiv. 
The sky, that llci'kcd the ground of toil 

With gxddcn threads of Icisuiv. 

I call lo mind the slimmer day. 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and clouds at play, 

And llowci-s with bivezes blowing. 

1 lienr the blackbiitl in the corn, 

The locust in the haying ; 
And. like the fabled hunter's horn, 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 

1 sovight the maple's shadow. 
And sang with Uurus the hours away. 

Forgetful of the meadow ! 

Hees hunnned, birds twittered, overhead 

1 heard the sipiirrels leaping ; 
The good dog listened while I Riad, 

And waggi'd his tail in keeping. 

1 watched him while in sportive niooil 
I read "The Twa Uogs' " story, 

And half believed he undei'stood 
'I'he iHiot's allegory. 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! — The golden lunu^ 

(iivw brighter for that singing, 
Fivm bivok and bird ami meadow tlowei's 

A deaixn- weloomo bringing. 

New light on hoino-socn Natuix> b«imed, 

New glory over Woman ; 
And daily lil'o and duty seemed 

No longer poor and common. 

1 woke to find the simple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 
Than all the dreams that held my youth 

A still rt<piuiiig dobtor : 



4? 



a- 



PEltHONAL I'OKMH. 



827 



-a 



^- 



TImt Nature givcH lii;r liaii'Jmaid, Art, 
'I'lii! tIii;)ii(;H of itwrjet diitcourijilig ; 

'I'lic; ti.inler iilyl» of tliB Ijeart 
III ijviiiy tongue rchcarHiiig. 

Wliy ilream of lainbi of gold and pearl. 

Of loving knight and lady, 
W'lii'U faniir-T l)oy and barefoot girl 

Were wandering tlierc already I 

I «aw tliroiigh all familiar thiiij;^ 

'J'lie ronianw iimlerlying ; 
The joyB and griefn that plume the wingn 

Of Kaney Hkyward flying. 

I Haw the «ame blithe day return, 

The same oweet fall of even, 
That roue on woodi^d '-'raigie-bura, 

And (tank on crystal Devon. 

I matehed with Scotland'H heathery hills 
The Bweiit-brier and the elover ; 

With Ayr and Doon, my native rillH, 
Their wc>od-hyninB chanting over. 

O'er rank and jiornp, as he ha<l Been, 

I Haw the Man upriwing ; 
No longer eonirnon or unclean, 

The child of Ood'» l^jitizing. 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lowly ; 
The liible at his Cott<;r'H hearth 

Had rnaile my own more holy. 

And if at times an evil strain, 

To lawless love appealing, 
liroke in upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling. 

It died upon the eye and ear, 

No inward answer gaining ; 
Ni) heart h.id 1 to see or hear 

The di»cord and the staining. 

Let those who never erred forget 
Hiff worth, in vain Viwailings ; 

.Sweet .Sf)ul of .Song ! — I own my debt 
Uncanceled by his (iiilings ! 

Lament who will the nl^ld line 
Which tells his lapsi; from duty, 

How kissed the maddening lips of wine, 
Or want/jn ones of Iieauty ; 

But think, while falls that shade U-twecn 

The erring one and Heaven, 
That he who lovwl like Magdalen, 

Like her may be forgiven. 



Not hii) the w>ng whose thunderous cliime 

Eternal wdioes render, — 
The mouniful Tus<:an'H haunU^l rhyme. 

And Milf/jn's starry splendor ; 

IJut who bin human heart has laid 

To Nature's bosom nearer '( 
Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 

To love a tribuU; dearer ? 

Through all hw tuneful art, how strong 

The human feeling gushes ! 
The very moonlight of his song 

Is warm with smiles and Idushes ! 

Give letten^l pomp \a) Uieth of Time, 
Ho " iJonny Doon " but tarry ; 

Blot out the epic's stJit'dy rhyme, 
But s|«ire hijj " Highland Mary" ! 

;oiiM i,u.nir<t.KAi' wuiniiiu.. 



8toi', mortal ! Here thy brother li'Mi, — 

The jjoet of the p'ior. 
Hi« IxK^ks were rivers, woods, and skies, 

The mea/low and the rn'^'jr ; 
His tca/diers were the ti^rn heart's wail, 

The tyrant, and the slave, 
The street, tlio fa<;toiy, the jail, 

The iialiuK, — and the grave ! 
Sin rnet thy brother everywhere ! 

And is thy brother blamed ? 
From jiassion, danger, doubt, and care 

He no exemption claimed. 
The meanest thing, earth's fe/blest worm. 

He fearwl to s<:orn or hat<; ; 
I'ut, honoring in a [leaxant's form 

The c'jual of the great. 
He bless<;d the st<;ward, whow; wealth mak(« 

The poor man's little more ; 
Yet loathed the haughty wret/;h that takes 

From plundered lalmr's store. 
A hand to do, a hea<l to plan, 

A heart U) feel and ilare, — 
Tell man's worst fw;B, here lies the man 

Who drew them hh they are. 

lliifiutiznu ELMorr. 



BURNH. 



Hi« i« tliat language of the heart 

In which the answering heart would sfjeak, — 
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 

Or the smile light the cheek ; 



^ 



11- 



828 



I'KKSONAL rOKMS. 



An.l his IhnI imisio ti> wlnwo toiio 

riu> ooimnoii luilso i>r iiiiiii ki'i-jw tiiii<>, 

li\ .lit tM' oivollo's miitli or uukiu, 
hi iHilil of fimvu.v olimo. 

'rhiMii>«li oniv nml (Mill mul wsml mul woo, 
Willi wimiuls Hull only iloalli ooiiUl lioul, 

'IViUuvs tlio (loor nlono oim know. 
Till' (iiMiul iiloiio oim fool, 

He ko)!! liU )iom\i|y iiml Inith, 
lli.i iiiili'|«<iivl(>iit lon^iit' iiikI |xmi, 

Aiul luovvil, ill luiuiliooil us in youlli, 
I'liilo of liis roUow-iuou, 

Sti\>n^ st'iiso, tlooji IWliiij;, jmssious !>ti\>iifj, 

A liiilo of lymut iiiiil ol' kimvo, 
A lo\ 1' ol' li^liI, II si'oni of wiMiift, 

01 lowiiixl mill of sl«vii i 

A kiinl, tn\<> lioiiil, a sjiiiit liij;''. 

Tliiil ooiiUl iiol foni' nml woiiKl not Imw, 
Will' wiittoii ill Ills iiiiiiily i\vo 

Villi oil Ills iiiiiiily lnvw, 

rp.iiso to llii< Imixl ! his \vv>i\l» niv iliivi'ii, 
l.iko llowoi'-sooils l\v Iho f«v winds sown, 

\Vlii-i\''i'i' K'Hi-iilli I ho sky of hwivou 
'I'lio lvii\ls of finno hiivo llown. 

I'liiiso to tho iiiiin I 11 nutioii stooil 
lii>siilo his oolliii with wol oyiis, — 

lloi' l'i\ivi', ln-r l>l':^lll^l^ll. hov j^>ihI, — 
As wlii-ii ii lovoil Olio ilios. 

Ami still, :is on liis fniioml ilny. 

Mon stanil his lolil «iith-i'oiioh luviuul. 
With tho uinto honiiij^' llmt wo i<iiy 

To I'onsooiiitoil mvmiil. 

Aiiil i-onsoi'itiliHl fjiviuul it is, — 
'I'lio liist, tho hiiUowwl hotno of ono 

Who livos uiHui till niomoi'iiw, 
'riioiijtli with tho bviviinl goiio. 

8iioU jjiiu'W as his iux> \iil^i;i'in\ shrimvs, 
Shvinos to no ishIo or oixh>iI ivniinoil, — 

Tho Poli<hiim vuhvt, tho IVUisthuvs, 
Tho MoiVrts, of tho iniml. 

Vn-illRKKNH HAIIKCK. 



UOlsVUr lU'KNS, 

VKviM A "MUMOKlAl OOU." 

tSr r, not lV\o lafo's iwvjjh work wvi iKixight 

Kor him. tho loast oxoniption ; 
At his ain task ho ivunt\r wiwight ; 
Uo stnii^lii, suirvit, I'olt, and tlioiijjht. 



ICsohowin' iiiiiio, mill sliiiiiktir naii};ht. 

Till IVatli l>i>oiiglil him ix'iloiniitioii. 
Nao thoiiiloss iMiiil tliituigli l.ifo ho sought, 

.hist wlioiv lio was, hooiitoivil ; 
llo iloalt his Mows, wlioiv ilhois foiifjhi. 

Thoiv wlioiv tho hattlo .•ouloioil I 
Knio oiiily iliiwii, ahiiil I ho i>lo\v, 

I'litil tho sun was sottiii' : 
Tlio moiniu' an' tho o'onin' ilow 

His lit light manly wottin'. 

A tlioiiKhtl\r. stoopiii' hnl ho givw. 

As though honoath somo Imnlon ; 
.\ kill o' mooils, wha hiinlly know 

His lifo u Uiiio or gnoixlon ! 
Tliongli now mx I lion, wlion saiily pivst, 

Uo sjuvk' in sio hot fashion ; 
Soino wrung to man or tmist ii'ilii'st, 

Kinillit to hninin' imssion. 
A swavlliy. woll knit oliiol ho lonkoil, 

\Vi' hlaok ooii ooalliko Imrniii' ; 
Willi iiovor .slight nor insult hi'ookwl, 

Nor truo man's lo'o was sinunin' ; 

To him ilonioil tho soliolar's lonk, 

To kon tlio ivilo o' siig<'s ; 
Ihit |iirtial Natiiiv .sinwiil lior liouk 

Tho wiilor, wi' bright (vigos ; 
A' sights ami sonn's that oaino ftiio hor 

To him hail lialio nioanin' ; 
llo was hor ilaily woi-sliipor, 

■Mhhmi tho I'liiiMw loaiiin" ; 
Ho saw hor i' tho wimpUn' Imrn, 

An" i' Uio hlnoo'o'il wonimi ; 
1^110 nioiiso ami lark liinl taot to loarii 

Sii'thin' 'twas a'niaist hnnian ; 

In him, llio i>nir ilnnil> Ivaslios fan' 

A ,inilg\> an' a ilofomlor ! 
Tlioir wrangs to light, his was tho han'. 

To stato, his voioo sao tomior 1 
An' whon ho tanlil his ain trno lo'js 

Tho stoniiw swni'il to lislon j 
Tho llowoi's aivnn' him siH'iiuil to know, 

An' Willi wi" ti'ai'-iliiuvs gliston : 
Tho vory Imiilios stillinl tlioir sangs. 

As "noatli tlioni ho walkiHl oiMonin' ; 
An' soonioil to latoh his waos ami wrnngsi, 

Thoir notos to his attunin" ; 
S!>o that, rtltliongh his snn wont doun, 

liofoiv ho (vaohoil twa-siMixs 
His nainoinilka tongno is fonu", 

His sangs on ilka shor»< : 
"SwiH>t .\l1on" glidos whori' wators onrl. 
An' '" lionnio Hihmi " rins nnm' tho warl'. 

'Tis trno, ho aft forgi>l hiinsoV, 

An' soiltsl (iiiilo's i\>Ih-s aivnn' him ; 
Alas ! ho konn'il his wtvaknoss wvll : 



U^U 



tB- 



FERHONAL POEMS. 



-^ 



829 



Nor lo'<«l the cJoairuj that lx>un<i him ! 
Could he lia'e held his purjxw; true, 

Nor on iause currents drilt<«i, 
Hui sky had lx;'!n scrcner blue, 

Nor wad its win's »a<! 6hift<«L 
His nobler uw;s, liad he kenned, 

Or livi^l Hian's yeara allottwl. 
There 's nioiiy a line in [(assion penned, 

Aiblins, he might liave blotted : 

liut, ah ! we 'II pleail na« niair liis cause ; 
We lo'c him still for wliat he was ! 
He was but man, man Iwm o' woman, 
Ha<l he Uv.n mair, he 'd i;a Wn human. 
An' till we ivx his like agen. 
We '11 dra]) but How'rs, and cast nae stanc ! 
J. E, Rankin. 



& 



RHAD AT A CELEBKATION OP HIS lilHJtWAY, JAN. 1877. 

Tub voice of a wondrous Sfjr ! 

The voice of a wjuI that is strong ! 
As ti-ue as Love, arul as swift as Fear 

1 n the mazes of marvelous song. 

Fai' over the mountains l.>are, 

lU-A heather, and ridges of sea. 
It flows in the pulse of the living air. 

And throl« in the veins of the free. 

It wliisi)ers in Summer's breath. 

It lisps on the creamy shore. 
It sings in the Iij>s that smile at death 

In the storm and cataract's roar. 

It murmurs in brae and birk, 

It pleads in the ilaisy'seye. 
Where liands are toughened by honest work, 

And Wirns in their cradles lie ; 

In cjttage, and kirk, and Ijower, 

In hall, in court, artd in mart. 
In the chirp of the mavis, the liawtbom flower, 

And the maiden's simple h<;art. 

It croons in the blaze of the inn. 
Where the drouthy neigliljors bide. 

It shrieks in the gliastly glare and din, 
Where the witx;he» dance and ride. 

Its mirth is a temfjest of glee, 

Its grief is the smart of fire, 
Its solemn strain is the trump of the sea. 

Its chorus the world's desire ! 

I listen, and brooklet and wold. 
Wild bird and the liarkling wood. 



Arc breathing s<jcrct» l>efore untold 
Of the iterUxt and jassionless Good. 

I list to the Voice as it fli^is. 

And sings to the lamls and the years. 
And the light is clearer in Freefiom's eyes, 

And Poverty wi[)es his tears. 

I s(« that the I'w-'t's h'aiit 

Is brother to all who f<*l, 
Tljat the t<;nder touch of its artless art 

Is stronger than rivets of steel. 

I see how tljat man is great 

li<a.aiu»e he is simply inan ; 
Tliat the minions of grandeur and state 

On manhoo<l <an fasten no ban. 

I see liow to f)eopl<« and times 

The life of the singer leaps on. 
And gLa/ldens the wel<y<ming climes. 

Like spring-bui-sts of blossom and sun. 

I ache with the stress of the strain, — 
Its rnusic and wildness and heat ; 

Yet presse<l on the h<«irt of my pain 
Are the lips of its prophecy sweet. 

And singing, myself, I go — 

L'n'X/nscious of frown or of rod — 

To the work whose choruses flow 
With the joy and the praises of God. 

HoKATio N. Fowes& 



A BAED'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whirn-inspire'l fwl, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool ; 

I./;t him draw near. 
And owre this grassy h'iap sing d'jol. 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, not/dess, steahi the crowd among. 

That weekly this area tlirong ; 

O, jtHHH Wit by ; 
But, with a frater-f<*Iing strong, 

Here heave a sigh ! 

Is there a man whose ju'lgrnent clear 
Can others t«ach the course to steer. 
Yet runs himself life's rnarl career. 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause, and, through the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

Tlie jKwr inhabitant Ijelow 

Was quick to learn and wise to know. 



-^ 



\£r 



830 



PERSONAL FUEMS. 



fh 



Aiul keeuly felt the friendly glow, 
Anil sober Hume ; 

But thougLtlesa follies laid liini low, 

And stained his name ! 

Header, attend, — whether thy soul 
Soai's fancy's llights beyond the pole. 
Or darkly grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, ciiutious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 

Robert Uurns. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 

He 's gane, he 's gane ! be 's frae us torn. 
The ae best fellow e'er was l.iorn ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

]5y wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, * 

Where echo slumbers ! 

Come join, yo Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbei's ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hazelly sliaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 

\y{' toddlin' din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea, 
Y'e stately fo.\gloves fair to see ; 
Y'e woodbines hanging bonnilie 

In scented bowera ; 
Y'e roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flowers. 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At even, when bt^ans their fragrance shed, 

r the rustling gale. 
Ye niaukins whiddin through the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

.Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap tlie heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 
Ho 's gane forever 1 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 



e--^ 



Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 
Circling the lake ; 

Ye bitterns, till the ipiagmire reels, 
Kair for his sake. 

Mourn, clamoring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our eauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, 
Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glower, 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn. 

rivers, forests, hills and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
13ut now, what else for me remaius 

But tales of wo ? 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year I 
Ilk cowslip cup shall keep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head. 
Thy gay, green flowery tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hail". 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost. 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
.■\iid you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My JIatthew mourn ! 
For thro' your orbs he 's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson, the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone forever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river. 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee where shall I find another. 
The world around ! 

Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great. 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
r.ut by thy honest turf I '11 wait. 

Thou man of worth I 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 
E'er lay in earth. 

Robert burns. 



^ 



a- 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



-^ 



831 



iCOURSi: OF ' 



t& 



Take one example — to our pui-pose quite. 
A man of rank, anil of capacious soul, 
Who riches luid, and fame, beyond desire, 
An heir of llattery, to titles liorn, 
And reputation, and luxurious life : 
Yet, not content with ancestorial uame. 
Or to be known because his fathers were. 
He on this height hereditary stood. 
And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart 
To take another step. Above him seemed. 
Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat 
Of canonized bards; and thitherward, 
By nature taught, and inn-anl melody. 
In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye. 
No cost w,is spared. What books he wished, he 

read ; 
What sage to hear, he heard ; what scenes to see. 
He saw. And ih-st, in rambling school-boy days, 
IJritannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes. 
And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks, 
And maids, as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul 
Willi grandeur tilled, and melody, and love. 
Then travel came, and took him where he wished : 
He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp ; 
And mused alone on ancient mountain-brows ; 
Aud mused on battle- lields, where valor fought 
In other days ; and mused on ruins gray 
With years ; and drank from old and fabulous 

wells, 
And plu(.-ked the vine that first-born prophets 

plucked ; 
And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave 
Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste ; 
The heavens and cartli of every country saw : 
Wlierc'cr the old inspiring Genii dwelt, 
AuL,'lit that could rouse, expand, refine the soul, 
'I'hither lie went, and meditated there. 

He touched his harp, and nations heard en- 
tranced. 
As some vast river of unfailing source. 
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed. 
And opeiied new fountains in the human heart. 
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight. 
In other men, his fresh as morning rose. 
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at 

home. 
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though 

great. 
Beneath theirargument .seemed struggling ; whiles 
He, from above descending, stooped to touch 
The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, as 

though 
It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self 
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest 
At will with all her gloriou.s majesty. 



He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane," 
And played familiar with his hoary locks ; 
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, 
Aiid with tlie tliunder talked as friend to friend ; 
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
In sportive twist, — the lightning's liery wing, 
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
Marching upon the .storm in vengeance, seemed ; 
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung 
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters 

were ; 
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and 

storms 
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce 
As equals deemed. Ml passions of all men. 
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe ; 
All tliouglits, all maxims, sacred and profane ; 
All creeds ; all seasons, time, eternity ; 
All that was hated, aud all that \v;iit dear ; 
All that was hoped, all that was feared, by man, — 
He tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves ; 
Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck he made. 
With terror now he froze the cowering blood. 
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness ; 
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself ; 
But back into his soul retired, alone, 
Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously 
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet. 
So Ocean, from the plains his waves had late 
To desolation swept, retire<l in pride. 
Exulting in the glory of his might. 
And seemed to mock the ruin he had wi'ought. 

As some fierce comet of tremendous size. 
To which the stars diii rev(U'eiice as it jiassed, 
.So he, through learning and through fancy, took 
His flights sulilime, and on the loftiest top 
Of Fame's dread ninuntnin sat; nut soiled and 

worn, 
As if he from the earth had laborcil up, 
But as some bird of heavenly plum.age fair 
He looke<l, which down from higher regionscamc?. 
And perched it thcu'c, to see what lay beneath. 
Tile nations gazed, and wondered much and 
pr.aised. 
Critics before him fell in humble ])light ; 
Confounded fell ; and made debasing signs 
To catch his eye ; and stretched and swelled 

themselves 
To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words 
Of .admiration va.st ; and many too. 
Many that aimed to imitate his flight, 
With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made. 
And gave abundant sjiort to after days. 

Great man ! the nations gazed and wondered 
much, 
And praised ; and many called his evil good. 
Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness ; 



-ff 



[fh- 



832 



rEltSONAL PUliMS. 



t^- 



Ami lciii«H (0 ilo liiui Imiior look M\y:ht. 

TlitiM lull oftitli's, IliiUciy, lionor, I'aioo ; 

Hcvoiiil ili'sim, lu'yiinil aiiiliitioii, full, 

lie (HihI, lie iliod ol' wlmt / 01' wivloliwliuws ; 

liriink I'vcry ciiii of joy. lii'iml ovory li'uiiii) 

or liinio ; 'ilniiiU oiirly, a,v|.ly .liank ; .liuiik 

ilmiixlils 
'I'IkiI lonimon iiiilUoiiH luij^'lil lmv<' iiucin'lu'il, - 

ll.rii ai.'.l 
Ol' lliirsl, l.iviius,. tluTo wiiN n.> inuri. I<i iliink. 
llisK'"l.l.'ss, Niituro, woo.',l, .■niluiicwl, i.iijoyi',1, 
I'Vll I'roui lii.s iiniis, ulilioncil ; his imsaioua ilioil ; 
nii'il, nil lull ilri'.ny, solitary I'li'lo ; 
Aii.l 111! Ids synipuiliios ill lu'liij; clioa. 
As soiiio ill Kiiiaoil l«iiU, wi'll liiiiM iiiul tall, 
Wliirh ]iii>;ry lidi's I'lisl oiil on ili'sini sluirc, 
Ana tlii'ii, ivtiiiiig, lol'l il llioiv to rot. 
Ana iiioKlc'i- ill llio wimls una niins ol'liouvi'ii; 
So 111', I'nl, I'liiin llio syni|iatliios of lil'o, 
Ana oast, iislioiv IVoni iilcasiiio's luiisti'i'ons 8urf!;o, 
A waiuliM'inj;, wi'iiry, worn, ana wi'i'ti'lira Uiiii);, 
A s.'on'lu'a aiul arsolalo aii.l Maslnl sonl, 
A gloomy wilcli'nioss of ayiii^; tlunifjlit, 
lu'pinca, aiul j^roanca, ami witlu'U'a I'loin llio 

oaitli. 
Mis fji'oaniilK's lilloa llir luiul liis iniiiil.oi's lilloa ; 
Aiul yol lio soonioa asliainoa to i^roaii. - I'oor 

Asliaiii«l to asU, aiul yol lio niva.'d liolp. 



TO OAMPUKLL. 

'riu'F. hii\l aiuI sini|il<', — as tlio nioo 
or liou\-on-lioni pools always aio, 

W'lion sloo|iiiij; iVoiu thoir slany ]il!ii'o 
'I'lioy 'iv oliiiaron noav, tlunigli gods al'ai'. 



OAMl'-BKLL. 



I'oMH I'roin my liisl, ay, oomo I 

'I'lio Iwlllo aawii is nif^li ; 
Aiul tlu> soivamiiii; Inimp aiul llio lluiiulorinj; 
annu 

Aro oalliiig thoo to die I 

Viglil as thy latlioi' fought ; 

Kail as thy I'athov I'oll ; 
Thy task is lam-liI ; thy sliroua is wivught ; 

8o t'oiwaia'aiul faivwoU ! 

'IVn yo mv so.'oiul, toll ! 

hill- high I ho llamlvan's light, 
Aiul sing llio hymn lor a purUxl soul 

Uonoath llui silent niglil 1 



Tlio wroatli upon his liima, 

'I'lio oross upon his broiist, 
Lot Iho piayor ho siiiil aiul tlio toar ho slunl, 

So, tako him lohis lost I 

Call yo my wliolo, - ay, oall 

i'lio Im-a of Into aiul lay ; 
Aiul lot him groot tlio sahlo pall 

With a noMo song lo-aay. 

Ilo, oall him liy his iianio ! 

No litlor haiul may oravo 
To light tlio Ihimo of a sohlior's faino 

On Iho turf of a sohlior's grivvo. 

WINVllkor mackwortii rRAIllX 



TO THOMAS MOOUK. 

My lioal is on tho slioro, 

Aiul my hark is on Iho soa ; 
Hut hoforo 1 go, T,.iii Mooro, 

lloro 'saaoiihlo lioallh to llioo I 

lloro 's a sigh to tho,so who lovo mo, 
Aiul a smilo to tlioso who hnt« ; 

Aiul, wlialovor sky 's ahovo mo, 
lloro 's a hoart ior ovory I'alo I 

Though Iho oooun roar arouiul nio, 
Yot it still shall boar mo on ; 

Though a aosorl shoiiUl surrouna mo, 
It iialh springs thai may W won. 

W'oro 'I tho last arop in tho woU, 

As I gasjioa upon Iho hi'ink, 
Kro my liiinling spirit loll, 

•T ii to thoo that 1 wouhl arink. 

With that walor, as this wiiio, 

Tho lilialion 1 wouhl pour 
.Shouia ho, - - IVaoo with tliino aiul inino, 

Aiul a hoallh to thoo, Tom Mooro I 

1 OKU llVRON. 



llUKiAL OF SIU JOHN MOOUK. 

Not a drum was honnl, not a fuuonil iioto, 
As his oorso to tlio nuiipart wo liurriod ; 

Not a .sohlior liisohargoa his farowoU shot 
O'or tho giiivo whoiv our lioiv wo buried. 

Wo hurioa him aarkly. at deaa of night, 
Tlio soas with our bayonets turning ; 

Uy tlio stniggling moonboains' misty light, 
And the laiitorn dimly burning. 



-ff 



ttr- 



I'KUHONAL I'OKMH. 



:^ 



833 



No liHclcHM codiii ciicloHul hlB \iviimi. 

Nor in Hhcct nor in diiiond wo wounil liixn ; 

JJut III! Iiiy, like II warrior taking hi» rcHl, 
Willi iiix initrtiul cloak around liiin. 

Few and nliort wi:rc tlio prttyijr» wo »aid, 
Anil wi) Biioke not u word ol' Borrow ; 

liut WI! BtcaillaBlly gaziid on tlio fa<;i; of iho dea<l, 
And wi; Ijittcrly thought ol' the morrow. 

Wo thought, OH wo hollowoil hi« narrow bod, 
And Bnioothud down hiH lonoly pillow, 

Tliat thii foi) and the Btranger would troad o'er 
hiB l.ea/1. 
And we far away on the hillow I 

Lightly they 'II talk of the B[iirit that 'b gone, 
And o'er hiB i.old aHhen uphraid lilni ; 

Hut little he '11 reek, if they let him Bleep on 
In the grave where a Hriton lian laid him I 

IJut half of our heavy t'lBk waH done, 

When the eloek tolled the hour for retiring ; 

And we heard tlie distant and random gun 
That tho foo woh Bullenly firing. 

Hlowly and »(ully we laid him down, 

From the lield of hi» fame froBh and gory I 

Wo curved not a lino, and wo raiBcd not a Htonc, 
liut wo left him alono in hix glory. 

CHAhLKU WOI-PH. 



TO JOHN LAMB, ESQ.,* OF THE 80UT11-8EA 
HOUSE. 

./oiiN, you were lignring in the gay career 
Of hlooniing manhood with a young man's joy, 
When I waB yet a little peeviBh boy — 
'i'hough time haH made the difference iliBappear 
lietwixt our agoB, which thmmubUMil so great — 
And still by rightful custom you retain 
Much of the old authoritative strain. 
And k«!p the elder brother up in state. 
0, you do well in this ! 'T is man's worst dewl 
To let the " things that have been" run to wasto. 
And in the unmeaning present sink the past ; 
In whose dim glass even now I faintly read 
Old buried fonns, and faces long ago. 
Which you, and I, and one more, only know. 
CiiAKLKB Lam 



KMMKT'H EWTAPH. 

(koherl I!mmct, llic cclcbriitcl IrUti rry.lutl'.Hl*!, nt lilit UU\ for 
lilifli ireawn, which rcoullcl In lili c/nvli.l|/<ti uml mriMinn, Sep. 
tctiiher 'Ml, iHvi. iiuiio an ^Mucnt mi'l {Mlhetl'. ilcfcin.;, con- 
cluflln(( with tlicM; worth : " t,et there ho no ln«crl|,ll/jii u(K/n niy 
I'rtnh. I.«t n/j iiwn write my epitnph. lx:t my clurocter and my 
iiw^lvctj rcfxyv: In security nn'l pca'.e till f/llicr tlnicft an/I other 
mm '..in ih. them Justice. Then ttull my ctmrAeter he vlmllcale'J ( 
then tfuty my epttiiph l,e written. I tiMve done." It wa« Imnic- 
'llMtely upon tnvUnti thl» «pee<:h ttiat the follf/wlni; hnet were 

" Lkv no man write my ejjitajili ; let my grave 
I'o uninscribed, and let my memory rent 
Till other times are come, and other men, 
Who then may do mo justice." 

liminet, no I 
No withering curse hath drieil my sjiirit uji, 
That I should now Ixj silent, — tlial my soul 
Should from the stirring inspiration shrink. 
Now when it shakes her, and withhold her voice, 
Of that diviiiest impulse nevermore 
Worthy, if impious I withheld it now. 
Hardening my heart. Hero, here in this freo 

Isle, 
To which in thy young virtue's oning zeal 
Thou wert so jxjrilouit an enemy. 
Here in free England shall an Knglish hand 
IJuild thy imperishable monument ; 
O, to thino own misfortune and to ours, 
liy thino own deailly error so beguiled. 
Here in freo Kngland shall an English voice 
I{ii.ise up thy mourning-song. For thou hast 

paid 
Tho bitti;r [icnalty of that miwleed ; 
.Justice hath done her unrelenting part. 
If she in truth be Justice who driv™ on. 
Bloody and blind, the chariot-wheels of death. 



ON MI8H MARIA TEEE, 



^^- 



On this Tree when a nightingale settles and sings 
Tho Tree will return her a» good a» she brings. 
Hbnry LyriKiii-i.. 
• Elder Irfollicr of the poet 



Ho young, so glowing for the general good, 
0, what a lovely manhood had been thine. 
When all tho violent workings of thy youth 
Had passed away, hadst thou been wisidy sj/ared, 
Left to the slow and certain influences 
Of silent feeling and maturing thought ! 
How hful that heart, —that noble heart of thine. 
Which even now hiul snapped one sjiell, which 

ls;at 
Witli such bravo indignation at the shame 
And guilt of France, and of her miscreant lord,— 
How had it clung to England I With what love, 
What pure and perfect love, retimied to her, 
Now worthy of thy love, the chamiiion now 
For freedom, — yea, the only champion now. 
And soon to Ix; the avenger. liut the blow 
Hath ffillen, tho undiseriminating blow, 
That for its portion to the grave consigned 
Youth, Genius, generous Virtue. 0, grief, griefl 
0, sorrow and roproardi I Have ye U) Icani, 
iJeaf U) the past, and U) tho futuro blind, 
Ye who thus irremissihly exact 



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834 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



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The forfeit life, how lightly life is stnkml, 
Whi'ii ill disteiiii>eieil times the feverish mind 
To strong delusion yields i Have ye to learn 
With wlmt 11 deep iind spirit-stirring voice 
Pity doth call lievengo ? Have ye no hearts 
To feel and understand how Jterey tames 
The rebel nature, maddened by old wrongs, 
And binds it in the gentle bunds of love, 
When steel luul adamant were weak to hold 
That Samson-strength subdued ! 

Let no man write 
Thy epitaph ! Emmot, niiy ; thou slialt not go 
Without thy funeral strain ! young and good. 
And wise, though erring hero, thou shalt not go 
I'lilioMored or unsung. And better thus 
lieueath that undiseriminating stroke, 
Ik'tter to fall, than to have lived to mourn, 
As sure thou wouldst, in misery and remorse, 
Thine own disastrous triumph ; to liave seen, 
If the Almighty at that awful hour 
Had turned away his faee, wild Ignorance 
Let loose, and frantie Vengeance, and dark 

zeal, 
And nil bud passions tyrannous, and the lives 
t>f rerseeution once again ablaze. 
How had it sunk into thy sold to see, 
Last curse of all, the rtilHau slaves of l''ranoe 
lu tliy dear native country lording it ! 
How happier thus, in that heroic mood 
That takes away the sting of death, to die, 
liy all the good and all the wise foigiven ! 
Yea, in all ages by the wise and good 
To be remembereil, mourned, and honored still ! 

ROBERT SOUTHnv 



© 



DEATH-BED OF BOMBA, KINO OF NAPLES, 



Cdfi.K I pass those lounging sentries, through 

the aloe-boi\lercd entries, up tllo sweep of 

sipialid stair. 
On through chamber after ehamlwr, where the 

sunshine's gold and amber turn decay to 

beauty ran', 
I should reach a guarded portal, where for strife 

of issue mortal, face to faee two kings are 

met : 
One the grisly King of Terrors ; one n Bourbon, 

with his errors, late to conscience-clearing 

set. 
Well his fevered pulse may flutter, and the priests 

their mass may mutter with such fervor 

as they may : 
Cross and chrism, niul genuilection, mop and 

mow, and interjection, will not frighten 

Death away. 



By the dying despot sitting, at the hard heart's 

portals hitting, shocking the dull brain to 

work. 
Death makes clear what life has hidden, chides 

what life has left unchidden, iiuickous truth 

life tried to liurkc. 
Ho but ruled within his borders after H(dy 

Church's orders, did what Austria bade him 

do; 
By their guidance Hogged and tortured ; high- 
born men and gently nurtured ■•haincd with 

crime's felonious crew. 
What if summer fevers gripped them, what if 

winter freezings nipped them, till they 

rotted in their chains ? 
He had word of Pope and Kaiser ; none could 

holier be or wiser ; theirs the counsel, his 

the reins. 
So ho pleads excuses eager, cliitchiug, with his 

fingers meagi'V, at the bcdclnlhes as he 

speaks ; 
Hut King Death sits grimly grinning at the 

Bourbon's cobweb-spinning, — as each cob- 
web-cable bivaks. 
And the poor soul, from life's eylot, rudderless, 

without a pilot, drifteth slowly down the 

dark : 
While mid rolling incense vapor, chanted dirge, 

and flaring taper, lies the body, stiff and 

stark. 



O, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME I 



0, iu:e.\tu1' not his name I let it sleopin the shade. 
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid ; 
Sail, silent, and dark bo the tears that we shed. 
As the night-dew that falls on the gmve o'er liis 
head." 

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence 

it weeps. 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave whore he 

sleejis ; 
And the tear that we shed, thoughin secret it rolls, 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 
Thomas Mooke. 



JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 

DIED IN NRW VORK. SEPTEHBKR, iSao. 

GiiEEN be the turf above thee, 
Fiiend of my better days ! 

None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thoo but to praise. 



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FEBSONAL POEMS. 



835 



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Tears fell, when thou wert dying, 

From eyes unused to wcej), 
And long, where thou art lying. 

Will tears the cold turf steep. 

When hearts, whose truth was proven,^ 
IJke tliine, are laid in earth, 

Tljeie should a wreath he woven 
To ttU the world their worth ; 

Aiirl I, wlio woke each morrow 

To clasp thy lian<l in mine, 
Who shared tliy joy and sorrow. 

Whose weal and woe were thine, 

It should be mine to braid it 

Around thy faded brow. 
But 1 've in vain essayed it, 

And feel I cannot now. 

While nieinory bids me weep thee, 
Xor thoughts nor words are free, 

The grief is fixed too deeply 
That nionms a njan like thee. 

F1TZ-GKEE.VE IIALLECK. 



fQ^. 



TO TOUtJSAINT L'OUVERTfrRE. 

'I'orsKAi.sT ! the most unhapjiy man of men ! 
Whether the whistling rustic tend his plow 
Wiihin thy hearing, or thy hcail be now 
I'illowed in some deep dungeon's earless den, 
II miserable chieftain I where and when 
Wilt thou find patience ? Yet die not ; do thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow : 
Though fallen thysfdf, never to rise again. 
Live and take comfort. Thou hast left lj<;hind 
Powers that will work for thee ; air, earth, and 

skies : 
There 's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee ; thou hast great allies ; 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies. 
And love, and man's uncon')Uerable mind. 

William Word.'^worth. 



IN REMEMBRANCE OF JOSirPH STURGE. 

I .s the fair land o'erwatchedby Ischia's mountains. 

Across the charmfed bay 
Whose blue waves keep with Capri's silver foun- 
tains 

Perpetual holiday, 

A "king lies dead, his wafer duly eaten, 
His gold-bought masses given ; 



And Rome's great altar smokes with gums to 
sweeten 
Her foulest gift to Heaven. 

And while all Naples thrills with mute thanks- 
giving, 

The court of England's queen 
For the dea'l monster s<i abhorred while living 

In mourning garb is seen. 

With a true sorrow God rebukes that feigning; 

By lone Edgbiist'jn's side 
Stands a great city in the sky's sad raining. 

Bare-headed and wet-eyed ! 

Silent for once the restless hive of lalxtr, 

.Save the low funeral treail. 
Or voice of craftsman whispering to his neighbor 

The good dced-s of the dead. 

For him no minster's chant of the immortals 

Rose from the lips of sin ; 
No mitered priest swung back the heavenly jKjrtals 

To let the white soul in. 

But Age and .Sickness framed their tearful faces 

In the low hovel's door. 
And pniyers went up from all the dark by-places 

And Ghettos of the poor. 

The [Killid toiler and the negro chattel, 

The vagrant of the street, 
Tlie human 'lice wherewith in games of battle 

The lords of earth compete. 

Touched with a grief that needs no outward 
draping. 

All swelled the long lament. 
Of grateful hearts, instead of marble, shaping 

HLs viewless monument ! 

For never yet, with ritual pomp and splendor, 

In the long heretofore, 
A heart more loyal, warm, and true, and tfmder. 

Has P^ngland's turf closed o'er. 

And if there fell from out her grand old steeples 

No crash of bra/en wail, 
The murmurous woe of kindreds, tongues, and 
peoples 

.Swi'pt in on every gale. 

It came from Holstein's birclien-belted meadows, 

And from the tropic calms 
Of Indian islands in the sun-smit shadows 

Of Occidental palms ; 

From the locked roa<lstea<Is of the Bothnian 
peasants, 
And harbors of the Finn, 



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836 



PERSONAL POEMS. 



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AVhew wtu-'s worn victiius saw his geutle presence 
Come sailing, Christ -like, in, 

To seek the lost, to luiilil the old waste places, 

To link the hostile shores 
or severing seas, and sow with En<;land's daisies 

The moss of Finland's moors. 

Thanks for the {jood man's heautiful example, 

Who in the vilest saw 
Some saered erypt or altar of a temple 

Still voeal with God's law ; 

And lieanl with tender ear the spirit sighing 

As fivni its prison cell, 
rr.iying for pity, like the mournful eryiug 

Of .lonah out of hell. 

Not his the golden pen's or lip's pei-sunsion. 

But a tine sense of right, 
And Truth's directness, meeting each occasion 

Straight as a line of light. 

Hisfaith and works, like streams that intermingle, 

In the same channel niu ; 
The crystal cloarncs.s of an eye kept single 

Shamed all the frauds of man. 

The Tery gentlest of all human natures 

He joined to courage stixnig. 
And love ontreaching unto all God's creatures 

AVith stuixly hate of wrong. 

Tender as woman ; manliness and meekness 

In him were so allied, 
That they who judged him by his strength or 
weakness 

Saw but a single side. 

Men failed, betrayed him, but his zeal seemed 
nourished 

By failure and by fall ; 
Still a large faith in human-kind he cherished, 

And in God's love for all. 

.\ud now he rests : his greatness and his sweetness 

No morel shall seem at strife ; 
And death has molded into calm completeness 

The statue of his life. 

Where the dews glisten and the song-biiils warble. 

His dust to dust is laid. 
In Nature's keeping, with no pomp of marble 

To shame his modest shade. 

The forges glow, the hammers all me ringing ; 

Beneath its smoky vale, 
Haixi by, the city of his love is swinging 

Its clamorons iron flail. 



Hut ivnnd his grave are quietude and beauty. 
And the sweet heaven above, — 

The titling symlwls of a life of duty 
Transfigureul into love ! 

John Grbbnlbav wmniuK. 



TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD, 

Take Iwck into thy bosom, eaith. 

This joyous. May-eyed morrow. 
The gentlest child that ever mirth 

liave to be reared by sorrow ! 
"1" is hard — while rays half green, half gold. 

Through vernal Iniwei's are burning, 
.•\uil streams their diamond mirrora hold 

To Summer's face returning — 
To say we 're^ thankful that his sleep 

Shall nevermore be lighter, 
In whose sweet-tongued comi«inionship 

Stream, bower, and beam grew brighter ! 

But all the more intensely true 

His soul gave out each feature 
Of elemental love, — each hue 

And grace of golden natui'o, — 
The deeper still Inineath it all 

l.urked the keen jags of anguish ; 
The more the hmrels clasped his bi\)w 

Their poison maile it languish. 
Seemed it that, like the nightingale 

tif his own mournful singing. 
The tendere'r would his .song prevail 

While most the thorn was stinging. 

So never to the desert -worn 

IMd fount laing freshness deeper 
Thnn that his placid rest this morn 

Has brought the shrouded sleeper. 
That rest may lap his wi'ary head 

^\■here eluiVnels choke the city. 
Or wherei, mid woodlands, by his bod 

The wren shall wake its ditty ; 
Hut near or far, while evening's star 

Is dear to hearts regretting, 
.\TOund that spot admiring thought 

Shall hover, niiforgetting. 

Baktholomew Simmons. 



A VOICE, AND NOTHING ELSE. 

' I WONPEB if Brougham thinks as much as he 
talks," 
Said a punster, perusing a trial : 
' I vow, since his lordship was made Baron 
Vaux, 
He 's Iweu FniiO! etprtelerea nihil!' 



ANON^'MOUS. 



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a- 



PERSONAL POEMH. 



837 



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MACAULAY. 

'J'iiK iJnKiiiiy rliymer's measured snore 
Kails lieavy on our ears no more ; 
And by long strides are left behind 
'i'lie dear delights of womankind, 
Who wage their l)attles like their loves, 
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves. 
Anil have achieved the crowning work 
When they have trussed and skewered a Turk. 
Aiiotlier comes with stouter tread, 
And stalks among the statelier dead. 
He rushes on, and hails by turns 
High-crested Scott, broati -breasted Burns; 
And shows the British youth, who ne'er 
Will lag behind, what Romans were, 
When all the Tuscans and their Lars 
Sliouted, and sliook the towers of Mars. 

Walter savage Landor. 



y- 



SONNETS TO GEORGE SAND. 
A DESIKE. 

Thou large-brained woman and large-heartcdman, 
.Self-called George Sand ! who.se soul amid the 

lions 
Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance. 
And answers roar for roar, as spirits can, 
I would some mild miraculous thunder ran 
Above the applauded circus, in appliance 
Of thine own nobler nature's strength and sci- 
ence, 
Drawing two pinions, white as wings of swan, 
Fiom thy strong shoulders, to amaze the place 
With holier light ! that thou to woman's claim. 
And man's, might join beside the angel's grace 
Oi a pure genius sanctified from blame ; 
Till child and maiden pressed to thine em- 
brace. 
To ki.ss upon thy lips a stainless fame. 



A RECOGNITION. 

TmiE genius, but true woman ! dost deny 
Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, 
And break away the gauds and armlets worn 
By weaker women in captivity ? 
Ah, vain denial ! that revolted cry 
Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn ; 
Thy woman's hair, my sister, all unshorn. 
Floats back disheveled strength in agony. 
Disproving thy man's name ; and while before 
The world thou burnest in a poet-fire, 
We see. thy woman-heart beat evermore 



Through the large flame. Beat purer, heart, 

and higher. 
Till God unsex thee on the heavenly shore. 
Where tmincamate spirits purely aspire. 

ELlZAbEIH BAKKEIT BKOWNINO. 



HEINE'S GRAVE. 

"Henki Heine" — 't is here ! 

The black tombstone, the name 

Carved there — no more ! and the smooth, 

Swarded alleys, the limes 

Touched with yellow by hot 

Summer, but under them still 

In Septemter's blight afternoon 

Shadow and verdure and cool ! 

Trim Montmartre ! the faint 

Munnur of Paris outside ; 

Crisp everlasting-flowers. 

Yellow and bUck on the graves. 

Half blind, palsied, in pain, 
Hither to come, from the streets' 
Uproar, surely not loath 
Wast thou, Heine, — to lie 
Quiet ! to ask for closed 
Shutters, and darkened room. 
And cool drinks, and an eased 
Posture, and opium, no more ! 
Hither to come, and to sleep 
Under the wings of IJenowu. 

Ah ! not little, when jiain 
Is most rjuelling, and man 
Easily quelled, and the fine 
Temper of genius alive 
Quickest to ill, is the praise 
Not to have yielded to ]»ain ! 
No small boast for a weak 
Son of mankind, to the earth 
Pinned liy the thunder, to rear 
His bolt-scathed front to the stars, 
And, undaunted, retort 
'Gainst thick-crashing, insane. 
Tyrannous temjx-sts of hale. 
Arrowy lightnings of soul ! 

Hark ! through tlie alley resounds 
Mocking laughter ! A film 
Creeps o'er the sunshine ; a breeze 
Ruffles the warm afternoon, 
Saddens my soul with its chill 
Gibing of spirits in scorn 
Shakes every leaf of the grove, 
Mars the benignant refmse 
Of this amiable home of the dead. 



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838 



PEKSONAL POEMS. 



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& 



Hitter spirits ! ye claim 

lleiue ? — Alas, he is join's ! 

Only a moment 1 longoil 

Heiv in the (jniet to snatch 

Kivni siu-h mates the outworn 

foot, ami steep him in culm. 

Only a moment ! 1 knew 

Whose ho was who is hei'e 

liuried ; I knew he was yours ! 

Ah, 1 knew that 1 saw 

Here no sepuhher built 

In the laviivUHl mck, o'er the Uuo 

Naples Imy, for a sweet 

Tender Virgil ! no tomb 

On Ravenna s;uuls, in the shade 

Of Kavenna pines, lor a high 

Austeiv Panto ! no grave 

By the Avon side, in the bright 

Stratford meadows, for thee, 

Shakespeare ! loveliest of souls. 

Peerless in nidiauce, in joy. 

What so hai'sli and malign, 
Heine ! distills from thy life. 
Poisons the peace of thy grave ? 

Charm is the glory which makes 

t<ong of the jioot divine ; 

Love is the fountain of charm. 

How without charm wilt thou draw, 

Poet, the world to thy way ' 

Not by the lightnings of wit, 

Not by the thunder of scorn ! 

These to the world, too, are given ; 

Wit it possesses, and scorn, — 

Charm is the poet's alone. 

Jlolloir and dull are thi! great, 

And artists envious, and the mob profane. 

Wo know all this, we know ! 

Oam'st thou from heaven, child 

or light ! but this to declare ? 

Alas ! to help us forget 

Such barren knowledge awhile, 

God gave the poet his song. 

Therefore a secret unrest 

Tortured tlice, brilliant and bold ! 

Tlicrefore triumpli itself 

Tasted amiss to tliy soul. 

Therefore, with blood of thy foes. 

Trickled in silence thine own. 

Therefore the victor's heart 

Broke on the field of his fame. 

Ah ! as of old from the pomp 

Of Italian Milan, the fair 

Flower of marble of white 

Southern palaces, — steps 

Boixlered by statues, and walks 

Terniced, and orange bowers 



Heavy with fragrance, — the blond 
German Kaiser full oft 
Longed himself Ixick to the fields, 
Kivei's, and high-reiofed towns 
C>f his native Germany ; so, 
So, how often ! fivm hot 
Paris drawing-rooms, and lamps 
Blazing, and brilliant crowds. 
Starred and jeweled, of men 
Famous, of women the queens 
Of dazzling convei^e, and fumes 
Of praise, — hot, heady fumes, to the poor brain 
That mount, that madden ! — how oft 
Heine's spirit, outworn. 
Longed itself out of tlie din 
Back to the tranquil, the cool. 
Far German home of his yonth ! 
See : in the May afternoon. 
O'er the fresh short turf of the Hartz, 
A youth, with the foot of youth, 
Heine ! thou climbest again. 
Up, through the tall dark tirs 
Warming their heads in the sun. 
Checkering the grass with their shade, 
Up, by the stream with its huge 
Moss-hung bowldei's and thin 
Musical water half-hid, 
Up o'er the rock-strewn slope. 
With the sinking sun, and tlie air 
Chill, and the shadows now- 
Long on the gray hillside, 
To the stone-roofed hut at the top. 

Or, yet later, in watch 
On the roof of the Brocken tower 
Thou stiuidest, gJizing ! to see 
The broad ivd sun, over field, 
Forest and city and spire 
And mist-tracked stream of the wide, 
Wide Gernum laud, going down 
In a Imnk of vapors, — agjiin 
Standest ! at nightJ'all, alone ; 
Or, next morning, with limbs 
Kested by slumber, and heart 
Freshened and light Mith the Jlay, 
O'er the gracious spurs coming down 
Of the lower Hartz, among oak.s. 
And beechen coverts, and copse 
Of hazels green in whose depth 
Use, the fairy transformed, 
In a thousand water-breaks light 
Pours her petulant youth, — 
Climbing the rock which juts 
O'er the valley, the dizzily pere'hed 
Kock ! to its Iron Cross 
Once more thou cUng'st ; to the Cross 
Clingest ! with smiles, with a sigh. 



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FEliSONAL POEMS. 



839 



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But something piouipts iric : Not thus 
Take leave of Heine, not thus 
Sixjak the last word at his gi'ave ! 
Not in ]jity and not 
With half-censure, — with awe 
Hail, as it passes from earth, 
Seattering liglitnings, that soul 1 

The sjjirit of the world, 
IJeholding the absurdity of men, — 
'I'heir vaunts, their feats, — let a sardonic smile 
Kor one short moment wander o'er his lips. 
Tlmt umilc was Ucine ! for its earthly hour 
The strange guest sparkled ; now 't is passed 
away. 

That was Heine ! and we, 
Myriads who live, who liavi: lived. 
What are we all, but a mood, 
A single mood, of the life 
Of the Being in whom we exist. 
Who alone is all things in one. 
Spirit, who fiUest us all 1 
.Sjurit, who utterest in ea<;h 
New-coming son of mankind 
Such of thy thoughts as thou wilt ! 
thou, one of whose moods, 
liitter and strange, was the life 
Of Heine, — his strange, alas ! 
His bitter life, — may a life 
<>tlier and milder be mine ! 
Mayst thou a mood more .serene. 
Happier, have uttered in mine ! 
.Mayst thou the rajiture of jieaee 
Deep have embreathcd at its core ! 
Made it a ray of thy thought, 
Made it a beat of thy joy ! 



A WELCOME TO "BOZ," 



CoMK as artist, come as guest. 
Welcome to the expectant West, 
Hero of the charmed pen, 
Loved of children, loved of men. 
We have felt thy spell for years ; 
Oft with lauglit(!r, oft with tears. 
Thou hast touched the tcnderest part 
Of our inmost, hidden lieart. 
We have fixed our eager gaze 
On thy pages nights and days. 
Wishing, as we turned tliem o'er, 
Like i>oor Oliver, for "more," 
And the creatures of thy brain 
In our memory remain. 
Till througli them we seem to be 
Old acquaintances of thee. 



Much we hold it thee to greet, 

Gladly sit we at thy feet ; 

On thy features we would look, 

As upon a living book, 

And thy voice would grateful hear. 

Glad to feel that Boz were near, 

That his veritable soul 

Held us by direct control : 

Therefore, author loved the best. 

Welcome, welcome to the West. 

In immortal WifUer's name, 
By the rare Micawber's fame. 
By the flogging wreaked on Squeere, 
By Job Trotter's fluent teare. 
By the beadle Bumble's fate 
At the hands of shrewish mate. 
By the famous Pickwick Club, 
By tlie dream of Gabriel Grubb, 
In the name of Snodgrass' muse, 
Tupman's amorous interviews. 
Winkle's ludicrous misha))s. 
And the fat boy's countless naps ; 
By lien Allen and Bob Sawyer, 
By .Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer, 
In the name of Newman Noggs, 
River Thames, and London fogs, 
Ricluird Swiveller's exrass, 
Feasting with the Marchioness, 
By .Tack BuiLsby's oracles. 
By the chime of ChrLstmas bells. 
By the crirket on the hearth. 
By the sound of childish mirth. 
By spread tables and good cheer, 
Wayside inns and pots of beer. 
Hostess plump and jolly host. 
Coaches for the turnpike post. 
Chambermaid in love with Boots, 
Toodlcs, Traildles, Tapley, Toots, 
Betsey Trotwooil, Mister Dick, 
Susan Nipper, Mi.stress Chick, 
Sncvellieci, Lilyvick, 
Mantalini's predilections 
To transfer his warm affections, 
By poor Bamaby and Grip, 
Flor:i. Dora, Di, and Gip, 
Pern, liingle, Pinch and Pip, — 
Welcome, long-expected guest, 
Welcome to the grateful West. 

In the name of gentle Nell, 

Child of light, beloved well, — 

Weeping, did we not behold 

Roses on her bosom cold ? 

Better we for every tear 

Shed lieside her snowy bier, — 

By the mournful group that played 

Round the grave where Smike was laid, 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



By the life of Tiny Tim, 
And the lesson tauglit by him, 
Asking in his plaintive tone 
God to "bless us every one," 
By the sounding waves that bore 
Little Paul to Heaven's shore, 
By thy yearning for the human 
Good iu every man and woman. 
By each noble deed and word 
That thy story-books record, 
And each noble sentiment 
Dickens to the world hath lent, 
By the effort thou hast made 
Truth and true reform to aid. 
By thy hope of man's relief 
Finally from want and grief, 
By thy never-failing trust 
That the God of love is just, — 
We would meet and welcome thee. 
Preacher of humanity : 
■Welcome fills the throbbing breast 
Of the sympathetic West 



W. H. \'ENABLE 



And so in mountain solitudes — o'ertaken 

As by some spell divine — 
Theii- cares dropped from them like the needles 
shaken 

From out the gusty pine. 

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its tire ; 

And he who wrought that spell ? — 
Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, 

Ye have one tale to tell ! 

Lost is that camp ! but let its fragrant story 
Blend with the breath that thrills 

With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory 
That fills the Kentish hills. 

And on that grave where English oak and holly 

And laurel wreaths intwine, 
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, — 

This spray of Western pine. 

^ '' BRET HARTE. 



[y 



DICKENS IN CAMP. 

Above the pines the moon was slowly di'iftiug, 

The river sang below ; 
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting 

Their minarets of snow. 

The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 

The ruddy tints of health 
On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted 

In the fierce race for wealth ; I 

Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure 

A hoarded volume drew, 
And cards were dropped from hands of listless 
leisure, 

To bear the tale anew ; 

And then, while round them shadows gathered 
faster, 

And as the firelight fell. 
He read aloud the book wherein the Master 

Had writ of " Little Xell." 

Perhaps 't was boyish fancy, — for the reader 

Was youngest of them all, — 
But, as lie read, from clustering pine and cedar 

A silence seemed to fall : 

The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows. 

Listened in every sjiray, 
\Vhile the whole camp, with " Nell," on English 
meadows 

Wandered and lost their way. 



TO VICTOR HUGO. 

Victor in poesy ! Victor in romance ! 

Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears ! 
French of the French aud lord of human 
teal's ! 
Child lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance. 
Darkening the wreaths of all that would ad- 
vance 
Beyond our strait their claim to be thy peers ! 
Weird Titan, by thy wintry weight of years 
As yet unbroken ! Stormy voice of France, 
AVho does not love our England, so they say ; 
1 know not ! England, France, all men to be. 
Will make one people, ere man's race be 
run ; 
And I, desiring that diviner day. 

Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy 
To younger England in the boy, my -son. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 



DANIEL BOONE. 



FROM " DON JUAN." 



Of all men, saving Sylla the man-slayer. 
Who passes for in life and death most lucky. 

Of the great names which in our faces stare, ^ 
The General Boone, backwoodsman of Ken- 
tucky, 

AVas happiest amongst mortals anywhere ; 
For, killing nothing but a bear or buck, he 

Enjoyed the lonely, vigorous, harmless days 

Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze. 



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Crime came not near him, she is not the child 
Of solitude ; Health shrank not fi'om him, for 

Her home is in the rarely trodden wdd. 
Where if men seek her not, and death be more 

Their choice than life, forgive them, as heguUed 
By habit to what their own hearts abhor. 

In cities caged. The present case in point I 

Cite is, that Boone lived hunting up to ninety; 

And, what 's still stranger, left behind a name 
For which men vainly decimate the throng, 

Not only famous, but of that good fame. 

Without which glory 's but a tavern song, — 

Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame. 

Which hate nor envy o'er could tinge with 
wrong ; 

An active hermit, even in age the child 

Of nature, or the Man of Ross run wild. 

'T is true he shrank from men, even of his nation ; 

When they built up unto his darling ti'ees, 
He moved some hundred miles off, for a station 

Where there were fewer houses and more ease ; 
The inconvenience of civilization 

Is that you neithw' can be pleased nor please ; 
But where he met the individual man. 
He showed himself as kind as mortal can. 

He was not all alone ; around him grew 
A sylvan tribe of children of the chase, 

Whose young, unwakened world wa.s ever new ; 
Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace 

(In her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view 
A frown on nature's or on human face : 

The freeborn forest found and kept them free. 

And fresli as is a torrent or a tree. 

And tall, and strong, and swift of foot, were they. 
Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions. 

Because their thouglits had never been the prey 
Of care or gain : the green woods were their 
portions ; 

Xo sinking spirits told them they grew gray ; 
No fashion made them apes of her distortions ; 

Simple they were, not savage ; and their rifles. 

Though very true, were not yet used for trifles. 

Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, 
And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil ; 

Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers ; 
Corruption could not make their hearts her soil. 

The lust which stings, the splendor which en- 
cumbers. 
With the free foresters divide no spoil : 

Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes 

Of this unsighmg people of the woods. 



WASHINGTON. 



FROM " UNDHR THE ELM," 
1875, ON THE HUNDREDT 
TON'S TAKING COMMAND ( 



LEAD AT CAMBRIDGE. JULY 3, 
ANNIVERSARY OF WASHING- 
f THE AMERICAN ARMY. 



Bene.^th our consecrated elm 

A i^entury ago he stood. 

Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood. 

Which redly foamed round him but could not 

overwhelm 
The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn 

helm. 
From colleges, where now the gown 
To arms had yielded, from the town. 
Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see 
The new-come chiefs and wonder which W'as he. 
No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, 
Long ti'aincd in murder-brooding forests lone 
To bridle others' clamors and his own, 
Firmly erect, he towered above them all, 
The incarnate discipline that was to free 
With iron curb that armeil democracy. 

Haughty they said he was, at first, severe. 
But owned, as all men own, the steady hand 
Upon the bridle, patient to command. 
Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear. 
And learned to honor first, then love him, then 

revere. 
Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint, 
And i)urpose clean as light from every selfish 

taint. 

Musing beneath the legendaiy tree. 

The years between furl off : I seem to see 

The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, 

Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue. 

And weave prophetic aureoles round tlie head 

That shines our beacon now, nor darkens with the 

dead. 
man of silent mood, 
A stranger among strangers then, 
How art thou since renowned the Cheat, tho 

Good, 
Familiar as the day in all tlie homes of men ! 
The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, 
Blow many names out : they but fan to flame 
The self-renewing splendors of thy fame. 

0, for a drop of that terse Roman's ink 

Who gave Agricola dateless length of days. 

To celebrate him fitly, neither swerve 

To phrase unkempt, nor pass discretion's brink. 

With him so statuelike in sad reserve. 

So diflident to claim, so forvvard to deserve ! 

Nor need I shun due influence of his fame 

Who, mortal among mortals, seemed as now 

The equestrian shape with unimpassioned brow, 

That paces silent on through vistas of acclaim, 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



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Wliat figure more immovably august 

Tlian that grave strength so jjatient and so 

pure, 
Calm in good fortune, when it wavered, sure, 
That soul serene, impenetrably just, 
Modeled on classic lines, so simple they endure ! 
That soul so softly radiant and so white 
The track it left seems less of tire than light. 
Cold but to such as love distemperature ? 
And if pure light, as some deem, be the force 
That drives rejoicing planets on their course. 
Why for his power benign seek an impurer 

source ? 
His was the true enthusiasm that burns long. 
Domestically bright. 
Fed from itself and shy of human sight. 
The hidden force that makes a lifetime strong, 
And not the short-lived fuel of a song. 
Passionless, say you ? What is passion for 
But to sublime our natures and control 
To front heroic toils with late return. 
Or none, or such as shames the conqueror ? 
That fire was fed with substance of the soul, 
And not with holiday stubble, that could burn 
Tluough seven slow years of unadvancing war, 
K(]ual when fields were lost or fields were won. 
With lireath of popular applause or blame, 
Nor fanned nor damped, umiuenchably the same, 
Too inward to be reached by flaws of idle fame. 

Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 
High-poised example of great duties done 
Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 
As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 
Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 
But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 
Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 
Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 
Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed 
Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 
Not honored then or now because he wooed 
The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 
Broad-minded, higher-soul ed, there is but one 
Who was all this, and ours, and all men's, — 
Washington. 

Jlinds strong by fits, irregularly gi'eat, 

That Hash and darken like revolving lights. 

Catch more the vulgar eye imsehooled to wait 

On the long curve of patient days and nights. 

Rounding a whole life to the circle fair 

Of orbed completeness ; and this balanced soul, 

So simple in its grandeur, coldly bare 

Of draperies theatric, standing there 

In perfect symmetr}' of self-control. 

Seems not so great at first, but greater grows 

Still as we look, and by experience learn 

How grand this quiet is, how nobly stern 



The discipline that wTought through lifelong 

throes 
This energetic passion of repose. 

A nature too decorous and severe. 

Too self-respectful in its griefs and joys 

For ardent girls and boys. 

Who find no genius in a mind so clear 

That its grave depths seem obvious and near. 

Nor a soul great that made so little noise. 

They feel no force in that calm, cadenced phrase. 

The habitual full-dress of his well-bred mind. 

That seems to pace the minuet's courtly maze 

And tell of ampler leisures, roomier length of 

days. 
His broad-built brain, to self so little kind 
That no tumultuary blood could blind. 
Formed to control men, not amaze, 
Looms not like those that borrow height of haze : 
It was a world of statelier movement then 
Than this we fret in, he a denizen 
Of that ideal Rome that made a man for men. 

Placid completeness, life without a fall 

From faith or highest aims, truth's breachless 

wall, 
Surely if any fame can bear the touch. 
His will say " Here ! " at the last trumpet's call, 
The unexpressive man whose life expressed so 

much. 

jAftlES RUSSELL LOWELL 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

By broad Potomac's silent shore 
Better than Trajan lowly lies, 
Gilding her green declivities 

With glory now and evermore ; 
Art to his fame no aid hath lent ; 
His couutry is his monument. 

AN'ONVMOUS. 



ON A PORTRAIT OF RED JACKET, 

CHIEF OF THE TUSCARORAS. 

Cooper, whose name is with his country's woven, 
First in her files, her Pioneer of mind, 

A wanderer now in other climes, has proven 
His love for the young land he left behind ; 

And throned her in the senate-hall of nations, 
Robed like the deluge rainbow, heaven- wi'ought, 

Magnificent as his own mind's creations, 
And beautiful as its green world of thought ; 

And faithful to the Act of Congress, quoted 
As law authority, it passed nem. con.. 



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He writes that we are, as ourselves have voted, 
The most enlighteued people ever known ; 

That all our week is happy as a Sunday 
In Paris, full of song and dance and laugh ; 

And that, from Orleans to the Bay of Fundy, 
There 's not a bailiff or an epitaph ; 

And furthermore, in fifty years, or sooner, 
We shall export our poetry and wine ; 

And our brave fleet, eight frigates and a schooner. 
Will sweep the seas from Zambia to the Line. 

If he were with me. King of Tuscarora ! 

Gazing, as I, upon thy portrait now. 
In all itsmedaleil, fringed, and beaded glory, 

Its eye's dark beauty, and its thoughtful 
brow, — 

Its brow, half martial and half diplomatic ; 

Its eye, upsoaring like an eagle's wings, — 
Well might he boast that we, the democratic, 

Outrival Europe, even in our kings ! 

For thou wast monarch bom. Tradition's pages 
Tell not the planting of thy parent tree, 

But that the forest tribes have bent for ages 
To thee, and to thy sires, the stibject knee. 

Thy name is princely : if no poet's magic 

Could make Red Jacket gi-ace an English 
rhyme. 

Though some one with a genius for the tragic 
Hath introduced it in a pantomime, 

Yet it is music in the language spoken 

Of tliine own land ; and on lier herald roll 

As bravely fought for, and as proud a token 
As Cceui- de Lion's of a wan'ior's soul. 

Thy garb, though Austria's bosom-star would 

frighten 

That medal pale, as diamonds the dark mine. 

And George the Fourth wore, at his court at 

Brighton, 

A more becoming evening dress than tbine, — 

Yet 't is a brave one, scorning wind and weather. 
And fitted for thy couch, on field and flood. 

As Kob Roy's tartan for the Highland heather, 
Or forest green for England's Robin Hood. 

Is strength a monarch's merit, like a whaler's ? 

Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong 
As earth's first kings, — the Argo's gallant sailors. 

Heroes in history, and gods in song. 

Is beauty ? — Thine has with thy youth de- 
parted ; 
But the love-legends of thy manhood's years. 



And she who perished, young and broken-hearted, 
Are — But I rhyme for smiles and not for 
tears. 

Is eloquence ? — Her spell is thine that reaches 

The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport ; 
And there 's one rare, strange virtue in thy 



The secret of their mastery, — they are short. 

The monarch mind, the mystery of commanding. 
The birth-hour gift, the art Napoleon, 

Of winning, fettering, molding, wielding, band- 
ing 
The hearts of millions tiU they move as one, — 

Thou hast it. At thy bidding meu have crowded 
The road to death as to a festival ; 

And minstrels, at their sepulcliei-s, have shrouded 
With banner-folds of glory the dark p;Jl. 

i Who will believe, — not I ; for in deceiving 

Lies the dear charm of life's delightful dream : 
I cannot spare the lu.xury of believing 
That aU things beautiful are what they seem, — 

Who will lielieve that, with a smile whose bless- 
ing 
Would, like the Patriarch's, sootlie a dying 
hour ; 
With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing. 
As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower ; 

With look, like patient Job's, eschewing evil ; 

With motions graceful as a bird's in air, — 
Thou art, in sober tnith, the veriest devil 

That e'er clenched fingers in a captive's hair ! 

That in thy breast there springs a poison foun- 
tain, 
Deadlier than that where bathe.s the upas- 
tree ; 
And in thy wrath, a nursing cat-o'-mountain 
Is calm as her babe's slee]) compared B-ith 
thee ! 

And underneath that face, like summer ocean's. 
Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, 

Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, — 
Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow, all save 
fear. 

Love — for thy land, as if she were thy daughter, 
Her pipe in peace, her tomahawk in wars ; 

Hatred — of missionaries and cold water ; 
Pride — in thy rifle- trophies and thy scars ; 

Hope — that thy wrongs may be by the Great 
Spii'it 
Remembered and revenged when thou art gone 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



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Sorrow — tlmt noiio aro U'ft tlieo to inherit 
Tliy iiiuiu', thy I'mne, thy imssions, ami thy 
tliroiii' I 



DANIKL WEBSTER. 

Wiii'.N, strii'ki'ii liy tho I'roi'ziiig blast, 

A Malicm'.s liviiii; pillars I'all, 
llow rirh thi' slurioil paj^o, how vast, 

A word, a wlusju'r, can n^call ! 

No uu'dal litis its Ircltoil lai'p, 

Nor spi'akiiij; inarMn rlicats your I'yo ; 

Yot, whili' thoso iiic'tiirod linos 1 tnur, 
A livinj; imaf(v jiasst's by : 

A root bi'iuatli thi' Imnintain iiiiu's ; 

The oloistcrs of a hill-fjirt (ilain ; 
Tlir IVoiit ol'lilV's iMnlmtlliHl lini'S ; 

A uumiul bosiiU' tho hoaviiij; main. 

Thi'so art' tho sconos ; a boy ajipoars ; 

Si't lit'o's round dial in tho sun, 
Count tho swill ^u^• of sevonty years, 

1 1 is triuno is dust ; his task is dono. 

Vol pause uiKin the noontide hour, 
Kre the deoliniuf; sun has laid 

His bleaehing iiiys on manhood's power. 
And look u]'on the mighty shade. 

No gloom that stately shape can hide. 
No ehangi' nuerown his brow ; behoUl ! 

Park, ealm, largo-liouted, lightuiug-oyed, 
Earth has no dotible from its mold ! 

Ero from the Holds by valor won 
The bnttlo-snioke had iwlled nway. 

And bared the blood-red setting sun. 
Mis eyes wore opened on the day. 

His land was but n shelving strip 

Hlaek with the strife that made it free ; 

He lived to see its bauneis dip 
'I'lu'ir fringes in tho western sea. 

Tlie liouudless |u-airies learned his name. 
His words the nuumtain eohoes knew ; 

Tho northern breezes swept his fame 
From iey lake to warm bayou. 

In toil lie lived ; in peaeo he died ; 

"When life's full oyele was oompleto. 
Put otf his robes of power and pride. 

And laid them at his Master's foot 



His rest is by the storni-swopt waves. 
Whom life's wild tempests roughly tried, 

Whose heart was like the stronniing caves 
t>f oeean, throbbing nt his side. 

Death's oold white hand is like the snow 
Laid softly on the furrowed hill ; 

It hides the broken seams below, 

And leaves the snnunit brighli'r still. 

In vain tlie envious tongue upbraids ; 

His name a nation's heart .shall keep. 
Till morning's latest sunlight fades 

On the blue tablet of tho deep I 

OLIVBR M'RNDBLL HOLMHS 



ICUAliOD. 

OANUtL WlUlSTim. 1850. 

So falli'u ! so lost I the light withdrawn 

Whioh onee ho wore ! 
The glorv Irom liis grav hairs gone 

Fore\-orniore ! 

Kevilo him not, — the Tempter hath 

A snaro for all ! 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 

Holit his fall ! 

0, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 

When ho who might 
Have lighted nji and led his ago 

Falls baek in night ! 

Seorn ! would the angels laugh to mark 

A bright soul driven, 
Fi<'nd-goadod, down tho endless dark. 

From hope and heaven < 

Let not the laud, onee proud of him. 

Insult him now ; 
Nor brand with deeper .shauu- his dim, 

Dishonoied brow. 

l!ut lot its humbled sons, instead, 

Fi-om sea to hike, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

(■•f all wo loved and honored, naught 

Save power renniins, — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in ohains. 

All else is gone ; from those groat eyes 

The soul has lied : 
When faith is lost, wlu'U honor dies, 

Tho unm is dead ! 



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Then pay the reverence of old duyH 

To his deud I'auic ; 
Walk liaekwaid, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 

juiiN GiiiiiiVLiiAP Winn 



c&- 



THE DEAD CZAK NICHOLAS. 

Lay him lieiieath his snows, 

The great Norse giant who in these last days 

Troubled the nations, (jather decently 

The imperial robes about him. 'T is but man, — 

This demi-god. Or rather it was man, 

And is-- a little dust, that will eorrujit 

As fast as any nameless dust which sleeps 

'Neath Ahna's grass or Balaklava's vine's. 

No vineyard grave for liim. No quiet tomb 
By river margin, wliere across the seas 
Children's fond thoughts and women's memories 

come, 
Like angels, to sit by the sepuleher. 
Saying : "All these were men who knew to count, 
Front-faced, the cost of honor, nor did shrink 
From its full payment ; coming here to die, 
They died — like men." 

But this man ? Ah ! for him 
Funereal state, and ceremonial grand, 
The stone-engraved sarcophagus, and tliiMi 
Oblivion. 

Nay, oblivion were as bliss 
To that fieri'c howl which rolls from land to land 
Exulting, — • "Art thou falleir, Lucifci-, 
Son of the morning '! " or condemning, ■ " Thus 
Perish the wicked !" or blaspheming, — " Here 
Lies our Belshazzar, our Sennacherib, 
Our Pharaoh, — he whose heart God hardened, 
So that he wouhl not let the jMiople go." 

Self-glorifying sinners ! Why, this man 
Was but like other men, — you, Leviti! small. 
Who shut your saintly ears, and prate of hell 
And heretics, beeaiLse outside church-doors, 
Your church-doors, congregations poor and small 
Praise Heaven in their own way ; yon, autocrat 
Of all the hamlets, who add field to field 
And house to house, whose slavisli chililren cower 
Before your tyrant footstep ; you, foul-tongucd 
Fanatic or ambitious egotist, 
Who think Ood stoops from his high majesty 
To lay his finger on your puny head. 
And crown it, tluit you henceforth may parailc 
Your maggotship throughout the wondering 
world, — 
I am the Lord's anointed ! " 



Fools and blin<l ! 
This czar, this emperor, this disthrondd corpse. 
Lying so straightly in an icy calm 
Grander than sovereignty, was but as ye, — 
No better and no worse : Heaven mend us all I 

Carry him forth and bury him. Death's peace 

Hest on his memory ! Mercy by his bier 

Sits silent, or says only these few words, — 

" Let him who is without sin 'mongst ye all 

Cast the first stone." 

Dinah .Mulock craik. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



LlI'K may be given in many ways, 
And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
As bravtdy in the closi-t as the field, 
So liountifui is Fate ; 
Bui then to stand beside her. 
When craven churls deride her. 
To front a lie irj arms and not to yield, 
This shows, methinks, God's plan 
And measure of a stalwart man. 
Limbed like the old heroic breeds. 
Who stand 8ell'-[ioised on manhood's solid 
earth, 
Not forced to frame excuses for liis birth, 
Fi.'d from within with all the strength bo needs. 

Such was 111', onr ,\Iartyr-Chief, 
Whom late the Nation he had led. 
With ashes on her head, 
Wejit with the passion of an angry grief : 
Foigive me, if from jiresent things 1 tuiri 
To speak what in my heart will beat and burn, 
And hang my wTcatli on his world-honored urn. 
Nature, they say, doth dote. 
And cannot make a man 
Save on some worn-out plan, 
Kejieating us by rote : 
For him her Ohl-World molds aside she threw, 
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 
Of the unexhausted West, 
With stuff untainteil shaped a hero new. 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, ami true 

How Ixjautiful to sec 
Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed. 
Who loved his charge, but n(!vcr loved to lead ; 
Oni' whose meek Hock the people joycl to be, 
Not lured by any cheat of birth. 
But by his clear-grained human worth, 
And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 
They knew that outward grace is dust ; 
They could not choose but trust 
In that 8ure-foot<'d mind's unfaltering skill, 



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x\ud supple-teniperwi will 
That bent liko in'ilect stwl to spring again aud 
thrust. 
His was uo lonely mountain-peak of niiml, 
Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 
A sea-mark now, now lost in vapoi's bliml ; 
Broad pniirie rather, genial, level-lined. 
Fruitful and friendly for all hunum kind, 
Yet also uigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 

N othing of Europe here. 
Or, then, of Kurope fronting mornwiU'd still, 
Eiv any names of Serf and Peer 
t'ould Nature's oipial scheme deface ; 
Here was a type of the true elder race. 
And one of I'hitaroh's uieu talked with us face 
to face. 
1 praise him not ; it were too late ; 
And some inuative weakness there must bo 
In him who condescends to victory 
Snch as the Ihvseut gives, and cannot wait. 
Safe in himself as in a fate. 
So always tirmly he : 
He knew to bide his time, 
And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime. 
Till the wise years decide. 
Great captains, with their guns and drums, 
Disturb our judgment for the hour. 
But at last silence comes ; 
These all ai-e gone, and, standing like a tower, 
Onr children slnUl behold his fame, 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man. 
Sagacious, patient, dreading prsiise, not blame, 
New birth of our new soil, the first American. 

JAWKS RCSSBLL LOVVKU- 



fr 



ABRAHAM UNCOLN.* 

FOULLV ASSASSINATED APRIL 14. 1865. 

You lay « wreath ou ranulered Lincoln's bier, 
Yon, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, 

Broad for the self-complacent British sneer, 
Hislength of shambling limb, his furrowed face, 

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, brist- 
ling hair. 

His garb uncouth, his In'aring ill at ease. 
His lack of all we prize as deboiuiir. 

Of jiower or will to shine, of art to please ; 

}'(>K, whose smart jx'n backed up the pencil's 
laugh, 
Judging each step as tlwugh the way were plain, 

• This Irlbute appeared in the Loiulon '* l^^nch." which, up to 
the time of the assassin.itiou of Mr. Lincoln, had ridiculed and 
Aligned hiiu with all its wcll-kuown powers of pen and pencil. 



Keckless, so it could point its paragraph 
Of chief s perplexity, or people's j«uu : 

Beside this corpse, that beivre for wiuding-sheet 
The Stars and Stripes he lived to rear anew, 

Between the mournere at his head and feet. 
Say, scurrile jester, is there room for i/ou ? 

Yes : he had lived to shame me frem my sneer. 
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen ; 

To make me own this hind of princes peer, 
This rail-splitter a true-born king of men. 

My shallow judgment I had learned to rue. 
Noting how to occasion's height he rose ; 

How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more 
true ; 
How, iron-like, his temper gitsw by blows. 

How humble, yet how hopeful, he could be ; 

How, in good fortune and in ill, the same ; 
Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he. 

Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. 

He went about his work, — such work as few 
Ever had laid on head and heart and hand, — 

As one who knows, where there 's a task to do, 
Man's honest will must Heaven's good grace 
command ; 

Who trusts the strength will with the burden 
grow. 

That God makes instruments to work his will. 
If but that will wo can arrive to know. 

Nor tamper with tlie weights of good and ill. 

So he went forth to battle, on the side 

That he felt clear was Lilierty's and Eight's, 

As in his peasant boyhood he had plied 

His warfare with rude Xatuit's thwarting 
mights ; 

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil. 

The iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's ax. 

The rapid, tliat o'erbeai-s the boatman's toil. 
The prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks, 

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear, — 

Such were the deeds that helped his youth to 

train : 

Rough culture, but such trees large fruit may 

bear, 

If but their stocks be of right girth and grain. 

So he grew up, a destined work to do. 

And lived to do it : four long-sutl'ering years' 

Ill-fate, ill-fcoliiig, ill-report, lived through. 
And tlieii he heard the hisses change to cheers, 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



847 



^-a 



The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, 

Aud took both with the same unwaveringmood; 

Till, as he came on light, from darkling days, 
And seemed to touch the goal from where he 
stood, 

A i'elon hand, between the goal and liim. 

Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, 

And those perjilexcd and patient eyes were dim, 
Tliose gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to 
rest ! 

The words of mercy were ujjon his lips, 
Forgiveness in his heart and on his jien, 

When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse 
To thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to men. 

Tlie Old World and the New, from sea to sea, 
Utter one voice of sympathy and shame : 

Sore heait, so sto|iped wlien it at last beat high ; 
Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came 1 

A deed accurst ! Strokes have been struck before 
Hy the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt 

If more of horror or disgrace tliey bore ; 

But thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly 
out. 

Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, 
Whate'critsgi-ounds, stoutly and nobly striven ; 

And witli the martyr's crown crownest a life 
With much to piaise, little to be forgiven. 

TOM Taylor. 



WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. 

" Some time afterward, it w.-is reported to me hy the city officers 
that they had ferreted out the paper and its editor : that his office 
was an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a ne^o boy, and his 
supporters a few very insignilicant persons of all colors." — Letter 

0/ H, G. Otis. 

In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, 
Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young 
man ; 

The place was dark, unfumitured, and mean : 
Yet there the freedom of a race began. 

Help came but slowly ; surely no man yet 
Put lever to the heavy world with less : 

What need of help ? He knew how types were set, 
He had a dauntless spirit, and a press. 

Such earnest natures are the fiery pith. 

The compact nucleus, round which systems 
grow : 

Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith, 
And whirls impregnate with the central glow. 



Truth ! Freedom ! how are ye still Ixim 
In the rude stable, in the manger nursed ! 

What humble hands unbar those gates of morn 
Through which the splendors of the New Day 
burst ! 

What ! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his 
cell. 
Front Home's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her 
frown ? 
Brave Luther answered Yes ; that thunder's 
swell 
Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple 
crown. 

Whatever can be known of earth we know, 
Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells 
curled ; 

No ! said one man in Genoa, and that No 
Out of the dark created this New World. 

Who is it will not dare himself to trust? 

Wlio is it hath not strength to stand alone? 
Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward Must ? 

He and his works, like sand, from earth arc 
blown. 

Men of a thousand shifts and wiles, look here ! 

See one straightforward con.science put in pawn 
To win a world ; see the obedient sphere 

By bravery's simple gravitation drawn 1 

Shall we not heed the lesson taught of old, 
And by the Present's lips repeated still, 

In our own single manhood to be bold, 

Fortressed in conscience and impregnable will ! 

We stride the river daily at its spring. 

Nor, in our childish thouglitlessness, foresee 

What myriad vassal streams shall tribute bring, 
How like an ecjual it shall greet the sea. 

small beginnings, ye are great and sti'ong. 
Based on a faithful heart and weariless brain ! 

Ye build the future fair, ye conquer wrong. 
Ye earn the crown, and wear it not in vain. 
James Russell Lowell. 



THE OLD ADMIRAL. 

ADMIRAL STEWART, U. S. N. 

Gone at last. 

That brave old hero of the past! 
His spirit has a second birth. 

An unknown, grander life ; 
All of him that was earth 

Lies mute and cold, 



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Like a wrinkled slieath and old, 
Thrown off forever ffoin the shimmering blade 
Tliat has good entrance made 

Upon some distant, glorious strife. 

From another generation, 

A simpler age, to ours Old Ironsides came ; 
The morn and noontide of the nation 

Alike he knew, nor yet outlived his fame, — 
O, not outlived his fame ! 
The dauntless men whose service guards oui' 
shore 

Lengthen still their glory-roll 

With his name to lead the scroll, 
As a flagship at her fore 

Carries the Union, with its azure and the stars, 
Symbol of times that are no more 

And the old heroic wars. 

He was the one 

Whom Death had spared alone 

Of all the captains of that lusty age, 
Who sought the foeman where he lay. 
On sea or sheltering bay. 

Nor till the prize was theirs repressed their 
rage. 
They are gone, — all gone : 

They rest witli glory and the undying Powers ; 

Only their name and fame, and what they 
saved, are ours ! 

It was fifty years ago, 
Upon the Gallic Sea, 
He bore the banner of the free, 
And fought the fight whereof our children 
know, — 
The deathful, despei'ate fight ! 
Under the fair moon's light 
The frigate squared, and yawed to left and right. 

Every broadside swept to deatli a score ! 
Roundly played her guns and weU, till their 
fiery ensigns fell, 
Neither foe replying more. 
All in silence, when the night-breeze cleared the 
air. 
Old Ironsides rested there, 
Locked in between the twain, and drenched with 
blood. 
Then homeward, like an eagle with her prey ! 
O, it was a gallant fray, — 
That fight in Biscay Bay ! 
Fearless the captain stood, in his youthful hardi- 
hood : 
He was the boldest of them aU, 
Our brave old Admiral ! 

And still our heroes bleed, 
Tauglit by that olden deed. 
Whether of iron or of oak 



The ships we marshal at our country's need, 
Still speak their cannon now as then they 
spoke ; 

Still floats our unstruck banner from the mast 
As in the stormy past. 

Lay him in the ground : 

Let him rest whei-e the ancient river rolls ; 
Let him sleep beueatli the shadow and the sound 

Of the bell whose proclamation, as it tolls. 
Is of Freedom and the gift our fathers g.ave. 

Lay him gently down : 

The clamor of the town 
Will not break the slumbers deep, the beautiful, 
ripe sleep. 

Of this lion of the wave. 

Will not trouble the old Admiral in his grave. 

Earth to earth his dust is laid. 
Methinks his stately shade 

On the sliadow of a great ship leaves the shore ; 
Over cloudless western seas 
Seeks the far Hesperides, 

The islands of the blest. 
Where no turbulent billows roar, — 

Where is rest. 
His ghost upon the shadowy quarter stands 
Nearing the deathless lands. 

There all his martial mates, renewed and 
strong. 

Await his coming long. 

I see the happy Heroes rise 

With gratulation in their eyes : 
"Welcome, old comrade," Lawj-ence cries ; 
" Ah, Stewart, tell us of the wars 1 
Who win the glory and the scars ? 

How floats the skyey flag, — how many 
stars ? 

Still speak they of Decatur's name ? 

Of Bainbridge's and Perry's fame ? 

Of me, who earliest came ? 
Make ready, all : 
Room for the Admiral ! 

Come, Stewart, tell us of the wars ! " 

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 



A LIGHT is out in Italy, 

A golden tongue of purest fiame. 
We watched it burning, long and lone, 

And every watcher knew its name, 
And knew from whence its fervor came : 

Tliat one rare light of Italy. 
Which put self-seeking souls to shame ! 

This light which burnt for Italy 

Through aU the blackness of her night, 



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PERSONAL POEMS. 



849 



She doubted, once upon a time. 
Because it took away her sight. 

She looked and said, "There is no light ! " 
It was thine eyes, poor Italy ! 

That knew not dark apart from bright. 

This flame which burnt for Italy, 
It would not let her haters sleep. 

They blew at it with angry breath, 
And only fed its upward leap, 

And only made it hot and deep. 
Its burning showed us Italy, 

And all the hopes she had to keep. 

This light is out in Italy, 

Her eyes shall seek for it in vain ! 

For her sweet sake it spent itself. 
Too early flickering to its wane, — 

Too long blown over by her pain. 
Bow down and weep, Italy, 

Thou canst not kindle it again ! 

Laura c. Redden (Howard Glvndon). 



6 



JOHN C. FREMONT. 

Tht error, Fremont, simply was to act 

A brave man's part, without the statesman's tact, 

And, taking counsel but of common sense, 

To strike at cause as well as consequence. 

O, never yet since Roland wound his horn 

At Roncesvalles has a blast been blown 

Far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own, 

Heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn ! 

It had been safer, doubtless, for the time. 

To flatter treason, and avoid offense 

To that Dark Power whose undei'lying crime 

Heaves upward its perpetual turbulence. 

But, if thine be the fate of all who break 

The ground for truth's seed, or forerun their 

years 
Till lost in distance, or with stout hearts make 
A lane for freedom through the level spears, 
Still take thou com-age ! God has spoken through 

thee, 
Irrevocable, the mighty words, Be free ! 
The land shakes with them, and the slave's dull 

ear 
Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear. 
Who would recall them now must first arrest 
The winds that blow down from the free North- 
west, 
Ruffling the Gulf ; or like a scroll roll back 
The Mississippi to its upper springs. 
Such words fulfill their prophecy, and lack 
But the full time to harden into things. 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



HAWTHORNE. 



How beautiful it was, that one bright day 

In the long week of rain ! 
Though all its splendor coidd not chase away 

The omnipresent pain. 

The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, 

And the great elms o'erhead 
Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms, 

Shot through with golden thread. 

Across the meadows, by the gray old manse. 

The historic river flowed ; 
I was as one who wanders in a trance, 

Unconscious of his road. 

The faces of familiar friends seemed strange ; 

Their voices I could hear, 
And yet the words they uttered seemed to change 

Their meaning to my ear. 

For the one i'ace 1 looked for was not there. 

The one low voice was mute ; 
Only an unseen presence filled the air. 

And baffled my pursuit. 

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and 
stream 

Dimly my thought defines ; 
I only see — a dream within a dream — 

The hilltop hearsed with pines. 

I only hear above Lis place of rest 

Their tender undertone. 
The infinite longings of a troubled breast. 

The voice so like his own. 

There in seclusion and remote from men 

The wizard hand lies cold, 
'Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, 

And left the tale half told. 

Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power, 

And the lost clew regain ? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower 

Unfinished must remain ! 

Henrv wadsworth Longfellow. 



TO THE MEMORY OF FLETCHER HAKPER. 

No soldier, statesman, hierophant, or king ; 

None of the heroes that you poets sing ; 

A toiler ever since his days began. 

Simple, though shrewd, just-judging, man toman • 

God-fearing, learned in life's hard-taught school ; 

By long obedience lessoned how to rule 



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850 



FEESOXAL POEMS. 



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Through muiiy uii u:irly sliuggle k'd to f'aid 
That erowu of prospt-rous fortune, — to be kind. 
Lay ou his breast these English daisies sweet ! 
Good ivst to tlie gray head and the tired feet 
That walked this world for seventy steadfast years! 
Bury liini with fond blessings and few teai's, 
Or only of roinembrance, not regret. 
On his full life the eternal seal is set. 
Unbroken till the resurrection day. 
So let his children's children go their way, 
Go and do likewise, leaving 'neath this sod 
An honest man, " the noblest work of God." 

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK, 



& 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ. 



It was fifty years ago. 

In the pleasant month of May, 
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, 

A child iu its cradle lay. 

And Nature, the old nurse, took 

The child upon her knee. 
Saying, " Here is a story-book 

Thy Father has written for thee." 

"Come, wander with me," she said, 

" Into regions yet untrod. 
And read what is still unread 

In the manuscripts of God." 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 

AVho sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, 

Or his heart began to fail. 
She would sing a more wonderful song, 

Or tell a more marvelous tale. 

So she keeps him still a child. 

And will not let him go. 
Though at times his heart beats wild 

For the beautiful Pays do Vaud ; 

Though at times he hears in his dreams 

The Ranz des Vaches of old. 
And the rush of mountain streams 

From glaciers clear and cold ; 

And the mother at home says, " Hark ! 

For his voice I listen and yearn : 
It is grooving late and dark. 

And my boy does not return ! " 

Henry wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. 

On the isle of Penikese, 
Einged about by sapphire seas, 
Fanned by breezes salt and cool, 
Stood the Master with his school. 
Over sails that not in vain 
Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, 
Line of coast that low and far 
Stretched its undulating bar. 
Wings aslant along the rim 
Of the waves they stooped to skim, 
Eoek and isle and glistening bay. 
Fell the beautiful white day. 

Said the Master to the youth : 

"We have come in search of truth. 

Trying with uncertain key 

Door by door of mystery ; 

AVe are reaching, through His laws, 

To the giirment-hem of Cause, 

Him, the endless, unbegim. 

The Unnamable, the One, 

Light of all om- light the Source, 

Life of life, and Force of force. 

As with fingers of the blind. 

We are groping here to find 

What the hieroglyphics mean 

Of the Unseen in the seen, 

What the Thought which underlies 

Nature's masking and disguise, 

What it is that hides beneath 

Blight and bloom and birth and death. 

By past ett'orts unavailing, 

Doubt and error, loss and failing. 

Of our weakness made aware, 

On the threshold of our task 

Let us light and guidance ask. 

Let us ])ause in silent prayer ! " 

Then the Master in his place 
Bowed his head a little space. 
And the leaves by soft airs stirred, 
Lapse of wave and cry of biixl. 
Left the solemn hush unbroken 
Of that wordless prayer unspoken, 
■\\liile its wish, on earth unsaid. 
Rose to heaven interpreted. 
As in life's best hours we hear 
By the spirit's finer ear 
His low voice within us, thus 
The All-Father heareth us ; 
And his holy ear we pain 
With our noisy words and vain. 
Not for him our violence. 
Storming at the gates of sense, 
His the primal language, his 
The eternal silences ! 



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Even the careless heart was moved, 
And tlie doubting gave assent, 
AVitli a gesture reverent, 
To tlie Master well-beloved. 
As thin mists are glorifiiul 
By the light they cannot hide. 
All who gazed upon him saw. 
Through its veil of tender awe. 
How his face was still uplit 
By the old sweet look of it, 
Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer. 
And the love that casts out fear. 
Who the secret may declare 
Of that brief, unuttered [iraycr ? 
Dill the shade before him come 
Of the inevitable doom. 
Of the end of earth so near, 
.•\nd Eternity's new year ? 

In the lap of sheltering seas 
Rests the isle of Penikese ; 
But the lord of the domain 
Comes not to his own again : 
Where the eyes that follow fail. 
On a vaster sea his sail 
Drifts beyond our beck and liail ! 
Other lips within its bound 
Shall the laws of life expound ; 
Other eyes from rock and shell 
Read the world's old riddles well ; 
But when breezes light and bland 
Blow from Summer's blossomed land. 
When the air is glad with wings, 
And the blithe song-spaiTow sings, 
Many an eye with his still face 
Shall the living ones displace, 
JIany an ear the word shall seek 
He alone could fitly speak. 
And one name forevermore 
Shall be uttered o'er and o'er 
By the waves that kiss the shore, 
By the curlew's whistle sent 
Down the cool, sea-scented air ; 
In all voices known to her 
Nature own her worshiper. 
Half in triumph, half lament. 
Thither love shall tearful turn, 
Frii-uilship pause uncovered there. 
And the wisest reverence leani 
From the Master's silent prayer. 

John creenlbaf whitiier. 



6 



TO HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 

ON HIS niRTHDAV, S7TH FEURUARV, 1867. 

I NEED not praise the sweetness of his song, 
Wliere limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds 



Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he 

wrong 
The new moon's mirrored skilf, he slides .along. 
Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds. 

With loving breath of all the winds his name 
Is blown about the world, but to his friends 
A sweeter secret hides behind his fame, 
And Love steals shyly through the loud acclaim 
To murmur a God bless yciu ! and there ends. 

As I muse backward up the checkered years, 

Wherein so mucli was given, so much was lost, 
Blessings in both kinds, such as cheap<Mi tears — 
But hush ! tins is :iot for profaner ears ; 
Let them drink molten pearls nor dream tlie 
cost. 

Some suck up poison from a sorrow's core. 
As naught but nightshade gi'ew upon earth's 
ground ; 
Love turned all his to heart's-ease, and the more 
Fate tried his bastions, she but forced a door. 
Leading to sweeter manhood and more sound, 

Even as a wind-waved fountain's swaying shade 
Seems of mixed race, a gray wraith shot with 
sun, 
So through his trial faith translucent rayed. 
Till darkness, half disnatured so, betrayed 
A heart of sunshine that would fain o'errun. 

Surely if skill in song the shears may stay. 

And of its purpose cheat the charmed abyss. 
If our poor life be lengthened by a lay. 
He shall not go, although his presence may. 
And the ne.xt age in praise shall double this. 

Long days be his, and each as lusty-sweet 
As gracious natures find his song to be ; 
May Age steal on with softly cadenced feet 
Falling in music, as for hira were meet 
Whose choicest verse is harsher-toned than he ! 
James Russell Lowell. 



BAYARD. 



[Lieutenant Bayard Wilkeson. commanding Battery G. 
Fourth U. S. Artillery, was mort.illy wounded by a cannon-ball in 
llic first day's battle at Gettysburg. He had asked for water, and 
when they put into his hand a canteen filled with the scarce fluid, 
a mantiled Connecticut soldier lyin^,' near cried. " Lieutenant, for 
God's sake, yive me a drink," The dying officer passed the can, 
teen untasted to the .soldier, who drained it of its last drop. The 
hero, whose life was crowned by this act of chivalry, was only 
nineteen years of age. The Government honored itself by civin^ 
him three brevet promotions after death for >;alhinlry in dilferenl 
actions.] 

Borne by the soldiers he had led to liattle 
On that ill-omened and disastrous day, 



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852 



PEliSONAL POEMS. 



-it) 



Left, torn niul cnisluul, uiitoiulml lunl iiiiiucUhI, 
Hia brovo lilo oM'iiij; with tlio hoiii-s nwiiy ; 

Aivund liim liumiui agony niiil tori-or, 
rmms at t'lvti', iiiul I'vii's of imiii and woo, 
Tilt' liuiu'iittitions ol" tho sliriuking siiirit 
At tho glim coming of tho unseon foo ; 

Calmly ho lay, his wliito lijis lookoil to smiling, 
As if his soul as sontry stooii without. 
And hvm his niaivolous oyos, alitiady sliadowod, 
Tho splondid counigo of liis race lookod out. 

15iit whon tho fioivonoss of that thii'st foil on him, 
'I'hiit I'omos whon lifo disjwits itsolf fivm oliiy. 
His failing sonsns oaught a pitoous whispor; 
Ho imt tho watov from his liiw away, 

With a di\iuo and (lUiv solt-abi\ogation 
Ihvvo up tlio diiuight to ono his oouoh liosidt\ 
And in that aot of hmvo, chivahio luitionoo, 
With ono long sigh for homo, he, thirsting, diod. 

stainloss horo ! though thy lifo at dawning 
Fell into night, it is not thoivfore hist j 
It livos witli us in deeds of faith and valor. 
In aims hy no uuhnllowod impulse crossed. 

lu'buke stands sternly by the bviniming chalioo 
Whioli evil jmssion tills our thii'st to slako ; 
Wo turn away, and, smiling, whisper softly, 
" For Ikyard's sake." 

M.\KV LOl'ISB RlTTBR. 



FITZ-OREKNE HALLECK. 



Among their graven shapes to whom 

Thy civic wi-eatlis belong, 
city of his U>ve ! make room 

For one whoso gift was song. 

Not his the soldier's swonl to wield, 

Nor his the helm of state, 
Nor glory of the stricken field. 

Nor triumph of dolxite. 

In common ways, with common men, 
He served his race and time 

As well as if his clerkly pen 
Had never danced to rhyme. 



If, in tho tlniuigi'd and noisy mart, 

The Muses found their son. 
Could any say his tuiu'l'iil art 

A duty loft undoiii' ,' 

He toiled and sang ; and year by year 
.Men found thoir homes more sweet, 

.\ik1 through a tenderer almosphci-e 
Looked down tho brick-wallod stivot. 

The (Ireek's wild onset Wall StiTot know, 
The lied King walked Hioadway ; 

And Alnwick Castle's roses blew 
From Palisades to 15ay. 

Fair City by the Sea ! upniise 
His veil with reverent hands ; 

And mingle with thy own the praise 
And pride of other lands. 

Let (.5i-eoce his fiery lyric breathe 

Above her hero-nins ; 
And Scotland, with her holly, wi-oatho 

'I'ho llower he culled for Burns. 

0, stately stand thy palace walls. 

Thy tall sliiiw ride tho seas ; 
To-day thy poet's name ivcalls 

A prouder thought than these. 

Not loss thy pulse of trade shall heat. 

Nor less thy tall tloets swim. 
That shaded sipiaiv and dusty street 

Are classic ground thixnigh him. 

Alive, he loved, like all who sing, 

The echoes of his .song ; 
Too late tho tardy meed we bring, 

Tho pnuse delayed so long. 

Too late, alas ! — OS all who knew 

The living man, to-day 
Before his unveiled face, how few 

Make baiv their locks of gray ! 

Our liiw of praise must soon lie dumb, 

Onr grateful eyes be dim ; 
0, brothoi-s of the days to come. 

Take tender charge of him ! 

New hands the wires of song may sweep. 

New voices challenge fame ; 
Hut let no moss of years o'orcreop 

Tho lines of Halleck's name. 

JOHN CRBKNLKAF WlinTIBR. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTER- 
BURY. 



Ak ancient story I 'U tell you anon 
Of a notable prince that was called King John ; 
And he ruled England with main and with might, 
For he did great wrong, and maintained littleright. 

And I '11 tell you a story, a story so nieriy, 
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury ; 
How for his house-keeiiing and high renown. 
They rode poste for him to fair London townc. 

An hundred men tlie king did heare say. 
The abbot kept in his house every day ; 
And fifty golde chaynes without any doubt, 
In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

" How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee ; 
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown." 

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were 

knowne 
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ; 
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere, 
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 

" Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, 
And now for the same thou needest must dye ; 
For except thou canst answer me questions three. 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy Imdie. 

"And first," quo' the king, " when I 'm in this 

stead, 
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am 

worthe. 

" Secondly, tell me, without any doubt. 
How soone I may ride the whole world about ; 
And at the third question thou must not shrink. 
But tell me here truly what I do think." 



" these are hard questions for my shallow witt 
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet ; 
But if you will give me but three weeks' space, 
lie do my endeavor to answer your grace." 

" Now three weeks' space to thee will I give, 
And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; 
For if thou dost not answer my questions three, 
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee." 

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word. 
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxcnford ; 
But never a doctor there was so wise. 
That could with his learning an answer devise. 

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold. 

And he met his shepheard a-going to fold : 

" How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome 

home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King 

John ? " 

' ' Sad new.s, sad news, shepheard, I must give, 
That I have but three days more to live ; 
For if I do not answer him questions three, 
Jly head will be smitten from my bodie. 

' ' The first is to tell him, there in that stead, 
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head. 
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth. 
To within one penny of what he is worth. 

" The seconde, to tell him without any doubt. 
How soone he may ride this whole world about ; 
And at the third question I mast not shrinke, 
But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 

" Now cheare up, sire abbot, did vou never lic.ir 

yet, 

That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 
Lend me hor-se, and serving-men, and your ap- 
parel. 
And He ride to London to answere your quarrel 

" Nay, frowne not, if it hath bin told unto me, 
I am like your lordship, as ever may be ; 



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And if you will but lend me youi- gowne, 
There is none shall knowusatfair London towne." 

" Now hoi-ses and serving-men thou shalt have, 
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave, 
AVith crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, 
Fit to ajjpear 'lore oui- fader the pope." 

"Now welcome, sireabbot," the king he did say, 
" 'T is well thou 'rt come back to keepe thy day : 
For and if thou canst answer my questions three. 
Thy life and thy living both saved shall be. 

" And first, when thou seestme here in this stead, 
With my crowne of golde so fair on my head, 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 
Tell me to one penny what I am worth." 

" For thirty pence our Saviour was sold 
Among the false Jewes, as 1 have bin told : 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinko thou art one penny worser than lie." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, 
"I did not think I had been worth so littel ! 

— Now secondly tell me, without any doubt. 
How soone 1 may ride this whole world about." 

"You must rise with the sun, and ritie with the 

same 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 
And then your grace need not make any doubt 
But in twenty-four hours you '11 ride it about." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 
" 1 did not think it could be gone so soone ! 

— Now from the third question thou must not 

shrinke. 
But tell me here truly what 1 do thinke." 

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace 

merry ; 
You thinke 1 'm the abbot of Canterbury ; 
But I 'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, 
That am come to beg pardon for him and for me." 

The king he laughed, and .swore by the Masse, 
"He make thee lord abbot this day in his place !" 
"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede. 
For alacke I can neither write ne reade." 

" Four nobles a week, then I will give thee. 
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto me ; 
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home. 
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King 
,Tohn." 



t&-- 



JOHN BABLEYCORN.* 

There was three kings into the East, 
Three kings both great and liigh. 

And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plow and plowed him down. 

Put clods upon his head. 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong. 

His head well armed wi' pointed spears, 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn entered mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Showed he began to fail. 

His color sickened more aud more. 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They 've ta'en a weapon long and sharp. 

And cut him by the knee ; 
And tied him fast upon the cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him domi upon his back, 

And cudgeled him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm. 

And turned him o'er and o'er. 

They fiUfed up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim. 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him further woe. 
And still, as signs of life appeared, 

They tossed him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his hones ; 
But a miller used him worst of all, 

For he crushed him between two stones. 

• An Improvement on a very old ballad found In a black-letter 
volume in the Pepys library. Cambridge University. 



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Aiid tliey liae ta'en his verj- heart's blood, 
And drank it rouud and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'T will make your courage rise. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 

ROBERT BURNS, 



OF A CERTAINE MAN. 

There was (not certaine when) a certaine 

preacher, 
That never learned, and yet became a teacher. 
Who having read in Latine thus a text 
Of erat quidam homo, much perplext. 
He seemed the same with studie great to scan, 
In English thus, Tlitrc was a certaine man. 
But now (ijuotli he) good people, note you this. 
He saith there was, he doth not say there is ; 
For in these dales of ours it is most plaine 
Of i)romise, oath, word, deed, no man 's certaine ; 
Yet by my text you see it comes to passe 
That surely once a certaine man there was : 
But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man 
Can fiude this text, Tlierc was a certaine wo- 
man. 

SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. 



EPIGRAMS BY SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. 

OF TREASON. 

Treason doth never prosper ; what 's the reason ? 
For if it prosper, none dare call it treason. 

OF FORTUNE. 

Fortune, men say, doth give too much to many, 
But yet she never gave enough to any. 

OF WRITERS THAT CARP AT OTHER MEN'S 
BOOKS. 

The readers and the hearers like my books, 
But yet some writers cannot them digest ; 
But what care I ? For when I make a feast, 
I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks. 



A SCHOLAR AND HIS DOG. 

I WAS a scholar : seven useful springs 

Did I deflower in quotations 

Of crossed opinions 'bout the soul of man ; 

The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt. 

Delight, my spaniel, slept, whilst I baused leaves. 

Tossed o'er the dunces, pored on the old print 

Of titled words ; and still my spaniel slept, 

Whilst 1 wasted laniii-oil, baited my Hesh, 

Slirunk up my veins : and still my spaniel slept. 

And still I held converse with Zabarell, 

Acjuinas, Scotus, and the musty saw 

Of Antick Donate : still my spaniel slept. 

Still on went I ; first, an sit anima ; 

Then, an it were mortal. hold, hold ; at 

that 
They 're at brain buffets, fell by the eai-s amain 
Pell-mell together : still my spaniel slept. 
Then, whether 't were corporeal, local, iixt. 
Ex traduce, but whether 't had free will 
Or no, hot philosophers 

Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt ; 
1 .staggered, knew not which was firmer part, 
But thought, quoted, read, observed, and pried, 
Stufft uoting-books : and still my spaniel slept. 
At length he waked, and yawned ; and by yon 

sky, 
For aught I know, he knew as much as I . 

John Marston. 



PHILOSOPHY OF HUDIBRAS. 

Beside, lie was a shrewd philosopher, 
And had read every text and gloss over ; 
Whate'er the ci-abbed'st author hath. 
He understood b' implicit faith. 
Whatever skeptic could inqnire for. 
For every why he had a wherefore ; 
Knew more than forty of them do, 
As far as words and tenns could go : 
All which he understood by rote. 
And, as occasion .served, w^ould quote ; 
No matter whether right or WTong ; 
They might be either said or sung. 
His notions fitted things so well 
That which wa.s which he could not tell ; 
But oftentimes mistook the one 
For the other, as great clerks have done. 
He could reduce all things to acts, 
And knew their natures by abstracts ; 
"Wliere entity and quiddity, 
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly ; 
■WTiere truth in person does appear. 
Like words congealed in northern air : 
He knew what 's what, and that 's as high 
As metaphysic wit can fly. 



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LOaiC OF HUDIBRAS. 

Hk whs in logio u jjiTiit critic, 
Proroiiiully skiUfd in iinalytic ; 
He couKl ili.stingiiish ami ilivido 
A liiiir 'twixt soutli lunl southwest side ; 
On either wliich ho would dispute, 
Confute, ehimge hiinds, and still confute 
He 'd undeitiike to prove, liy foix'e 
Of iir^unient, a man 's no horso ; 
He 'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, 
And that a lord may lie an owl, 
A ealf an alderman, a goose a justice. 
And rooks coinnuttee-men and trustees. 
He 'li run in debt by disptitation. 
And pay with rntioeiinition : 
All this by syllogism true, 
lu mood and ligure he would do. 



THE SPLENDID SHILLING* 

"'Sinn, lic.ncnly Muse I 
Thiii^:s uuattciuplcd yd. iit prose or rliyiiic' 
A sliilllDK'i breeches, aud chimeras dire." 

Hai'I'Y tlie man wlio, void of cares and strife. 
In silken or in leather purse retains 
A Splendid Shilling : ho nor hears with pain 
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale ; 
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise. 
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs ; 
AVhere, mindful of the nymph, who-so \vant(ni eye 
Translixed his soul, ami kindled amorous tlames, 
t'hloe, or rhillis, he each circling glass 
Wishetli her health, and joy, ami eipml love. 
Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, 
Or pun ambiguous, or conumlrum ()Uaiut. 
Hut 1, whom griping penury surrounds, 
.\nd Hunger, sure attendant upon Want, 
■\Vith scanty otlnls, and small acid till', 
(Wretched irpa.st !) my meager eorp.'ie sustain : 
Tlicn solitary walk, or doze at home 
In garret vile, and w ith a warming putV 
Kegale chilled fingers : or from tube as black 
.\s winter-ehimney, or well-polished jet, 
K.\hale inunilungus, ill-perfuming scent : 
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, 
Snuikes Cambro-liriton (verseil in pedigree, 
Sprung IVon\ Cadwallador and Arthur, kings 
Full famous in ronumtie tale') when he, 
O'er many a craggy liill and barren cliU', 
Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese. 
High overshadowing rides, with a design 
To vend his wares, or at the Arvonian mart, 
Or Maridnnum, or the ancient town 
Vclept Brechinia, or whore Vaga's stream 



i:u- 



or the style orMiltoiv 



Encircles Aricouiuiu, fruitful soil ! 

Whence How uoctaroous wines, that well may 

vie 
With Massic, Setin, or renowned Falern. 

Thus do 1 live, from pleasure ipiitc debarred, 
Nor taste the fruits that the Sun's genial rays 
Mature, jolin-apple, nor the downy peach, 
Nor walnut in rough-furrowed coat secure. 
Nor medlar, fruit delicious in tlecay ; 
Afflictions groat ! yet greater still remain : 
My galligaskins, that liave long withstood 
The winter's fury, ami encroaching frosts. 
By time subdued (what will not time subdue !) 
-Vn horrid chasm disclosed with oritiee 
Wide, discontinuous ; iit which the winds, 
Eurus and Austcr, and the dreadful force 
Of Uoreas, that congeals the Cronian waves. 
Tumultuous enter with dire, chilling blasts. 
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship. 
Long sailed secure, or through the ^Egean deop, 
Or the Ionian, till cruising near 
The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush 
On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks !) 
She strikes rebounding; whence the shattered 

oak. 
So fierce a shock mnible to withstand. 
Admits the sea ; in at the gaping side 
The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, 
Kesistless, overwhelming; horrors seize 
The mariners ; Death in their eyes appears. 
They stare, they lave, they pump, tliey swear, 

they pray : 
(Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in, 
Imiilacable, till, deluged by the foam. 
The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss. 



THE CHAMELEON. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 
.■\ proud, conceited, talking spark, 
' With eyes that hardly served at most 
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
Yet rounil the world the blade has been. 
To see whatever could be seen. 
Keturning from his finishetl tour. 
Grown ten times perter than before ; 
W'hatever word you chance to drop. 
The traveleil fool yotir mouth will stop ; 
"Sir, if my jtidgmcnt you '11 allow — 
I "vo seen — and .sure I ought to know." 
So begs you 'd pay a duo submission, 
And acipiiesce in his decision. 

Two travelers of such a cast. 
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed. 
And on their way, in friendly chat, 



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Now talked of this, and then of that, 
Discom-sed awhile, 'mongst other matter, 
Of the ehameleon's form aud nature. 
"A stranger animal," erics one, 
"Sure never lived beneatli the sun ; 
A lizard's body, lean ami long, 
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue. 
Its foot with triple claw disjoined ; 
And what a length of tail behind ! 
How slow its pace ! and then its hue — 
Wlio ever saw so fine a blue ? " 

"Hold there," the other i^uick replies; 
"'T is green, I saw it with these eyes. 
As late with open mouth it lay. 
And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
Stretched at its ease the beast 1 viewed. 
And saw it eat the air for food." 

"I 've seen it, sir, as well as you, 
And must again alfirm it blue ; 
At leisure I the beast sun-eyerl 
Extended in the cooling shade." 

"'T is green, 't is green, .sir, I a.ssure yo." 
"Green ! " cries the other in a fury ; 
" Why, sir, d' ye think I 've lo.st my eyes?" 
"'T were no great loss," the friend replies ; 
" For if they always servo you thus. 
You '11 find them but of little use." 

So high at last the contest rose. 
From words they almost came to blows : 
When luckily came by a third ; 
To him the (juestion tlicy n-fi-rred, 
And begged he '<1 tell them, if hi^ knew. 
Whether the thing was green or blue. 

"Sir.s," cries the umpire, "cease your potlier ; 
The creature 's neither one nor t' other. 
I caught the animal last night, 
And viewed it o'er by candlelight ; 
I marked it well, 't was black as jet — 
You stare — but, sirs, I 've got it yet. 
And can produce it." " I'ray, sir, do ; 
I '11 lay my life the thing is blue." 
"And I '11 be sworn, that when you 've seen 
The reptile, you '11 pronounce him green." 
" Well, then, at once to ease the doulit," 
Replies the man, " I '11 turn him out ; 
And whi!n before your eyes I 've set him. 
If you don't find him black, I '11 eat him." 

He said ; and lull lieforo their sight 
Produced the beast, and lo ! — 't was white. 
I'oth stared ; the man looked wondrous wise — 
" My cliildren," the chameleon cries 
(Then first the creature found a tongue), 
"You all are right, and all are wrong : 
When next you talk of what you view. 
Think others see as well as you ; 
Nor wonder if you find that none 
Prefers your eyesight to his own." 

Jambs Merrick. 



u 



THE VICAE OF BRAY. 

[■• Tin- Vi..,ir .,f Bray In licrkslilrc, Lngliinil, was Sfmon Allcyn. 
or All' 11. in 1 I i II hr place from 1540 to 1588. He wab a Papist 
uti'li r I < I 1 1 M y the Eighth, and a Protectant under U(l- 

warli II I .1 Papist again under Mary, and once more 

bet. (11" I I r I' I :..! in the reign of Lliiuihcth. When tills scandal 
to the ^iiwii wa^ rcpf^ached for his versatiUty of religious creeds, 
and taxed for being a turn-coat and an Inconstant changeling, as 
puller expresses It, he replied ; "Not so, neither ; fur if 1 changed 
my religion, 1 am sure I kept true to my principle, which U to live 
and die the Vicar of Bray." — DlSRAULl. 

In good King Charles's golden days, 

When loyalty no hann meant, 
A zealous liigh-cliurchman was I, 

And so 1 got iireferment. 
To teach my flock 1 never missed : 

Kings were by <Joil ap[iointed, 

And lost are those that ilare resist 

Or touch the Loril's anointed. 

Anil I/Us is law thai I'll maintain 

IJiilil my dying day, sir. 
That vjimtsoever king slmll reign, 
Still I'll be Die Vicar of Bray, sir. 

When royal James |ios.sessed the crown. 

And pojiery came in fashion. 
The [lenal laws 1 hooteii down. 

And reiul the Ueclaration ; 
The Church of Rome I found would fit 

Full well my constitution; 
And I had been a Jesuit 

But for the llevolution. 
And this is law, etc. 

When Willi.im was our king declared, 

To ease the nation's grievance ; 
With this new wind about 1 steered. 

And swore to him alli'giiincc ; 
Ohl principles I did revoke, 

.Set conscience at a distance ; 
Passive obedience was a joke, 

A jest wa-s non-resistance. 
And thii is lav;, etc. 

When royal Anne became our queen. 

The C^hurch of Kngland's glory. 
Another face of things was seen. 

And I became a Tory ; 
Occasional confoniiists base, 

I blamed their moderation ; 
And thought the Church in danger was. 

By such prevarication. 
And this is law, etc. 

When George in pudding-time came o'er. 
And moiierate men looked big, sir. 

My principles I changed once more, 
And BO became a Whig, sir; 

Anil thus prefeiTnent I procured 



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From our new faitli's-defender, 
And almost every day abjured 
The Poiio and the Pretender. 
And Ihis is law, etc. 

The iUustrious house of Hanover, 

And Protestant succession, 
To these I do allegiance swear — 

AVhile they can keep possession : 
For in my faith and loyalty 

I nevermore will falter. 
And George my lawful king shall be — 

Until the times do alter. 
And this is law, etc. 

ANONYMOUS. 



GOOD ALE. 

1 CANNOT eat but little meat, — 

My stomach is not good ; 
But," sure, 1 think that 1 can drink 

AVith auy that wears a hood. 
Though 1 go bare, take ye no care ; 

I nothing am a-cold, — 
1 stuff my skin so full within 

Of jolly good ale and old. 

Back and side go bare, go bare ; 
Both foot and luind go cold ; 

But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, 
Wlvelhcr U be mw or old ! 

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast, 

And a crab laid in the fue ; 
A little bread shall do me stead, — 

Much bread I not desire. 
Ko frost, nor snow, nor wind, I trow, 

Can hurt me if I wold, — 
I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt 

Of jolly good ale and old. 
Back and side, etc. 

And Tyb, my wife, that as her life 

Loveth well good ale to seek. 
Full oft drinks she, till you may see 

The tears run down her cheek ; 
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl. 

Even as a malt-worm should ; 
And saith, " Sweetheart, I took my part 

Of this jolly good ale and old." 
Back and side, etc. 

Now let them drink till they nod and %vink, 
Kven as good fellows should do ; 

They shall not miss to have the bliss 
Good ale doth bring men to ; 

And all poor souls that have scoured bowls. 
Or have them lustily trowled, 



God save the lives of them and their wives, 
\\Tiether they be young or old ! 
Back and sidt., etc. 

JOHN STILL. 



GLUGGITY GLUG. 

FROM "THE MYRTLE AND THE VINE." 

A JOLLY fat friar loved liquor good store. 
And he had drunk stoutly at supper ; 
He mounted his horse in the night at the door. 

And sat with his face to the crupper : 
"Some rogue," quoth the friar, " (piitc dead to 
remorse, 
Some thief, whom a halter will throttle. 
Some scoundrel has cut otf the head of my horse. 
While I was engaged at the bottle. 

Which went ghiggity, gluggity — glug 
— glug — glug." 

The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, 

'T was the friar's road home, straight and level; 
But, when spurred, a horse follows his nose, not 
his tail. 
So he scampered due north, like a devil : 
" This new mode of docking," the friar then said, 

" I perceive does n't make a horse trot ill ; 
And 't is cheap, —for he never can eat off his 
head 
■\Vhilo 1 am engaged at the bottle. 

Which goes gluggity, gluggity — glug 
— glug — glufe'-" 

The steed made a stop, — in a pond he had got. 

He was rather for drinking than grazing ; 
Quoth the friar, " 'T is strange headless horses 
should trot. 
But to drink with their tails is anuizing ! " 
Turning round to see whence this phenomenon 
rose, 
In the pond fell this son of a pottle ; 
Quoth he, "The head 's found, for 1 'm under 
his nose, — 
I wish I were over a bottle. 

Which goes gluggit)', gluggity — glug 
— glug— glug." 

GEORGE COLMAN. THE YOUNGER. 



THE BROWN JTJG. 

Dear Tom, this brown jug that now foams with 

mild ale 
(In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale) 
Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old soul, 
As e'er drank a bottle, or fathomed a bowl ; 



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In bousiug about 't was his praise to excel, 
And among jolly topers he bore otf the bell. 

It chanced as in dog-days he siit at his ease, 
In his flower-woven arbor, as gay as you please. 
With a friend and a pi|je, puffing sorrows away. 
And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay. 
His breath-doors of lile on a sudden were shut. 
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. 

His body, when long in the giound it had lain. 
And time into clay hiid resolved it again, 
A potter found out in its covert so snug, 
And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown 

jug; 

Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild 

ale, 
So here 's to my lovely sweet Xan of the vale ! 



JOHN DAVIDSON. 

John- Davidson and Tib his wife 
Sat toastin' their taes ae night. 

When somethin' started on the fluir 
An' blinkJ;d by their sight. 

"Guidwife!" quo' John, "did ye see 
mouse ? 
Whar sorra was the cat ? " 
"A mouse?" "Ay, a mouse." " Na, 
Guidman, 
It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat." 

"0, Guidwife, to think ye 've been 

Sae lang about the house. 
An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat ! 

Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse ! " 

"I 've seen mair mice than you, Guidman, 

An' what think ye o' that ? 
Sae hand your tongue an' say nae mair, — 

I tell ye 't was a rat." 

" Me baud my tongue for you, Guidn-ife ! 

I '11 be maister o' this house, — 
I saw it as plain as een could see. 

An' I tell ye 't was a moase !" 

"If you 're the maister o' the house. 

It 's I 'm the mistress o' 't ; 
An' I ken best what 's i' the house, — 

Sae I tell ye 't was a rat." 

"Weel, weel, Guidwife, gae mak the brose, 

An' ca' it what ye please. " 
Sae up she gat an' made the brose, 

While John sat toastin' his taes. 



They suppit an' suppit an' suppit the brose. 

An' aye their lips played smack ; 
They suppit an' suppit an' suppit the brose 

Till their lugs began to crack. 

" Sic fules we were to fa' out, Guidwife, 

About a mouse. " "A what ! 
It 's a lee ye tell, an' I say again, 

It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat." 

" Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face ? 

My faith, but ye craw croose ! — 
I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear 't, — 

'Twas a mouse." " 'T was a rat" " 'T was a 



Wi' that she stnick him ower the pow. 

" Ye dour auld doit, tak' that ! 
Gae to your bed, ye cankered sumph ! 

'T was a rat." " T was a mouse ! " "'Twas 
a rat ! " 

She sent the brose-cup at his heels 

As he hirpled ben the house ; 
But he shoved out his head as he steckit the 
door. 

An' cried, " 'T was a mouse, 't was a mouse ! " 

Yet when the auld carle fell asleep. 

She paid him back for that. 
An' roared into his sleepin' lug, 

" 'T was a rat, 't w,%s a rat, 't was a rat ! " 

The deil be wi' me, if I think 

It was a beast at all. 
Next mornin', when she sweept the floor. 

She found wee Johnie's ball ! 

ANO.VYMOUS 



THE VmTtTOSO.' 



Nugari solit 



WnrioM by silver Thames's gentle stream. 
In London toivn there dwelt a subtle wight, — 

A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame. 
Book-learned and quaint : a Virtuoso hight. 

Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight ; 
From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease. 

Nor ceased he from .study, day or night. 
Until (advancing onward by degrees) 
He knew whatever breeds on earth or air ot 



' In imitation of Spenser's style and s 



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[&^ 



860 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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& 



He many a creature did anatomize, 

Almost unpeoijling water, air, and land ; 

Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars. Hies, 
Were laid full low by his relentless hand, 

That oft witli gory crimson was distaiiied ; 
Ho many a dog destroyed, and many a cat ; 

Of Ileus his bed, of frogs the marshes drained, 
Could tellcn if a mite were lean or fat, 
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat. 

lie knew the various modes of ancient times. 

Their arts and fashions of each ditforent guise, 
Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes, 

Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ; 
Of old habiliments, each sort and size, 

Male, female, high and low, to him were known ; 
Each gladiator dress, and stage disguise ; 

With learned, clerkly idiraso he; could have 
shown 

How till- theek tunic differed from the Koman 



A c\irious medalist, 1 wot, ho was. 

And boasted many a course of ancient coin 

Well as his wife's he knewen every face. 
From Julius Cajsar down to Constantine : 

For some rare sculpture ho would oft ypine, 
(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) 

And when obtainkl, with enraptured eyne. 
He 'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view. 
And look, and look again, as he would look it 
through. 

His rich nuiseum, of dimensions fair. 
With goods that spoke the owner's mind was 
fraught : 

Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare. 
From sea and land, from Greece and Rome, 
were brought, 

Wliirli he with mighty sums of gold had bought : 
On these all tides with joyous eyes he ])ored ; 

And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought, 
When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, 
Than if he 'd been of Albion's wealthy cities 



THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 

Fkiend.siiii', like love, is but a name, 
Tnless to one you stint the flame, 
The cliild, whom many fathers share, 
Hath seldom known a father's care. 
'T is thus in friendship ; who depend 
On many, rarely find a friend. 

A hare who, in a civil wav, 



Complied with everything, like Gay, 
Was known by all the bestial train 
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain ; 
Her care was never to oft'end ; 
And every creature was her friend. 
A.S forth she went at early dawn, 
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn. 
Behind she hears the hunter's cries, 
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. 
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; 
She hears the near advance of death ; 
She doubles, to mislead the hound, 
And measures back her mazy round ; 
Till, fainting in the public way, 
Half dead with fear she ga.sping lay. 

What transport in her bosom grew, 
When first the horse appeared in view ! 

" Let me," says she, "your back ascend, 
And owe my safety to a friend. 
You know my feet betray my flight ; 
To friendship every burden 's light." 

The horse replied, "Poor honest puss. 
It grieves my heart to see theo thus : 
Be comforted, relief is near, 
For all your friends are in tlie rear." 

She next the stately bull implored ; 
And thus replied the mighty lord : 
"Since every beast alive can tell 
That I sincerely wish you well, 
I may, without offense, pretend 
To take the freedom of a friend. 
Love calls me hence ; a favorite cow 
Expects me near yon barley-mow ; 
And, when a lady 's in the case. 
You know, all other things give place. 
To leave you thus might seem unkind ; 
But, see, the goat is just behind." 

The goat remarked, her pulse •n'as high, 
Her languid head, her heavy eye : 

" My back," says he, "may do you harm ; 
The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." 

The sheep was feeble, and complained 
His sides a load of wood sustained ; 
Said he was slow, confessed his fears ; 
For hounds eat sheep as w-ell as hares. 
She now the trotting calf addressed, 
To save from death a friend distressed. 
"Sl}all I," .says he, " of tender age, 
In this important ease engage ? 
Older and abler passed you by ; 
How strong are those ! How weak am I ! 
Should I presume to bear you hence. 
Those friends of mine may take olfense. 
Excuse me, then ; you know my heart ; 
But dearest friends, ala.s ! must part. 
How shall we all lament ! Adieu ! 
For see, the hounds are just in view." 

JOHN Gay. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 

Good i)eo2)le all, of eveiy sort, 

Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you liud it wondrous short, 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there Wiis a man, 
(-)f whom the world might say, 

That still a godly race he ran — 
Whene'er he went to praj'. 

A kind and gentle heart he had. 

To comfort friend-s and foes : 
The naked every day he clad — 

When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there be, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound. 

And cur of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends ; 

But when a picfue began. 
The dog, to gain some jjrivate ends. 

Went mad, and bit the man. 

Around from all the neighoring streets 
The wondering neighbors ran. 

And swore the dog had lost his wits. 
To bite so good a man ! 

The wound it seemed both sore and sad 

To every Christian eye : 
And while they swore the dog was mad. 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 

That showed the rogues they lied : — 

The man recovered of the bite. 
The dog it was that died ! 

OLIVER GOtDSMlTH. 



ELEGY ON MADAM BLAIZE. 

Good people all, with one accord. 
Lament for Madam Blaize ; 

Who never wanted a good word — 
From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom passed her door, 
And always found her kind ; 

She freely lent to all the poor — 
Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please. 
With manner wondrous winning ; 



She never followed wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silk and satins new, 

With hoop of monstrous size. 
She never slumbered in her pew — 

But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver. 

By twenty beaux, or more ; 
The king himself has followed her — 

When she has walked before. 

But now, her wealth and finery fled, 

Her haugers-on cut short all. 
Her doctors found, when she was dead — 

Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament, in sorrow sore ; 

For Kent Street well may say. 
That, had she lived a twelvemonth more — 

She had not died to-day. 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



THE NOSE AlO) THE EYES. 

Between Nose and Ej'es a strange contest arose • 
The spectacles set tliem, unhappily, wrong ; 

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. 
To whom the .said spectacles ought to belong. 

So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause, 
AVith a great deal of skill, and a wig full of 
learning, 

While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, — 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 

" In behalf of the Xose, it will quickly appear 
(And your lordship," he said, ' ' will undoubt- 
edly find) 
That the Nose has the spectacles always to wear. 
Which amounts to possession, time out of 
mind," 

Then, holding the spectacles up to the court, 
"Your lordship observes, they are made with 
a straddle, 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short. 
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

"Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 
('T is a case that has happened, and may hap- 
pen again) 
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
Pray, who would, or who amid, wear spectacles 
then? 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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"On the whole, it appears, and my argument 
shows. 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 
That the spectacles, plainly, were made for the 
Nose, 
And the Nose was, as plainly, intended for 
tliem." 

Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how), 
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : 

But what were his arguments, few people know. 
For the court did not think them equally wise. 

So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn 
tone. 
Decisive and clear, without one if or but, 
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on. 
By daylight or candlelight, — Eyes should be 
simt. 

WILLIAM COWPER. 



B- 



THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE- 
GRINDER.* 

FRIEND OK HUMANITY. 

Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going? 
Hough is the road ; your wheel is out of order. 
Bleak blows the blast ; — your hat has got a hole 
in 't ; 
So have your breeches ! 

Weary knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones, 
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- 
Road, what hard work 't is crying all day, 'Knives 
and 
Si'issors to grind !' 

Tell me, knife-giinder, how came you to grind 

knives ? 
Did some rich man tyrannically use you ? 
Was it the sf|uire? or parson of the parish? 
Or (lie attorney ? 

Wa-s it the squire for killing of his game? or 
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining ? 
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little 
All in a lawsuit? 

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom 

Paine ?) 
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, 
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your 
Pitiful story. 

• A burlesque upon the humanitarian sentiments of Southey in 
his younpcr days, as well as of the Sapphic stanzas in which he 
sometimes cmbotlicd them. 



KNIFE-GRINDEK. 

Story ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir ; 
Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, 
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were 
Torn in a scufBe. 

Constables came up for to take me into 
Custody ; they took me before the justice ; 
Justice Oldmi.xon put mc in the parish 
Stocks for a vagi'ant. 

I should be glad to drink your honor's health in 
A pot of beer, if you will give ine sixpence ; 
But for my part, I never love to meddle 
With politics, sir. 

FRIF.ND OF HUMANITY. 

I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damned 

first, — 
Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to 

vengeance, — 
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, 
Spiritless outcast ! 

(A*;V/t-j the knife-grinder, overturns his tvheel, and exit 
in a transport o/ republican enthusiasm and universal 
philanthropy ) 

GEORGE Canning. 



SAYING NOT MEANING. 

Two gentlemen their appetite had fed. 
When, opening his toothpick-ca.se, one said, 
" It was not until lately that I knew 
That anchovies on terra firma grew." 
"Grow ! " cried the other, " yes, they grow, in- 
deed. 

Like other fish, but not upon the land ; 
You might as well say grapes grow on a reed, 

Or in the Strand ! " 

" Why, sir," returned the irritated other, 
" lly brother. 
When at Calcutta 
Beheld them bona fide growing ; 

He would n't utter 
A lie for love or money, sir ; so in 

This matter you are thoroughly mistaken." 
" Nonsense, sir ! nonsense ! I can give no credit 
To the assertion, — none e'er saw or read it ; 
Your brother, like his evidence, should bo 
shaken." 

" Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are 

Perverse — in short — " 
"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar. 

And then his port, — 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



863 



:r^ 



" If you will say impossibles are true, 
You may affirm just anything you please — 

That swans are (luadrupeds, and lions blue, 
And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese ! 

Only you must not/orcc me to believe 

Wliat 's propagated merely to deceive." 

"Then you force me to say, sir, you 're a fool," 

Returned the bragger. 
Language like tliis no man can suffer, cool : 
It made the listener stagger ; 
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied, 

"The traveler lied 
Who had the impudence to tell it you." 
" Zounds ! then d' ye mean to swear before my 

face 
That anchovies dim't grow like cloves and mace ? " 
"Irfo.'" 

Disputants often after hot debates 

Leave tlie contention as they found it — bone, 
And take to duelling or thumping tSles; 

Thinking by strength of artery to atone 
For strength of argument ; and he who wince.s 
From force of words, with force of arms convinces ! 

With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint, 

Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding, 

Our friends advanced ; and now portentous 
loading 
(Their hearts already loaded) served to show 
It miglit be better they shook hands, — but no ; 

Wheu each opines himself, though frightened, 
right. 

Each i.s, in courtesy, obliged to fight ! 
And they did fight : from si.K full-measured paces 

The unbeliever pulled his trigger first ; 
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces. 

The whizzing lead had whizzed its veiy worst, 
Kan up, and with a duclislic fear 

(His ire evanishing like morning vapors), 
Found him possessed of one remaining ear. 

Who in a manner sudden and uncouth. 

Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth ; 
For while the surgeon was applying lint, 
He, wriggling, cried, " The deuce is in 't — 

Sir ! I meant — -capeks I " 

William Basil wake. 



t- 



THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. 

A BRACE of sinners, for no good. 

Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine. 
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, 

And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine. 



Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, 
With something in their shoes much worse than 

gravel ; 
In short, their toes so gentle to amuse. 
The priest had ordered peas into their shoes : 
A nostrum famous in old popish times 
For purifying .souls that stunk of crimes : 

A sort of apostolic salt. 

Which popish parsons for its powers e.xalt. 
For keeping souls of sinners sweet. 
Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat. 

The knaves set off on the same day, 
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray ; 

But very different was their speed, I wot : 
One of the sinners galloped on, 
Swift as a bullet from a gun ; 

The other limped, as if he had been shot. 
One saw the Virgin soon, Peccavi cried. 

Had liis soul whitewashed all so clever ; 
Then home again he nimbly hied, 

Made fit with saints above to live forever. 

In coming back, however, let me say. 

He met his brother rogue about half-way, — 

Hobbling, with outstretched arms and beu<k'd 

knees. 
Cursing the souls and bodi(-'S of the peas ; 
His eyes in tears, his checks and brow in sweat, 
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet. 
"How now," the light-toed, whitewashed pil- 
grim broke, 
" You lazy lublier !" 
" Ods curse it ! " cried the other, " 't is no joke ; 
My feet, once hard as any rock, 
Are now as soft as blubber. 

"Excuse me. Virgin Mary, that I swear, 
As for Loretto, I shall not get there ; 
No, to the devil my sinful soul must go. 
For damme if I ha' n't lost every toe. 
But, brother sinner, pray exphain 
How 't is that you are not in pain. 

What power hath worked awonderforyourtoes, 
Whilst I just like a snail am crawling, 
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, 

Wliilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes ? 

" How is 't that you can like a gi'eyhound go, 
Merry as if that naught had happened, burn 
ye!" 
"Wliy," cried the other, grinning, "you must 
know, 
That just before I ventured on my journey, 
To walk a little more at ease, 
I took the liberty to boil my peas." 

DR. woi.cuTT (Peter Pindar), 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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THE RAZOR-SELLEB. 

A FELLOW ill a iiiiii'ket-towii, 

Most niusieal, cried razors up and down, 

And offered twelve for eighteen pence ; 
Wliidi (■crtaiiily seemed wondrous cheap, 
And, for the money, (luite a heap, 

As every man would buy, with cash and sense. 

A country bumpkin the great offer heard, — 
I'oor Hodge, who sulfercd by a broad black beard, 

'I'liat .seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath liis 
nose ; 
With ehei-rfulness the eighteen pence he paid, 
And proudly to himself in whispers said, 

"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. 

"No matter if the fellow be a knave, 
Provided that the razors slMve ; 

It certainly will be a monstrous prize." 
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went, 
8nuliiig, in heart and soul content. 

And quickly soaped himscdf to ears and eyes. 

lieiiig Well lathered from a dish or tub, 
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub, 

Just like a hedger cutting furze ; 
'T was a vile razor ! — then the rest lu! tried, — 
All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge sighed, 

" 1 wish my eighteen pence wilhin my purse." 

In vain to chase his licard, and bring the graces, 
He cut, and dug, and winced, and staiii]ied, 
and swore ; 
Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and 
made wry faces, 
And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er : 

His muzzle formed of opposilicm stuff, 
Fii-m as a Foxite, would not lose its rulT ; 

So kept it, — laughing at the steel and suds. 
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws. 
Vowing the direst vengeance with clenched claws. 

On the vile cheat that sold the goods. 
"Razors! a moan, (confounded dog. 
Not (it to scrape a hog ! " 

Hodge sought the fellow, — found him, — and 

liegun : 
"P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun, 

That people flay themselves out of their lives. 
You rascal ! for an hour have I been grubbing, 
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing. 

With razors just like oyster-knives. 
Sirrah ! I tell you you 're a knave, 
To cry up razors that can't shave I" 



h 



"Friend," cpiotb the razor-man, 
knave ; 



' I 'm not a 



As for the razors you have bought, 
Upon my soul, I never thought 
That they would shave." 

" Not think they 'd shavn !" quoth Hodge, with 
wondering eyes. 
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell ; 
"What were they made for, then, you dog?" 
he cries. 
"Made," quotli the fellow with a .smile, — 
" to sell." 

Dr. Wolcott (Peter pi.ndar). 



EPIGRAMS BY S. T. COLERIDGE. 

COLOGNE. 
In Koln, a town of monks and bones. 
And pavcuiinls fiuiL,'! d with murderous stones, 
And raj;s, idhI ll:l^^, iunl hideous wonches, — 
I counted iwiKjiiil .siviuty stenches, 
All wcll-dclined and several stinks ! 
Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, 
The river Rhine, it is well known, 
Doth wash your city of Cologne ; 
But tell me, nymjihs ! what power divine 
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ? 



Sly Beelzebub took all occasions 

To try .lob's eonstaucy and patience. 

Ha took his honor, took his health ; 

He took his children, took his wealth. 

His servants, oxen, horses, cows — 

But cunning Satan did not take his si^ouse. 

But Heaven, that brings out good from evil. 

And loves to disappoint the devil, 

Had iiredetermined to restore 

Twofold all he had before ; 

His servants, horses, oxen, cows — 

Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse ! 



HoAR.sB Maivius reads his hobbling verse 

To all, and at all times. 
And finds them both divinely smooth, 

His voice as well as rhymes. 

Yet folks say Ma'vius is no ass ; 

But Mievius makes it clear 
That he 's a monster of an aas, — 

An ass without an ear ! 



Swans sing before they die, — 'twere no bad thing 
Did certain persons die before they sing. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



865 



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THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. 



■chcci < 



U-- 



" In Ihc parish of St. Neots. Curnwall, is 
with [)|C robes of four iciiuL. of trees, — witliy. oak, cliu, and asll, — 
.-iRd dedicated to St. Kcync. The reported virtue of die water i: 
this, that, wlicthcr Iiusbatid or wife lirst drinl< thereof, they get tilt 
iii.istcry thereby."— ruLLIiR. 

.V wi.i.Ij tliere is in the West country, 
.\iiil a L'lwirei' one never was seen ; 

There is not a wife in the West country 
IjUt lias heard of the Well of St. Keyne. 

An oak anil an elm tree stantl Ijesiile, 
And behind does an a.sh-tree grow, 

And a willow finni the hank above 
Diiiops to the water lielow. 

A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne ; 

rieasant it was to his eye. 
For from cock-crow he had been traveling, 

And llirrc was not a cloiiil in tin; sky. 

Hi: drank of the water so cool and clear, 

For thirsty and hot was he. 
And he sat down npon the bank. 

Under the willow-lree. 

There came a ui.iri IVoin I lie neighboring town 

At the well to till his |uil, 
On the well-side ho icst.d il, 

And bade the stranger hail. 

" N'ow art thona bachelor, stranger ? " ijuoth he, 

" For an if thon hast a wife. 
The happiest draught thou h.ast drank this day 

That ever thou didst in thy life. 

" Or has yourgooil wiiiiian, if mie yim have. 

In Cornwall ever b.-m .' 
For an if she have, I 'II venture my life 

She has drunk of the well of St. Keyne." 

" I have left a good wom.an who never was here," 

The stranger he made reply ; 
" lint that my draught shouhl be better for that, 

I pray you answer mo why." 

" St. Keyne," quoth the countryman," many a 
time 

Drank of this crystal well, 
.\nd before the angel summoned her 

.She laid on the water a spell. 

" If the husband of this gifte.l well 

Shall drink before his wife, 
A happy man thenceforth is lie, 

For he shall be master for life. 

" liut if the wife .should drink of it first, 
Heaven help the husband then ! " 



The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne, 
And drank of the waters again. 

" You drank of the well, 1 w'arrant, betimes ? ' 

He to the countryman said. 
But the countryman smiled an the stranger spake 

And sheepishly shook his head. 

" 1 hastened, as soon as the wedding was done. 

And left my wife in the porch. 
But i' faith, she had been wiser than me. 

For she took a liottle to church." 

KOBUKT SOUTHKV. 



TOBY TOSSPOT. 

Alas ! what pity 't is that regularity, 

Like Isa^xc Shove's, is such a rarity ! 
But there are swilling wights in London town, 

Termed jolly dogs, choice spirits, alias swine, 
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, 

Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. 

These spendthrifts, wdio life's pleivsures thui.- 
run on. 

Dozing with headaches till the afternoon. 
Lose half men's regular estate of sun, 

By borrowing too largely of the moon. 

One of this kidney — Toby Tosspot hight — 
Was coming from the Bedford late at night ; 
And being Bacchi picnus, full of wine, 
.although he had a tolerable notion 
Of aiming at progressive motion, 
'T was n't direct, — 't was serpi^ntine. 
He worked with sinuosities, along. 
Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a 

cork. 
Not straight, like Corkscrew's Jiro.xy, stilf Don 
Prong, — a fork. 

M length, with near four bottles in his pate. 
He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate. 
When reading, " Please to ring the bell," 

And being civil beyond measure, 
" King it ! " says Toby, — " very well ; 

1 '11 ring it with a deal of pleasure." 
Toby, the kindest .soul in all the town. 
Gave it a jerk that almost jerked it down. 

He waited full two minutes, — no one came ; 

He waited full two minutes more ; — and then 
Says Toby, " If he 's deaf, I 'm not to blame ; 

I '11 pull it for the gentleman again." 

But the first peal w'oke Lsaac in a fright, 

Who, quick as lightning, popjiing up his head, 
.Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed. 

Pale as a parsnip, — bolt upright. 



^ 



Y «G0 



HUMOROUS FOE MS. 



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k 



At li'iif^th ho wisely to hiniself doth my, oahiiing 

liis i'ejirs, — 
"'I'lisli ! 'I is soiiiu fool 1ms raii;^ mill run iiwuy "; 
When |.ral I lie scchkI ralllitl in liis cars. 

Shove jviiii|iud iiilo tin: niidilk! ol' the Moor ; 

And, livnililing at ciich breath ol' air that stirred, 
Jlo groped down stairs, and opened the street 
duor, 

While Toliy was perrornilMg ]>eal the third. 

l.saac eyed 'i'ohy, I'earl'idly askant, 

And saw he was a strapiier, stout and tall ; 

Then put this iiuestion, " I'ray, sir, what d' ye 
want f " 
Says Toby, " 1 want nutliin/;, sir, at all." 

" Want nothing ! ,Sir, you 've pulled my bell, I 
vow. 

As if you 'd jerk it oil' the wire." 
(.luiitii Toby, gravely making him a bow, 

" I pulled it, sir, at your desire." 

"At mine?" "Yes, yours; 1 lio]ie 1 've done 
it well. 

High time lor bed, sir ; I was hastening to it ; 
but if you write up, ' Please to ring the bell,' 

Common politeness makes me atop and do it." 



SIK MAKMADUKK. 

Sill Mahmahuku was a hearly kuiglil, — 

tlood man ! old man ! 
lie 's painted standing bolt U])right, 

Willi his hose rolled over his knee ; 
His periwig 's as white as elialk, 
An>l on his list he holds a hawk ; 

And b,' looks like the lieail 
I If an aneient I'aiiiily. 

Hisdining-rooiii was long and wide, — 

(lood man ! old man ! 
His spaniels lay by the lireside ; 

And in other parts, d' ye see. 
Cross-bows, tobaeco-]iipes, old hats, 
A saddle, his wife, and a litti-r of eats ; 

And lie looked like tlie head 
(Han ancient family. 

He never turned the poor from the gate, — 

(iood man I old man ! 
Hut, was always ready to break the jiate 

Of his eountry's enemy. 
What knight eould do a better thing 
'i'lian serve the poor and fight for his king ? 

Ami so may every head 
Of Rii aneient family. 

GlIOKGB COLMAN TUB YOUNCliR. 



THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN." 

I 'i.l, sing you a good old song, 

Jlade by a good old pate. 
Of a line old English gentleman 

Who had an old estate. 
And who kept up his old mansion 

At a bountiful old rate ; 
With a good old porter to relieve 

The old poor at his gate. 
Like a line old Kngli.sli gentleman 

All of the olden time. 



His hall so old was hung around 

With pikes and guns and bows, 
And swords, and good old bueklers, 

That had stooil some tough old blows ; 
'T was there " his worship " held his state 

In doublet and trunk hose. 
And ipiall'ed his eiip of gooil old .sack, 

To warm his good old nose. 
Like a line, etc. 



When winter's cold brought frost and snow, 

He opened house to all ; 
And though threeseore and ten his years. 

He feally led the ball ; 
Nor was the houseless wanderer 

E'er diiven from his hall ; 
I''or while he feasted all the great. 

Ho ne'er forgot the small ; 
Like a line, etc. 

Hut time, though old, is strong in flight. 

And years roll swiftly liy ; 
And Autumn's falling leaves iiroclaimed 

This good old man must die ! 
He laid him down right tranquilly. 

Cave up life's latest sigh ; 
And mournful stillness reigned around. 

And tears bedewed each eye. 
For this good, etc. 



Now surely this is Iwtter far 

Than all the new parade 
Of theatres and fancy balls, 

" At home" ami masquerade : 
And much more economical. 

For all his bills were paid. 
Tlieii leave your m^w vagaries iniitc 

And take up the old trade 
Of a line old English gentleman, 

All of the olden time. 



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HUMOllOUS POEMS. 



867 



r^ 



GUY FAWKES. 



U- 



I mini; ii ilolulul tragedy, 

(Jiiy Kawkes, the prince of sinistcrs, 
Wlio once lilew up tlio House of I-onls, 

Tile King anJ nil lii.s ministers, 
That is — lio would liave blown tliem up, 

Ancl they 'd have nil been cindered, 
Oi- seriously scorched at least — 

If he had not been hindered. 



So stiviight he came froiii Lainbeth side 

To see the state thus uiiiloiie, 
And crossing over Vauxhall bridge, 

< 'anie that way into London ; 
That is — he vmiUd have come that way 

To per[ietrate his guilt, sir. 
But a little thing preventeil him, — 

The bridge was not yet built, sir. 



Then in the dreary vaults he stole, 

When all was wrapt in night, sir, 
Kesolved to fire tlie powder-train 

With jiortable gas-light, sir ; 
That is, — he would have brought the gas, 

Within the vaults he rented. 
But gas, you know, in .James's time, 

It had n't been invcmted. 



Now James, you know, King .lames, I mean, 

Was always thought a sly fo.>t, 
So he bade them search the aforesaid vaults, 

And there they found jioor (!uy Kawkes; 
Who would, I 'm sure, have blown them up. 

Of that there 's little doubt, sir, 
Vm they never would have found him in, 

If they had n't found him out, sir. 

So when they caught him in the fact, 

So very near the Crown's end. 
They straightway sent to l5ow Street for 

That brave old runner Townsend ; 
That is, — they would have sent for liim. 

For /car he wa.s no starter at, — 
]\\\i Townsend was n't living then. 

He was n't bom till arti.T that. 



And next they put poor Guy to death. 

For ages to remember, 
And now again, he; dies eacli year, 

The fifth day of November ; — 
I mean to say his elTlgics, 

For truth is stern and steady, 
For Guy can never die again, 

Because he 'g dead already. 



Then let us sing, "Long live the King,"* 

And bless his royal son, sir. 
That is — if he lias one to liless — 

If not, no harm is done, sir. 
But if he lia.s, I 'ni sure he 'II reign, 

So jirophesies my song, sir. 
And if he don't, why then he won't, 

And so I can't be wrong, sir. 

ANONYMOUS, 



THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE bTRANOER. 

In Broad Street building (on a winter niglil), 

Snug by his jiarlorliic-, a gouty wight 

Sat all alone, vvilh one hand rubbing 

His feet, rolled up in lleeey hose ; 

With f other he 'd beneath his nose 

Tin: Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing, 

He noted all the sales of hops. 

Ships, shops, and slojis ; 
Gum, galls, and groceries ; ginger, gin. 
Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentini', and tin ; 
When lo ! a decent peraonage in black 
Kntered and most politely said, — 

"Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly 
track 

To the King's Head, 
And left your door ajar ; which I 
Observed in passing by, 

And thought it neighborly to give you no- 



how very few get, 



tie 
"Ten thousand thanks 
In time of danger. 
Such kinil attentions from a stranger ! 
Assuredly, that fellow's throat is 
Doomed to a final drop at Newgat<! ; 
He knows, too, (the uneonscionable elf I) 
That there 's no soul at home except myself." 

" Indeed," replied the stranger (lookinggiave), 

"Then he 's a double knave ; 
He knows that rogues ami thieves by scores 
Nightly beset unguarded doors : 
And see, how ca.sily might one 

Of these domestic foes, 

Kven beneath your very nose. 
Perform his knavish tricks ; 
F.nter your room, as I have done. 
Blow out your candles — thus — and thus — 
Pocket your silver candlesticks. 

And — walk off — thus " — 
So said, so done ; he made no more remark, 

Nor waited for replies. 

But marched off with his prize, 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. 

HORACI' SMITH. 






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868 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



ORATOK PUFF. 



Mil. Oi;.\ii>u VvFF liiul two tones in )ii.s voice, 
The ono .siiueaking thus, and the other down 
so : 
In each sentence he uttered lie gave you your 
clioice, 
For one lialf was li alt, and the rest U belovf. 
! () ! Orator I'uir, 
One voice lor an orator's surely enough. I 

Hut he still talked away, spite of coughs and I 
of frowns, ] 

So distracting all ears with his ups and his 
downs. 
That a wag on(^!, on hearing the orator say, 
"My voice is for war !" asked, "Which of 
them, pray?" 
! ! Orator Puff, etc. 

Keeling hoiucwarils on(; evening, top-heavy with 
gin, 
And reliearsiug his speech on the weight of 
tlie crown, 
He tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, 
" Sinking fund " the last words as his noddle 
came down. 
! O ! Orator Tulf, etc. 

" Good Lord ! " he e.vclaimed, in his he-and-she 
tones, 
" TIkli' mk iiiir ! Ih!/) iiicniit / 1 have broken 
my bones ! " 
"Help you out?" .said a Paddy who p.assed, 

"what a bother ! 
AVhy, there 's two of you there — can't you help 
one another ? " 
! O ! Oiator Pulf, 
One voice for an orator's surely enough. 

THOMAS MOOKE. 



MORNING MEDITATIONS. 

IjF.t Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy. 
How well to rise while nights and larks are fly- 
ing, — 
For my part, getting up .seems not so easy 
l?y half as h/ivrj. 

Wliat if the lark does carol in the sky, 
Soaring beyond the sight to find him out, — 
Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly ? 
I 'm not a trout. 

Talk not to me of bees and such-like hums. 
The smell of sweet herbs at the morniug prime, - 
Only lie long enough, and bed becomes 
A bed of timf. 



To me Dan Phoebus and his car are naught. 
His steeds that paw impatiently about, — 
Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought, 
The first turn-out ! 



Right beautiful the dewy meads appear 
Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl ; 
What then, — if I prefer luy pillow-beer 
To early pearl ! 

My stomach is not ruled by other men's. 
And, grumbling for a reason, quaintly begs 
Wherefore should master rise before the hens 
Have laid their eggs ? 

Why from a comfortable pillow start 
To see faint flushes in the east awaken ? 
A fig, say I, for any streaky part, 
Excepting bacon. 

An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, 
Who used to haste the dewy grass among, 
" To meet the sun upon the upland lawn," — 
Well, — he died young. 

With charwomen sucli (larly hours agree, 
Aiul sweeps that earn betimes their bit and sup ; 
But I 'm no climbing boy, and need not be 
All up, — all up ! 

So here I lie, my morning <-alls deferring, 
Till something nearer to the stroke of noon ; — 
A man that 's fond precociously of sturimj 
Must be a spoon. 

THOMAS Hood. 



FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

Young Ben he was a nice young man, 

A carpenter by trade ; 
And he fell in love with Sally Brown, 

Tliat was a lady's maid. 

Rut as they fetched a walk one day, 

They met a press-gang crew ; 
And Sally she did faint away. 

Whilst Ben he was brought to. 

The boatswain swore with wicked words 

Eimugh to shock a saint. 
That, though she did seem in a fit, 

'T was nothing but a feint. 

"Gonu', girl," said ho, "hold up your head. 

He '11 be as good as me ; 
For when your swain is in our boat 

A boatswain he will be." 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



869 



-a 



So wbeii they 'd made theii- game of her, 

And taken off her elf, 
She roused, and found she only was 

A cuniing to herself. 

" And is he gone, and is he gone ? " 
She ei'ieil and wejit outright ; 

"Then I will to the water-side, 
And see him out of sight. " 

A waterman came u]) to her ; 

" Now, young woman," .said he, 
" If you weejj on so, you will make 

Eye-water in the sea." 

"Alas ! they 've taken my beau, Ben, 

To .sail with old Beuhow" ; 
And her woe began to run afresh, 

As if she 'd said. Gee woe ! 

Says he, "They 've only taken him 
To the tender-ship, you see." 

"The tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, - 
" What a Iiard-sliip that must be ! " 

" 0, would 1 were a mermaid now, 

For then I 'd follow him ! 
But 0, I "m not a fish-woman. 

And so I cannot swim. 

"Alas ! I was not born beneath 

The Virgin and the Scales, 
So I must curse my cruel stars. 

And walk about in Wales." 

Now Ben had sailed to manj' a place 
That 's underneath the world ; 

But in two years the ship came home, 
And all her sails were furled. 

Rut when he called on Sally Brown, 

To see how .she got on. 
He found she 'd got another Ben, 

Whose Christian-name was John. 

"() Sally Brown ! Sally Brown ! 

Hiiw could you serve me so ? 
I " ve met with many a breeze before. 

But never .such a blow ! " 

Then, reading on his 'bacco box, 

H" heaved a heavy sigh. 
And then began to eye his pipe, 

And then to pipe his eye. 

And then he tried to sing "All 's Well ! 
But could not, though he tried ; 



His head was turned, — and so he chewed 
His pigtail till he died. 

His deatli, which happened in his berth, 

At forty-odd befeU ; 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton tolled the beU. 

Thomas hood. 



I AM A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 

FROM THE OPERA OF " ROBIN HOOD." 

I AM a friar of orders gray. 

And down in the valleys I take my way ; 

I pull not blacklierry, haw, or hip, — 

Good store of venison (ills my scrip ; 

My long bead-roll 1 merrily chant ; 

Where'er 1 walk no money I want ; 

And wdiy 1 'm so jihimp the reason I tell, — 

Who leads a goo<l life is sure to live well. 
What baron or squire, 
Or knight of the shire, 
Lives half so well as a holy friar i 

After supix'r of lieaven I dream, 
But that is a pullet and clouted cream ; 
Myself, by denial, 1 mortify — 
With a dainty bit of a warden-pie ; 
1 'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin, — 
With old sack wine I 'm lined within ; 
A chirping cup is my matin song. 
And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding dong. 
What baron or squire. 
Or knight of the shire. 
Lives half so well as a holy friar ? 
John o Kuf.ff.. 



THE JACKDAW OF RriElMS. 

The .lackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair ! 
Bishop and abbot and prior were there ; 

Many a monk, and many a friar, 

Many a knight, and many a s(iuiic. 
With a great many more of lesser degree, — 
In sooth, a goodly company ; 
And they served the Lord Primate on bended 
knee. 

Never, 1 ween, 

Was a proudei" .scon. 
Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams. 
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheime I 

In and out, 

Through the motley rout. 
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about : 

Here and there. 

Like a dog in a fair. 



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870 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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& 



Over comfits and cates, 

Aud dislies and plates, 
fowl and cope, aud rocliet and pall, 
Mitro and crosier, he hopped upon all. 

With a saucy air, 

He perched on the chair 
"Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat, 
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat ; 

And he peered in the face 

Of his Lordship's Grace, 
Willi a satisfied look, as if lie would say, 
" ^\■|■■, TWO are the gi-eatest folks here to-day ! " 

And the priests, with awe, 

As such freaks they saw, 
S:iid, " The Devil must be in that little Jack- 
daw ! " 

The frast was over, the l.oaiil was rleared, 
'I'he llawns and the custards luul all disappeared. 
And six little Singing-hoys, — dear little souls 
In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, — 

Oanie, in order due. 

Two by two, 
Marchinj; that grand refectory lliri>uf;h ! 
A nice little boy held a golden ewer, 
Embossed and filled with water, as pure 
As any that flows betw'ccn Kheinis and Namur, 
Whic:li a nice little boy stood ready to catch 
In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. 
Two nice little boys, rather more grown. 
Can ied lavender-water and eau-de-Cologne ; 
And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, 
Wnithy of washing the hands of the Pope ! 

One little boy more 

A napkin bore, 
I If the best white diaper, fringed with pink. 
And a cardinal's hat marked in " permanent ink." 

The great Lord Cai'dimil turns at the sight 
Of these nice little boys dressed all in white ; 

From his finger he d raws 

His costly turquoise : 
.\iid, not thinking at all about little .lackilnws, 

Deposits it straight 

By the side of his plate. 
Wliile the nice little boys on bis Eminence wait ; 
Till, wlii'ii nobody 's dreaming of any such thing, 
That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring ! 

There '3 a cry and a shout, 
And a deuce of a rout, 
And nobody seems to know what they 're about, 
But the monks have their pockets all turned in- 
siile out ; 
The friars are kneeling. 
And hunting and feeling 
The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceil- 
ing. 



The Cardinal drew 

Off each plum-colored shoe, 
And left his red stockings exposed to the view ; 

He peeps, and he feels 

In the toes and the heels. 
They turn up the dishes, — they turn u]i the 

plates, — 
They take uji the poker and poke out the grates, 

— They turn up the rugs. 

They examine the mugs ; 

But, no ! — no such thing, — 

They can't find THE lUNc. ! 
And the Abbot declared that "when nobody 

twigged it, 
Some rascal or other had popped in aud jirigged 



The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, 
Ho called for his candle, his bell, and Ids book ! 
In holy anger and pious grief 
He solemnly cursed that rascally thief ! 
Ho cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed ; 
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his 

head ; 
He cursed him in sleeping, that every night 
He .should dream of the Devil, and wake in a 

fright. 
He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in 

drinking. 
He cureed him in coughing, in sneezing, in 

winking ; 
He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; 
He cursed him in walking, in riding, in Hying ; 
He cursed him living, he cursed him dying ! — 
Never was heard such a terrible curse ! 
I'ut what gave rise 
To no little surprise. 
Nobody seemed one penny the worse ! 



The day w^as gone. 

The night came on, 
The nionl<s and the friars they .searched till dawn ; 

AVhen the sacristan saw. 

On crumpled claw. 
Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw ! 

No longer gay, 

As on yesterday ; 
His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong 

way ; — 
His pinions drooped, — he could hardly stand, — 
His head was as bald as the palm of your hand ; 

His eye so dim. 

So wasted each limb, 
That,beedle.ss of grammar, they all cried, "That's 

IIIM ! — 
That 's the scamp that has done this scaudalous 



tbina 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



871 



& 



That '» till! tliier that has got my Lord Ouclina 
King : " 

Tht- poor little Jackdaw, 

AVheii the monks he saw, 
Feelily gave vent to the ghost of a caw ; 
Ami turned liis hald head as much as to say, 
" Pray be so good as to walk this way ! " 

Slower and slower 

He limped on before, 
Till they came to the back of tin' belfry-door. 

Where the first thing they saw. 

Midst the sticks and the straw. 
Was the iiiXG, in the nest of that little Jackdav 



Then the great Lord C'anlinal called for his book, 
And olf that terrible curse he took : 

The mute expression 

Serveil in lieu of confession, 
And, being thus coupled with full restitution. 
The Jackdaw- got plenary absolution ! 

— When those words were heard, 

That poor little bird 
Was so changed in a moiiicnt, 't was really ab- 
surd : 

He grew slrek and fat ; 

In addition to that, 
A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat ! 

His tail waggled more 

Even than before ; 
But no longer it wagged with an impudent air. 
No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair : 

He hopped now about 

M'ith a gait devout ; 
At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out ; 
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, 
He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads. 
If any one lied, or if any one swore. 
Or slumbered in jiiayer-tinie and ha]ipened to 

That good Jackdaw 
Would give a gi'eat " Caw ! " 
As much as to say, " Don't do .so any more ! " 
While many remarked, as his manners they 

That they " ucvc]- bad known such a piou.s Jack- 
daw ! " 
He long lived (he Jiridc' 
Of that country .side. 
And at last in the odor of sanctity died ; 
When, as words were too faint 
His merits to jiaint. 
The T'onclave determined to make 1dm a Saint. 
And on newlv made Saints and Popes, as you 

know, 
Tt 's the custom of Rome new names to bestow. 
So they canonized him by the name of Jem Crow ! 
Richard Harris Barham 

(Thomas INGOi.nsBV. Esq.). 



MISADVEKTURES AT MARGATE. 

Mk. Simi'KINson (,loqnitur\. 

I WAS in Margate last July, I walked upon the 
pier, 

I saw a little vulgar Boy, — 1 said, "What make 
you liere ? 

The gloom upon your youthful cheek sjieaks any- 
thing but joy" ; 

Again I said, " What make you hcie, you little 
vulgar Boy < " 

He frowned, that little vulgar Boy, — he deemed 

1 meant to si-olf, — 
And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it 

olf." 
He put his linger in his mouth, his little bosom 

rose, — 
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his litth- 

nose ! 

"Hark 1 don't you hear, my little man? — it's 

striking Nine," I said, 
"An hour when all good little boys and girls 

should be in bed. 
Run home and get your supi>er, else youi' Ma « ill 

scold, — lie ! 
It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand 

and cry ! " 

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to 

spring. 
His bosom throbbed with agony, — he crie.l like 

anything ! 
I stooped, and thus amidst his .sobs I heard him 

muiTOur, — "Ah ! 
I haven't got no sujijier .' and 1 have n't got no 

Ma ! " 

"My father, he is on the seas, — my niollu;r 's 

dead and gone ! 
And I am here, on this here pier, to roam tlic 

world alone ; 
I have not had, this livelong day, one dmjp to 

cheer my heart. 
Nor 'hrovm' to buy a bit of bread with, — let 

alone a tart. 

" If there 's a soul will give me food, or find me 
in employ, 

By day or night, then blow me tight .' " (he was 
a vulgar I'oy :) 

" And now I 'm here, from this here pier it is my 
fi.\ed intent 

To jump as Mister Levi diil from off the Monu- 
ment ! " 



" Cheer up I cheer up ! my little man, — cheer 
up ! " I kindly said. 



^ 



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872 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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' ' You are a naughty boy to take such things I know 't was on the mantel-piece when 1 wenj 

into your head ; I out for beer. 

U you should jumj) from oft' the pier, you 'd surely 

break your legs, 
Perhaps your neck, — then Bogey 'd have you, 

sure as eggs are eggs ! 



I could not see my Macintosh, — it was not to 

be seen ! 
Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimmed 
] and lined with gi-een ; 

' Come home with me, my little man, conio home , My carpet-bag, — my cruet-stand, that holds my 



with me and sup 
My landlady is Mrs. Jones, — we must not keep 

her up, — 
There 's roast potatoes at the fire, — enough for 

me and you, — 
Come home, you little vulgar Boy, — I lodge at 

Number 2." 

I took him home to Number 2, the house beside 

"The Foy," 
I bade him wipe his dirty shoes, — that little 

vulgar Boy, — 
And then 1 said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of 

her sex, 
" Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double 
" X ! " 



I sauce and soy. 

My roast potatoes ! — all are gone ! — and so 's 
that vulgar Boy ! 

I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down 

below, 
" Mrs. Jones, what do you think ? — ain't this 

a pretty go ? 
That horrid little vulgar Boy whom 1 brought 

here to-night 
He 's stolen my things and run away ! " Says 

she, " And sarve you riglit ! " 

Next morning I was up betimes, — I sent the 

Crier round. 
All with las bell and gold-laced hat, to say I 'd 

give a pound 
To find that little vulgar Boy, who 'd gone and 

used me so ; 
But when the Crier cried, " Yes ! " the people 

cried, "0 No ! " 



But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little 
noise. 

She saiil she "did not like to wait on little vul- 
gar Boys." 

She with her ajiron wiped the plates, and, as she 
rubbed the delf. 

Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer I went to " Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory ot 



my.s 



I did not go to Jericho, — I went to Mr. Cobb, — 
I changed a shilling (which in town the peoide 

call a Bob), — 
It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar 

cliild, — 
And 1 said, "A pint of double X, and plrase to 

draw it mild ! " 



ed on 



fr- 



When 1 came back I gazed about, - 

stool and chair, — 
I could not see my little friend, because he was 

not there ! 
I peeped beneath the table-cloth, beneath the 

sofa, too, — 
I said, "You little vulgar Boy! why, what's 

become of you ? " 

I could not see my table-spoons, — I looked, but 

could not see 
The little fiddle-patterned ones I use when 1 'm 

at tea ; 
i could not see my sugar-tongs, my silver watch, 
- 0, dear ! 



the town. 
There was a common sailor-man a walking up 

and down, 
I told my tale, — he seemed to think I'll not 

been treated well, 
And called me " Poor old Buffer ' " — what that 

means I cannot tell. 

That Sailor-man, he said he 'd seen that morning 

on the shore 
A son of — something — 'twas a name 1 'd never 

heard before, — 
A little "gallows-looking chap,"- — dear me, 

what could he mean ? — 
With a "carpet-swab" and " mucking-togs," 

and a hat turned up with gi-ecn. 

He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said 

he'd seen him "sheer," — 
It 's very odd that Sailor-men should talk so very 

queer ; 
And then he hitched his trousers up, as is, I 'm 

told, their use, — 
It 's very odd that Sailor-men should wear those 

things so loose. ^ 

^ ff 



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H UMUliU U.i POEMH. 



873 



-a 



I did not understand him well, but think he 

meant to say 
He 'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning, 

swim away 
In Captain Large's Royal George, about an hour 

before. 
And they were now, as he supposed, "some- 

loheixs " about the Nore. 

A landsman said, " I ticig the chap, he 's been 
upon the Jlill, — 

And 'cause he ijmnmons so the flats, ve calls him 
Veeping Bill ! " 

He said "he'd done me wervy brown," and 
nicely " alotced the swaij," — 

That 's French, I fancy, for a liat, or else a car- 
pet-bag. 

1 went and told the constable my property to 

track ; 
He asked me if " I did not wish that 1 might get 

it back." 
I answered, "To be sure I do ! — it 's what I 'm 

come about." 



To fetch your beer yourself, but uuike the pot- 
boy bring your stout ! 

And when you go to Margate ne.xt, just stoji, and 
ring the bell. 

Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say 1 'm 
pretty well ! 



THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL.' 

'T WAS on the shores that round our coast 
From Deal to Ramsgate span. 

That I found alone, on a jiiece of stone. 
An elderly naval man. 

His hair was weedy, his beard was long. 
And weedy and long was he ; 

And 1 he.ird this wiglit on the .shore recite, 
In a singular minor key : — 



' 0, I am a cook and a captain bold, 
. . And the mate of the Nancy brig. 

He smiled and said, "Sir. does your mother know ^i^^d a bo'sun tight, and a mi.lshipmite, 
that you are out?" And the crew of the captain's gig." 

Not knowing what to do, 1 thought I 'd hasten ; ,,,,„, ,„, ^^,^„^ ,,;, fi.f, „,„i ,„ ,<„,„ ,,;, j,^,;,^ 

back to town, .[.jH , ,.,,^„^. f,,,, „f,.,j,,_ 

And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy p,,^ , ^,„„,,, ,,-^1^^, thinking the man had been 

who d "done me brown, drinkiiio- 

His Lordship very kindly said he "d try and find 

him out. 
But he "rather thought that there were several 

vultrar boys alioiit." 



He sent for Mr. 'W'hithair then, and I described 

"the swag," 
My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and 

carpet-bag ; 
He promised that the New Police should all 

their powers employ. 
But nevei- to this hour have I beheld that vulgar 

liov ! 



Remember, then, what when a boy I 've heard 

my Grandma tell, 
" Be w.vuxed in time by others' harm, and 

you sh.1ll do full well i " 
Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who 've got 

no fixed abode. 
Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish 

they may be blowed ! " 



y-^ 



Don't take too much of double X ! 
at night go out 



- and don't 



And .so 1 simjily said : — 

" elderly man, it 's little I know 
Of the duties of men of the sea, 

And I 'II eat my hand if I understand 
How you can possibl)' be 

"At once a cook and a captain bold. 
And the mate of the Nancy brig, 

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, 
-A.nd the crew of the captain's gig I " 

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which 

Is a trick all seamen larn. 
And having got rid of a thumping quid 

He spun this painful yarn : — 

" 'Twas in the good .ship Nancy Bell 
That we sailed to the Indian sea, 

And there on a reef we come to grief. 
Which has often occurred to me. 

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned 
(There was seventy-seven o' snul) ; 

And only ten of the Nancy's men 
Said ' Here ' to the muster-roll. 



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874 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



■a 



" Thei'e was me, and the cook, and the captain 
bold. 

And the mate of the Nancy brig, 
And the bo'sun tight and a midsliipnute, 

And the crew of the captain's gig. 

" For a month we 'd neither wittles nur drink. 

Till a-hungry we did feel, 
So we Jrawed a lot, and, accordin', shot 

The captain for our meal. 

" The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate. 

And a delicate dish he made ; 
Then our appetite with the midshipmite 

We seven survivors stayed. 

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, 

And he much resembled pig ; 
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me. 

On the crew of the captain's gig. 

" Then only tlie cook and me was left, 
And the delicate cpiestion, ' Which 

Of us two goes to the kettle ? ' arose, 
And we argued it out as sich. 

" For I loved that cook as a brother, I did. 
And the cook he worshiped me ; 

l!ut wo 'il both be blowed if we 'd eitlier be stowed 
In the other chap's hold, you see. 

" ' I '11 be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom. 

' Yes, that,' says I, ' you '11 be. 
I 'ni boiled if I die, my friend,' ijuotli I ; 

And ' E.Kactly so,' quoth he. 

" Says he ; ' Dear James, to murder mo 

Were a foolish thing to do, 
For don't you see that you can't cook me, 

While I can — and will — cook you ? ' 

" 8o he boDs the water, and takes the salt 

And the pepper in portions true 
I Wliichhe never forgot), andsome choppedshalot, 

And some sage and parsley too. 

" ' Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, 
Which his smiling features tell ; 

' 'T will soothing be if I let you see 
How extremely nice you'll smell.' 

"And he stirred it round, and round, and round, 
And he snifl'ed at the foaming froth ; 

When I ups with his heels, and smothers his 
sr[ueals 
In the scum of the boiling broth. 

" .\nd I eat that cook in a week or less. 
Anil ns I e.Ttin" bo 



The last of his chops, why I almost drops. 
For a wessel in sight I see. 

" And I never larf, and I never smile. 

And I never lark nor play ; 
But I sit and croak, and a single joke 

I have — which is to say ; 

" 0, I am a cook and a captain bold 
And the mate of the Nancy brig. 

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite. 
And the crew of the captain's gig ! " 

W. S. GILBER 



LITTLE BILLEE. 

There were three sailors of Bristol City 
Who took a boat and went to sea. 

But first with beef and captain's biscuits 
And pickled pork they loaded she. 

There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, 
And the youngest he was little Billee ; 

Now when they 'd got as far as the Equator 
They 'd nothing left but one split pea. 

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 

"I am extremely hungaree," 
To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, 

" We've nothing left, us must eat we." 

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
" With one another we should n't agree ! 

There 's little Bill, he 's young and tender. 
We 're old and tough, so let 's eat he." 

" Billy ! we 're going to kill and eat you. 
So undo the button of your chemie. " 

When Bill received this information. 
He used his pocket-handkerchie. 

" First let me say my catechism 
Which my poor mother taught to me." 

" Make haste ! make haste ! " says guzzling 
Jimmy, 
While Jack pulled out his snickersnee. 

Billy went up to the main-top-gallant mast, 
And down he fell on his bended knee, 

He scarce had come to the Twelfth Command- 
ment 
WTien up he jumps — " There 's land I see ! 

"Jenisalem and Madagascar 

And North and South Amerikee, 
There 's the British flag a riding at anchor. 

With Admiral Napier, K. c' B." 



— s 



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HUMOEOUii POEMS. 



875 



th 



So when they got aboard of tlic Admiial's, 
He liaiiged fat Jack and Hogged Jiiiiniee 

Hut as lor little Hill he made him 
The Captain ot a Seventy-thi'ee. 

WlLLfAM MAKtl'UACl; TllACKl 



SOKROWa OF WERTUKK. 

Wehtiiisk had a love for Charlotte 
Such as words could never utter ; 

Wiiuld you know how lirst he met her ? 
She was cutting bread and Ijutter. 

(^^hailotte was a married lady, 
And a moral man was Weitlier, 

Andr.irall tlic wallh of lii.li,^ 
W.mld ilu nolhiii^ l<.r (c, hurt her. 

So he sighed and iiined and ogled, 
And his passion boiled and bubliled, 

Till he blew his silly brains out, 
Aiid nn more was by it troubled. 

('JKulotte, having seen liis body 
ISorne l)efore lier on a shutter, 

Like M well -conducted person, 

Went (ui cutting bread and butter. 



THE EGGS AND THE HORSES. 



JiillN DoniilNs was so captivated 
By Mary Trueman's fortune, face, and cap, 
(Witli ne.Tr two thou.sand ]ioundsthe hook was 

lulled,) 

That in he popped to matrimony's (im|i. 

One small ingredient towards happiness. 
It seems, ne'er occu]iicd a single thought ; 

For liis accomplished bride 

Appearing well supjilied 
'With (lie three cliarnis of riches, beauty, dress, 

lie dill imt, as he ought, 

Tliiidc of aught else ; so no inquiry made he 
As to the temper of the lady. 

And liere was certainly a great omission ; 
None should accept of Hymen's gentle fetter, 

" For wor.se or better," 
'Whatever be their prospect or condition. 
Without ac(piaintance with each other's nature ; 

For many a mihl and quiet creature 
Of charming disposition, 
Alae ! by thoughtless marriage luis destroyed it. 



So take advice ; let girls dress e'er s 
Don't enter into wedlock hastily 
Unless you can't avoiil it. 



I tastily, 



Week followed week, and, it must bo contest, 
The bridegroom and the bride had both been 

blest ; 
Month after month had languidly transpired, 
Hoth parties became tired : 
Year after year dragged on ; 
Their happiness was gone. 

Ah ! toolisli pair ! 

" Bear and forbear" 

Should be the rule for married folks to take. 

But blind mankind (poor discontented elves !) 

Too often make 

The ndsery of themselves. 



At le 



viU not 



k'th the husband .said, "Tlii 
do! 
Mary, I never will be ruled by you ; 

So, wife, d' ye see ? 
To live together as we can't agree. 
Suppose we part ! " 
With woman's pride, 
Mary replied , 

"With all my heart !" 

.bihn Dobbins then to Mary's father goes, 
And gives the list of his imagined woes. 

"Dear son-iudaw ! " the father .said, " I see 
.•\11 is quite true that you 've been telling me ; 
Yet-there in marriage is s\icli strange fatality, 

That when as much of life 

You shall have seen 

As it has been 
Jly lot to see, I think you '11 own your wife 
As good or better than tlie geneiality. 

"An interest in your case 1 really take. 
And therefore gladly this agreement make : 
An hund]-eJ eggs within this ba.sket lie. 
With which your luck, to-mori'ow, you shall try 
Also my live best horses, with my cart ; 
And from the farm at dawn you shall depai't. 
All round the country go. 
And be particular, I beg ; 

Wliere husbands rule, a horse bestow. 

Hut where the wives, an egg. 
And if the horses go befoie the eggs, 
I '11 ease you of your wife, — I will, — I' fogs ! ' 

Away the married man dejiarted, 
Hrisk and light-hearU-d ; 
Not doubting tliat, ofcour.se. 



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876 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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Tliu tirst five houses each would take a horse. 
At the lirst house he kuookej, 
He felt a little shocked 
To hear a I'eiiiale voice, with aiigiy roar, 
Scream out, — "Hullo ! 
Who 's there below ? 
Wliy, luisband, are you deaf? go to the door. 
See who it is, I beg." 

Our poor IVieiid John 
Trudged ijuiekly on, 
liut first laid at tlu^ door an egg. 

I will not, all his jiiuriiey through 
The discontented traveler pursue ; 
Sulfico it here to say 
That when his first day's task was nearly done, 
He M seen an hundred liusbands, minus one, 
Anil eggs just ninety-nine had given away. 
" Ha ! there's a house where he I seek must 

dwell," 
At length cried John ; " I '11 go and liug the 
bell." 

Tlio servant came, — John asked him, 

"Pray, 
Fi'iend, is your master in the way ? " 

" No," said the man, with smiling phiz, 
" My luastiT is not, but my mistress is ; 
Walk in that parlor, sir, my lady 's in it : 
Master will be himself there — in a minute." 
The lady said her husband then was dressing. 
And, if his business was not very pressing. 
She would prefer that he should wait until 
His toilet was completed ; 
Adding, "Pray, sir, be seated." 
" Madam, I will," 
Said John, with great politeness ; "but I own 
That you alone 
Can tell me all I wish to know ; 
Will you do .so ? 
Pardon my rudeness. 
And just liave the goodness 
(A wager to decide) to tell me — do — 
Who governs in this hotise, — yoitr spoti.(;e or 
you » " 

"Sir," said the lady, with adoubling nod, 

"Your question 's very odd ; 
But as I think none otiglit to be 
Ashamed to do their duty (do you see ?) 
On that account I scruple not to say 
It always is my pleasure to obey. 
But here 's my husband (always sad without 

mv)'; 
Tal;e not my word, but ask him, if you doubt 
me." 

"Sir," said the husband, "'tis most true ; 
I 1 ■remise you, 



A more obedient, kind, and gentle woman 
Does not exist." 
"Give us your fist," 
Said John, " and, as the case is something more 
than conmion. 
Allow me to present you with a lieast 
Worth fifty guineas at the very least. 

"There's Smiler, sir, a beauty, you must own, 

There 's Prince, that handsome black. 
Ball the gray mare, and Saladin the roan, 
Besides old Dunn ; 
Come, sir, choose one ; 
But take advice from me. 
Let Prince be he ; 
Why, sir, you '11 look the hero on his back. " 

" I '11 take the black, and thank you too." 
"Nay, husband, that will never do ; 
You know, you 've often heard me say 
How much 1 long to have a gray ; 
And this one will exactly do for me." 
" No, no," said he, 
" Friend, take the four others back, 
And only leave the black." 
"Nay, husband, I declare 
I must have the gray mare ; " 
Adding (with gentle force), 
"The gray mare is, I 'm sure, the better horse." 

" Well, if it must be so, — good sir. 

The gray mare we prefer ; 
So we accept your gift." John made a leg ; 
"Allow me to present you with an egg ; 

'T is my last egg remaining. 

The cause of my regaining, 
I trust, the fond afl'ection of my wife. 
Whom I will love the better all my life. 

" Home to content has her kind father brought 

me ; 
I thank him for the lesson he has taught me." 
Anonymous. 



ON AN OLD MUFF. 

Time has a magic wand ! 
What is this meets my hand. 
Moth-eaten, moldy, and 

Covered with flu IT, 
Faded and stiff and scant ? 
Can it be ? no, it can't, — 
Yes, — I declare 't is Aunt 

Prudence's Mufl' ! 

Years ago — twenty-three I 
Old Uncle Barnaby 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



877 



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e-^- 



Gave it to Aiiiity I'., 

Laugliiiij; aiid teasing, — 

" Pru. of Llie breezy curls, 

Whisjier these solemn cliurls, 

IVIuU holds a ]ird.l.ij ijirl'a 

Hand witltoiU S'/uccii/if/.'" 

Uncle was then a lad. 

Gay, but, I grieve to add, 

Gone to what 'a calleil " the bad," — 

Smoking, — and worse! 
Sleek sable then was this 
Muir, lined with pinkinus,— 
Bloom tu whiih lii'aiily is 

pSeldoni aveise. 

I see in retrospect 

Aunt, in her best bedecked, 

Gliding, with mien ere<:t. 

Gravely to meeting : 
Psalm-book, ami kercliiet new, 
Peeped Ironi the Ihill'ol' I'ru., 
Voung njen — and [jIous, too — 

Giving he]- gieeling. 

Pure was the life she led 

Then ; from her Mulf, 't is said. 

Tracts sill! distributed ; — 

Scapegraces many. 
Seeing the grace they lacked, 
Followed hej- ; one attacked 
Prudence, and got his tract 

Ultener than any ! 

Love has a potent spell ! 
Soon this bokl ne'er-<lo-weIl, 
Aunt's sweet susceptible 

Heart undermining, 
Slipped, so the scandal runs, 
Notes in the pretty nun's 
Mnir, — triple-cornered ones, — 

Pink as its lining ! 

Worse, even, soon the Jade 
Fled (to oblige her blade !) 
Whilst her friends thought that they 'd 

Locked her up tightly: 
After such sliocking games. 
Aunt is of wedded dames 
Gayest, — and now her name 's 

Mrs. Golightly. 

In female coniluct (law 
Sadder 1 never saw. 
Still 1 've faitli in the law 
Of ('ompensation. 



IJnie uncle went astray, — 
Smoked, joked, and swore away ; 
Sworn by, ho 's now, by a 
Large congregation ! 

Changed is the child of sin ; 
Now he 's (he once was thin) 
Grave, with a double chin, — 

IJlest be his fat form ! 
I banged is the garb he wore : 
Preacher was never more 
Prizecl than is uncle for 

Pulpit or platfoiin. 

If all 's us hest befits 
Mortals of slemler wits. 
Then beg this Mud; anil its 

Fair owner jiardon ; 
ytll 's for Ikn best, — indeed, 
Such is my simple creed ; 
Still I must go and weed 

Hard in my gardi-n. 

) Ki:i)l'RICK LOCKKR. 

THE WORLD. 

HROM "THE jesrriK's PLEA."* 

[I! world 's a sorry wcneh, akin 
To all that 's frail and frightful ; 
le world 's as ugly, ay, as sin, — 
Anil almo.st as delightful ! 

world 's a merry world {pro km.), 
And some are gay, and therefore 
pleases them, but some copdemn 
The world they do not caie for. 



The world 's an ugly woild. Ollend 

Good people, how they wrangle ! 
The manners that they never mend. 

The characters they mangle ! 
They eat and drink and scheme and jilod, 

And go to church on .SunilHy ; 
And many are afraid of God, — 

And more of Mrs. (Jrundy. 

I-lieoliKICK LOCKER. 



Who would cai'e to pass his life away 

Of the Lotos-land a dreamful denizen, — 
Lotos-islands in a waveless bay. 

Sung by Alfred Tennyson ? 

Who would care to be a dull new-comer 
Far across the wild sea's wide abysses. 
Where, about tlie earth's three thousandth 
summer. 

Passed divine Ulysses ' 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



e- 



Eather give me coffee, art, a book. 

From my windows a delicious sea-view. 
Southdown mutton, somebody to cook, — 
"Music ? " — I believe you. 

Strawberry icebergs in the summer time, — 
But of elm-wood many a massive similiter, 
Good ghost stories, and a classic rhyme, 
For the nights of winter. 

Now and tlien a friend and some Sauterne, 

Now and then a liaunch of Highland venison, 
And for Lotos-land I '11 never yearn, 
Malgre Alfred Tennyson. 

Mortimer Collins. 



WOMAN. 

When Eve brought woe to all mankind 
Old Adam called her im-man ; 
But when she jOToed with love so kind, 
He then [ironounced her woo-man. 
But now, with iblly and with pride, 
Their husbands' pockets trimming, 
The women are so full of whims 
That men pronounce them icim men I 

ANONYMOUS. 



A CONVERSATIONAL PLEASANTRY. 

Some wit of old — such wits of old there were. 
Whose hints showed meaning, whose allusions 

care — 
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind. 
Called clear, blank paper every infant mind ; 
Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot. 

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true ; 
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. 
1 (can you pardon my presumption ?) — I, 
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try. 

Various the paper various wants produce, — 
The wants of fasliion, elegance, and use. 
Men are as vaiious ; and, if right I scan. 
Each sort of paper represents some man. 

Pray note the fop, half powder and half lace ; 
Nice, as a bandbo.x were his dwelling-place ; 
He 's the gill-paper, wliich apart you store. 
And lock from vulgai''"Jmnds in the 'scrutoire. 

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, 
Are cojnj-paper, of inferior worth : 



Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed ; 
Free to all pens, and prompt at every need. 

The wretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare. 
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 
Is coarse brown paper, such as peddlers choose 
To wrap up wares, which better men will use. 

Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys 
Health, fame, and fortune in a round of joys ; 
Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout ; 
He 's a true sinking-paper, past all doubt. 

The retail politician's anxious thought 

Deems this side always right, and that stark 

naught ; 
He foams with censure ; with applause he raves ; 
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves ; 
He '11 want no type, his weakness to proclaim. 
While such a thing as foolscap has a name. 

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, 
Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry. 
Who can't a jest, a hint, or look endure, — 
What is he ? — what ? Touch-paper, to be sure. 

What are our poets, take them as they fall. 
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all ? 
They and their works in the same class you '11 

find ; 
They are the mere ivastc-2>apcr of mankind. 

Observe the maiden, innocently sweet ! 
She 's fair, tvhUe paper, an unsullied sheet ; 
On which the happy man whom fate ordains 
May write his name, and take her for his pains. 

One instance more, and only one I '11 bring ; 
'T is the great man who scorns a little thing ; 
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims, 

are his own. 
Formed on the feelings of his heart alone. 
True, genuine, royal paper is his breast ; 
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best. 

Benjamin Franklin. 



OLD GRIMES 

Old Grimes is dead, that good old man. 
We ne'er shall see him more ; 

He used to wear a long black coat. 
All buttoned down before. 

His heart was open as the day, 

His feelings all were true ; 
His hair was some inclined to gray, — 
"" He wore it in a queue. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



879 



-a 



Whene'er he heard the voice of pain, 
His breast with pity burned ; 

Tlie large round head upon his cane 
From ivory was turned. 

Kind words he ever had for all ; 

He knew no base design ; 
His eyes were dark and rather small, 

His nose was aijuiline. 

He lived at peace vfith all mankind. 

In friendship he was true ; 
His coat had pocket-holes behind. 

His pantaloons were blue. 

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes 

He passed securely o'er, — 
And never wore a pair of boots 

For thirty years or more. 

But good Old Grimes is now at rest. 
Nor fears misfortune's frown ; 

He wore a double-breasted vest, — 
The stripes ran up and down. 

He modest merit sought to find. 

And pay it its desert ; 
He had no malice in Ids mind. 

No ruffles on his shirt. 

His neighbors he did not abuse, — 

Was sociable and gay ; 
He wore large buckles on his shoes. 

And changed them every day. 

His knowledge, hid from public gaze. 

He did not bring to view, 
Nor make a noise, town-meeting days, 

As many people do. 

His worldly goods he never threw 

In trust to fortune's chances. 
But lived (as all his brothers do) 

In easy circumstances. 

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares 

His peaceful moments ran ; 
And everybody said he was 

A fine old gentleman. 

ALBERT G. Greene. 



t^- 



THE HEIGHT OP THE RIDICUXOFS. 

I WROTE some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood. 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding gooil. 



They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die ; 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came ; 

How kind it was of him. 
To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 

"These to the printer," I exclaimed. 

And, in my humorous way, 
I added (,as a trifling jest), 

" There '11 be the devil to pay." 

He took the jiaper, and I watched. 

And saw him peep within ; 
At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon the grin. 

He read the next ; the grin grew lirnad. 

And shot from ear to ear ; 
He read the third ; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

Tlie fourth ; he broke into a roar ; 

The fifth ; his waistband split ; 
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off, 

And tumbled in a fit. 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 
I watched that wretched man. 

And since, I never dare to write 
As fuuny as I can. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



THE ONE-HOSS SHAY; 

OK, THE deacon's MA.STERPIECE. 



Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 

That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day. 

And then of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

I '11 tell you what happened without delay, 

Scaring the parson into fits, 

Frighteniug people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 
Georgius Sccnndiis was then alive, — 
Snuffy old drone from the German hive. 
That was the year when Lisbon-town 
Saw the earth open aiM gulp her down. 
And Braddock's army was done so brown. 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 



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880 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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f& 



It was on the tun-ible Kultliquuke-diiy 
That tho Deacou liuished the oiio-hoss ihay. 

Now in building of cliaises, I tell you what, 

There is always somewhere a, weakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, iu spring or thill, 

in panel, or crossbar, or iloor, or sill, 

In screw, bolt, thoroughbraee, — lurking still. 

Kind it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 

And that's tho reason, beyond a doubt, 

A ehaise breaks down, but does n't wear out. 

Hut the Deacon swore, (as iJeacons do. 
With an " I dew vum," or an " I tell yeou,") 
He would build one shay to beat the taown 
'n' tho keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ; 
1 1 should lie so built that it could ii break daown ; 
— "Kur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain 
'I'liut Die weakos' place mus' stan' the strain; 
'n' tlie way t' fix it, uz I maintain. 

Is only jest 
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." 

So the Deacon in(|uircd of the village folk 

Wliere he could lind the strongest oak, 

That could n't be sjilit nor bent nor broke, — 

That was for spokes and floor and sills ; 

He sent for lancewood to make tho thills ; 

Tlic crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees ; 

'\'\\v. pamds of whitewood, that cuts like cheeee. 

But lasts like iron for things like these ; 

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's elluni," — 

l-ast of it» timber, — they could n't sell 'em. 

Never an axe had seen tlieir chips. 

And the wedges flew from between their lips, 

Thiur blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 

Slep ami prop-iron, bolt and screw. 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too. 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 

Thoroughbraee bison-skin, thick and wide ; 

l!(iot, top, daslier, from tough old hide 

Found iu the pit when tlie tanner died. 

That was the way he "put her through." 

"There!" said the Deacon, " naow she '11 dew!" 

Do ! I tidl ynii, I ralher guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less ! 

Colts giew horses, beards turned gray, 

DiMcon and ileacone.ss dropped away, 

Children and grandchildren, — where were they ? 

IJut there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthqnake-day ! 

EioHTERN iniNDHED ; — it camc and found 
The Deacon's masterpiecff strong and sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — 
" Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 



Eighteen hundred and twenty came ; — 
Running as usual ; much the same. 
Thirty and forty at last airive, 
Aiul llicn come filly, and tiin-y-FiVE. 

Little of all we value hero 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking ipieer. 

In fact, there 's nothing that keeps its youth. 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large ; 

Take it. — You 're welcome. — No extra charge.) 

Fiiisr UK Novum UKii, — the Earth(iuako-day. ^ 

There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 

A general flavor of mild decay. 

Hut nothing local as one may say. 

There could n't be, — for the Deacon's art 

Iliid made it so liko in every part 

That there w;is n't a chance for one to start. 

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills. 

Anil the Iloor was just as strong as the sills. 

And the panels just as strong as the floor. 

And the whippletree neither less nor more, 

And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore. 

And spring and axle and hub encore. 

An<l yet, as a toho/c, it is past a doubt 

in another hour it will be worn out ! 

First of November, 'Fifty-live ! 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

Now, small boys, get out of tho way ! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

" Iluddup ! " said the parson. — Off went they. 

'f'lu^ ]iarson was working his Sunday's text, — 

Had got tojt/th/i/, and stopped perplexed 

At what tho — Moses — was coming next. 

All at oni:e tho horse stood still. 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 

— First a shiver, and then a thrill, 
Then something decidedly liko a s])ill, — 
And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 

At half jiast nine by the meet'n'-hou.se clock, — 
.lust tlie hour of the Earthqu.ake shock ! 

— What do you think the pai-son found. 
When he got \\\i and stared around ? 
The jmor old (diaise in a heap or niouiul, 
As if it had been to the mill atid ground ' 
You see, of course, if you 're not a dunce. 
How it went to pieces all at once, — 

All at once, and nothing first, — 
,Iust as bubbles do when thev burst. 



End «{ the w. 
Logic is logic 



mderlul onc-ho; 
That 's all 1 



I shay. 



-^ 



t& 



H UMUliO US POEMS. 



881 \ 



& 



RUDOLPH THE HEADSMAN. 

lifnoLl'H, jn'olVssor of the lii'adsman's trade, 
Alike was Cainous for his arm and bhide. 
( liie day a prisoner Justice Iiad to kill 
Knelt at the block to test the artist's skill. 
liare-armed, swart-visaged, gaunt, and shaggy- 
browed, 
li'iulolijh the headsman rose above the crowd. 
11 i^ falchion lightened with a sudden gleam. 
As llie pike's armor flashes in the stream. 
He .sheathed his blade ; he turned as if to go ; 
Thr victim knelt, still waiting for the blow. 
" Wliy strikest not ? Perform thy murderous 

act," 
The prisoner said. (His voice was slightly 

cracked.) 
"l-riend, I /tayc struck," the artist straight re- 
plied ; 
" AV.iit but one moment, and yourself decide." 
He iield his snulf-bo.x, — "Now then, if you 

please ! " 
Tlie pri.soner sniffed, and, with a crashing sneeze, 
( )]f liis head tumbled, bowled along the lloor, 
fiuunced down the steps ; — the prisoner said no 
more ! 

Oli\er Wendell Holmes. 



CITY AND COUNTRY. 



I 'i i.M E back to your Mother, ye children, for sliame. 
Who have wandered like truants for riches and 

fame ! 
With a smile on her face, and a sprig in her ea|i, 
She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap. 

Come out from vour allevs, your courts, and yonr 

lanes, 
.\nd breathe, like our eagles, theairof our plains; 
'I'ake a whiff from our fields, and your excellent 

wives 
Will declare 't is all nonsense in.suriug your lives. 

I oinc', you of the law, who can talk, if you please, 
'I'ill the man in the moon will allow it's a chee.se, 
.\iiil leave " the old lady that never tells lies," 
T" .slee[i with her handkerchief over her eyes. 

Ve healers of men, for .1 moment decline 
Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac line : 
While you shut up your turnjiike, your neigh- 
bors can go 
The old roundabout road to the regions below. 

You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens. 
And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens, 
Tliougli I'latd denies you, we welcome \'ou .still 
As a leatlierless biped, in spite of your quill. 



Poor drudge of the city ! how happy he feels 
With the burs on his legs and the grass at his 

heels ! 
No dodijer behind his bandannas to share, — 
No con.stable grumbling, "You mustn't walk 

there '. " 

In yonder gi-cen meadow, to memory dear. 
He .slaps a mos([uito, and brushes a tear ; 
The dewdrops hang round him on blossoms and 

shoots. 
He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his 

boots. 

There stands the old sc^hool -house, hard by the 

old church ; 
That tree by its side Iiad the flavor of birch ; 
0, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks. 
Though the prairie of youth liad so nuiiiy " big 

licks " ! 

By the side of yon river he weeps and he .slum [is, 
The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps. 
Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed. 
With a glow in his heart, and a cold in his lieiid. 

'T is past, — he is dreaming, — I see him again ; 
The ledger returns as by legerdemain ; 
His mustache is damp with an ea.sterly flaw, 
And he holds in his fingers an onuiibus .straw. 

He dreams the chill gust is a blossoming gale. 
That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale ; 
And murmurs, unconscious of sjiaeeand of time, 
" A 1. — Extra .super. — Ah ! is n't it jirinn; ! " 

0, what are the prizes we iierisli to win, 

To the first little "shiner" we caught with a pin ? 

No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes 

As the soil we first stirred in tenestrial pies ! 

Then come from all parties and parts to our feast ; 
Though not at the "A.stor," we '11 give you at 

least 
A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass. 
And the best of old — water — at nothing a glass i 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLM«S. 



WHITTLING : 

A "NATiON.ir, P(ji:ti;ait.'' 

The Yankee boy, before he 's sent to school, 
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool, 
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 
Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby ; 
His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it. 



-3 



£r- 



882 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



'riirii KiiivosiuiHtimouiillU'iU'il I ill lu' iiiu wlml il ; 

Aixl ill thu tiiUiciilum of till' IikI 

N<> lilllr |iart Diiit iiii|iliiiiu'iil liiitli liiul. 

His poitki'l-kiiirn 111 Uiii .viiiiMK wliitllrr l)rinj,'H 

A fji'iiwiii^' knowlril^'i' of iimlc'iiiil tliiii^M. 

I'ri.jiTlili.s, liiilsir, Hliil lliu«rul|il(M'sKl-l, 

His rhi'slmil wliiMlK mill Ills nIiIii^Ii' aiirt, 

lliM'liliT liopj^ini »itli ils lii,-k,ii.v III.I, 

ll.s sluuii I'xpKi.siiiii mill inln;iiniliii;< wml, 

liisioniMt.ilk liililK'. ami tlii. ili-qiiM- timo 

'I'liiit iiiunmii's IVoiii Mm |miii|ikiii-.sliilk tioniboiie, 

('iiii»liiiii 111 liMU'li tlm liny. 'I'll tliiisii .siiccuud 

lli.s liiiw, liin iiniiw 111' II rniillii'l'dil siMul, 

II iH winiliiiill, iiiiscil tliii iiiiHsiiif; Inrnzn to win, 

His Wiiti'i'-wlitrl, llmt tiirii.s upon ii Jiiii ; 

• ir, if lli.s fiiUiui' liVDH iiiKiu tliii Hlioni, 

\ "11 'II .sou his ship, " buain ouils mion thu lloor," 

I'lill i'if,'H'>"' "''"' I'liking iimst.s, ami tiinliiTs 

Hl;uii-Il, 
.\li.l waillli;' li.'al' llii' wasliliih lor a lallluli. 



'I'lllls 
Kiv lo 
Mak.' 
.\ plo. 
Maka 
Cut a 
Or laa 
Maki! 
l''i'on\ 
Milk I. 
Ila '11 



liy Ills }^iiiiiiis mill liis Jai'k-kiiiri' diivi'i 
aij; lui 'U .solvo you any laolilnn ^ivfu ; 
any f^inirmi'k inii.siiml or mutt', 
w, a I'ouuli, an origan oi' a llulo ; 
villi a loi'oniotivn or a oloi'k, 
oiiial. 111' liuiia a lloatiiiK.iloi'k, 
,il I'oilli lloauly I'loMi a niarlilo liloi-k ;- 
anylliiiin in short, for sua or slioro, 
a chilli's latdii to a sovi'iity-four ; — 
it, siiiil 1 I ■ Ay, when ho uiultirtakt's 

iiiuki' tliK lliiiiK mill till' niarliiiio i 

niaki-i ir 



.\iiil wlii'H lliii thiiij; is mailc, - wlu'thur it lio 
To iiiovi' on I'artli, in air, or on lliu .sra ; 
Whclhur on wator, o'or thii wavos to glide, 
Or iipoii lanil to roll, rovolvo, or sliilo ; 
Wlictlu'r to wliirl or jar, to strike or riuft, 
NVIii'llmr it liii a piston or a spriu}?, 
Wlmrl, piilhiy, tulie .sonorous, wooil or lira.ss, 
'I'll.' Iliiiif; ili'sigiii'il shall suri'ly I'onio to (lass ; 
l''or, wlii'ii his hainl 's upon it, you may know 
That tlioro 's f;o in it, and hu 'U nmki' it j^o. 

John I'lliKl'etNT. 



B-^- 



'I'lll'! MOlll'JUN llKia.K. 

SiiK sits ill a I'ashiouahlii piirlor. 

Anil roi'ks in her easy •chair ; 
Slio is chill in sill^s ami sal ins, 

Ami jewels are in her hair ; 
She winks iiiul KiKK''"* '""' simpers, 

And simpers and j,'ij,'gli's and winks ; 
And though slie talks Inil little, 

'T is a jfood deal more tlian she thinks 



Whe lies ahull in the morning 

Till nearly the hour of noon. 
Then comes down snap|iing and snarling 

lleeause she was called so soon ; 
llir hair is still in papers, 

llcr checks .still I'ichIi with paint, — 
Uemainsof her last night's lilushcs, 

llefoie she intemled to liiiut. 

,She doles uiioii iiieii uii.slmvcii, 

And men with " llowing hair" ; 
She 's ehspient over mnstaclies. 

They give such a foreign air. 
■She talks of Italian music. 

And hills in love with the moon ; 
And, if a mouse were to meet her. 

She would sink away in a swoon. 

Her feet are .so very little, 

llcr hands are so very wliito, 
llcr jewels so very heavy. 

And her head so very light ; 
llcr cohii' is made of cosmetics 

(Though this she never will own), 
llcr liody is mo.stly of cotton. 

Her heart is wholly of slonc 

She falls in love with a l.llow 

Who swells with a foreign air ; 
He marries her lor her money. 

She marries him for his Imir 1 
One of the very best matches, — 

lloth me well mated in life ; 
She's got a fool for a husband, 

lie 's got 11 fool for a wife I 



AIVIKUU'AN AltlSTOCUACY. 



Ob' all the notable things on earth. 
The ipieerest one is pride of birth 

Anioug our " tierce deumcraey " ! 
A bridge across a hundred yimrs. 
Without a prop to save it from snoors. 
Not even a conjile of rotten ;)i-c)'.'.-, — 
A thing for laughter, llecrs, and jeers. 
Is American aristocracy ! 

Knglish and Irish, French and Spanish, 
(icrmans, Italians, Dutch and Danish, 
Crossing their veins iiiilil they vanish 

In one eonglonicratiou I 
So subtle a tangle of bhiod, indeed. 
No Ucmldry Harvey will ever succeed 

In hnding the circulation. 



►-y^ 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



883 



--a 



[&- 



Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
Your f'iunily thread you can't ascend, 
Without good reason to apprehend 
You may find it waxed, at the farther end, 

By some plebeian vocation ! 
Or, worse than that, your boasted line 
May end in a loop of stronger twine. 

That plagued some worthy relation ! 

John GoDFREy Saxh. 



RAILROAD RHYME. 

Singing through the forests, 

Rattling over ridges ; 
Shooting under arches. 

Rumbling over bridges ; 
Whizzing through the mountains, 

Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
Bless me ! this is pleasant, 

Riding on the rail ! 

Men of different "stations" 

In the eye of fame. 
Here are very quickly 

Coming to the same ; 
High and lowly jwople, 

Birds of every feather, 
On a eoninion level. 

Travelling together. 

Gentleman in .shorts. 

Looming very tall ; 
Gentleman at large. 

Talking very small ; 
Gentleman in tights. 

With a loose-ish mien ; 
Gentleman in gray. 

Looking rather green ; 

Gentleman quite old, 

A.sking for the news ; 
Gentleman in black, 

In a fit of blues ; 
Gentleman in claret, 

Sober as a vicar ; 
Gentleman in tweed, 

Dreadfully in liquor ! 

Stranger on the right 

Looking veiT sunny. 
Obviously reading 

Something rather funny. 
Now the .smiles are thicker, — 

Wonder what they mean ! 
Faith, lie 's got the Knicker- 

Bocker Magazine ! 



Stranger on the left 

Closing up his peepers ; 
Now he snores amain, 

Like the Seven Sleepers ; 
At his feet a volume 

Gives the exiilanatioii. 
How the man grew stupid 

From "Association !" 

Ancient maiden lady 

Anxiously remarks, 
That there must be peril 

'Mong so many sparks ; 
Roguish-looking fellow, 

Tuniing to the stranger, 
Says it 's his o])inion 

She is out of danger ! 

Woman with her baby, 

Sitting vis'il-vis ; 
Baby keeps a-s(|ualling, 

Woman looks at me ; 
Asks about the distance, 

Says it 's tiresome talking, 
Noises of the ears 

Are so very shocking ! 

Market-woman, careful 

Of the precious casket, 
Knowing eggs are eggs, 

Tightly holds her basket ; 
Feeling that a smash. 

If it came, would surely 
Send her eggs to pot 

Rather prematurely. 

Singing through the forests, 

Rattling over ridges ; 
Shooting under arches, 

Rumbling over bridges ; 
Whizzing through the mountains, 

Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
Bless me ! this is pleasant. 

Riding on the rail ! 

John Codfrf.v Saxe- 



WOMANVS WILL. 

AN nr-ICRAM. 

Men, dying, make their wills, but wives 

Escape a work so .sad ; 
Why shouM they make what all their lives 

The gentle dames have had ? 

JOHN CODPREV SAXE. 



^' 



a- 



88i 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



-a 



B 



"NOTHING TO WEAR." 

Miss Fi.dua McFlimsey, of Mailison S(iuare, 
Has iiiaile three separate journeys to Paris, 
And her father assures me, each time she was 

there, 
Tliat slie ami her friend Mrs. Harris 
(Not Ihr lady whose name is so famous In history, 
But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery) 
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping 
In one continuous round of shopping, — 
Shopping alone, and shopping together. 
At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of 

weather, — 
For all manner of things tliat a woman can put 
On the crown of her head or the solo of her foot, 
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her 

waist. 
Or tliat can be sewed on, or i]inncd on, or laced, 
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow, 
In front or behind, above or below ; 
For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls ; 
Dresses for breakfasts and dinners and balls ; 
Dresses to sit in and stan<l in and walk in ; 
Dresses to dance in and Hirt in and talk in ; 
Dresses in which to do notliing at all ; 
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall ; 
All of them different in color and pattern. 
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin, 
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material, 
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal ; 
In short, for all things that could ever be thought 

of. 
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of, 
From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous 

frills ; 
In all (juarters of Paris, and to every store. 
While McFliinsey in vain stormed, scolded, and 

swore. 
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills. 

The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer 

Arago, 
Formed, McFlimsey declares, the bulk of her 

cargo. 
Not to mention a (juantity kept from the rest, 
Sullu'ient to fill the largest-sized chest, 
Wliii'h did not appear on the ship's manifest, 
But for which the ladies themselves manifested 
Such particular interest, that they invested 
Their own proper persons in layers and rows 
Of muslins, embroideries, worked under-clothes, 
(Uoves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such triHos as 

those ; 
Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian 

beauties. 
Gave good-by to the ship, and go-h;/ to the duties. 
Her relations at home all marveled, no doubt, 
Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout 



For an actual belle and a possible bride ; 
But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out. 
And the truth came to light, and the dry -goods 
beside. 
Which, in spite of collector and custom-liouse 

sentry. 
Had entered the port without any entry. 

And yet, though scarce three mouths have passed 

since the day 
This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up 

Broadway, 
This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Sijuare, 
The last time we met was in utter despair, 
Because she had nothing whatever to wear ! 

Nothing to wear ! Now, as this is a true ditty, 
I do not assert — this, you know, is between 

us — 
That she 's in a state of absolute nudity. 

Like Powers' Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus ; 

But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare. 

When, at the same moment, she had on a dress 

Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent 

less. 
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should 

guess, 
That she had not a thing in the wide world to 

wear ! 
I should mention just here, that out of iliss 

Flora's 
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, 
I had just been selected as he who should throw all 
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal 
On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections. 
Of those fossil remains which she called her 

" affections," 
And that rather decayed, but well-known work 

of art. 
Which Miss Flora persisted in styling " her 

heart. " 
So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted. 
Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or 

grove, 
But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted. 
Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love. 
Without any romance or raptures or sighs. 
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes. 
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions, ■ 
It was one of the quietest business transactions. 
With a very- small sprinkling of sentiment, if any, 
And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany. 
On her rirginal lips while I printed a kiss. 
She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis. 
And by way of putting me cpiite at my ease, 
" You know, I 'm to polka as much as I please. 
And ilirt when I like, — now, stop, don't you 



spc; 



ik, — 



-51 



e- 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



885 



-a 



fr. 



Aud you must not come here more than twice in 

tlie week, 
Or talk to me either at party or ball, 
But always be ready to come when I call ; 
So don't [irosu to me about duty and stufl'. 
If we don't break this ofl', there will be time 

enough 
For that sort of thing ; but the bargain must be 
That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free. 
For this is a sort of engagement, you see. 
Which is binding on you but not binding on uie. " 

Well, having thus wooed Miss JIcFlimsey and 
gained her. 

With tlie silks, crinolines, and hoops that con- 
tained her, 

I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder 

At least in the property, and the best right 

To appear as its escort by day and by night ; 

And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand 
ball, — 
Their cards had been out a fortnight or so, 
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe, — 

I considered it only my duty to call. 
And see if Miss Flora intended to go. 

I found her, — as ladies are apt to lie found, 

When the time intervening between the first 
sound 

Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter 

Than usual, — I found — I won't say, I caught 
her, — 

Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning 

To see if perhaps it did n't need cleaning. 

She turned as I entered, — "Why, Harry, you 
sinner, 

I thought that you weut to the Flashers' to din- 
ner ! " 

" So I did," I replied ; "but the dinner is swal- 
lowed 
Aud digested, I trust, for 't is now nine and 
more, 

So being relieved from that duty, 1 followed 
Inclination, which led me, you see, to your 
door; 

And now will your ladyship so condescend 

As just to inform me if you intend 

Your beauty and graces and presence to lend 

(All of which, when 1 own, I hope no one will 
borrow) 

To the Stuckups, whose party, you know, is to- 
morrow ? " 

The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, 
And answered quite promptly, "Why, HaiTy, 

moil chcr, 
I should like above all things to go with you 

there ; 
But really and truly — 1 've nothing to wear." 



" Nothing to wear ! go just as you are ; 

Wear the dress you have on, and you 'II lx> bv 

far, 
I engage, the most bright and particular star 

On the Stuckup horizon" — I stopped — for 
her eye. 
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery. 
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery 

Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply. 
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose 

(That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say, 
" How absurd that any sane man should supjiose 
That a laily would go to a ball in the clothes. 

No matter how fine, that she wears every 
day!" 

So I ventured again: "Wear your crimson bro- 
cade " 
(Second turn-up of nose) — "That's too dark 

by a shade." 
"Your blue silk" — "That 's too heavy." 

"Your pink " — " That '.s too light." 
"Wear tulle over satin" — "1 can't endure 

white." 
"Your rose-colored, then, the best of the 

batch" — 
" I have n't a thread of imint lace to match." 
" Your brown moire antique" — " Yes, and look 

like a Quaker." 
"The pearl-colored" — "I would, but that 

plaguy dressmaker 
Has had it a week." " Then that e.\i|uisite lilac. 
In which you would melt the heart of a Sliylock " 
(Here the nose took again the same elevation) — 
"1 would n't wear that for the whole of creation." 
"Why not ? It 's my fancy, there 's nothing 

could strike it 
As more comrnc il fiuit" — " Yes, but, dear me ! 

that lean 
Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it. 
And 1 won't appear dressed likea chit of sixteen." 
"Then that splendid purple, that sweet Maza- 
rine, 
That superb 2>oint d'aiguille, that imperial green, 
That zephyr-like tarleton, that rich (jrenadine" — 
" Not one of all which is fit to be seen," 
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed. 
"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite 

crushed 
Oppo.sition, "that gorgeous toUctle which you 

sported 
In Paris last .spring, at the grand presentation, 
When you quite turned the head of the head of 

the nation ; 
And by all the grand court were so very much 

courted. " 
The end of the nose was portentously tipped up. 
.\iid both the bright eves shot forth indignation. 



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886 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



■a 



On tlio wlloU', do you tliiiiU lie would Imvit uiurli 

to Hpiirtf, 
If lui iimni(!il 11 woiuiiu witli uolliirif; lo wnn'l 



Ah idici humt Uliou mih willi lUv (Irrcd rxidiiumtioM, 
" 1 luivi' worn it tlinn^ tinu^a nl Ui« Iwint nileulii- 

lioJI, 

And Ihal Mud luont of my ,\ivmvh ur.; rippc'd 

ii|, !'• Siu.rllml Mi^dll. liddnt^ imiiin Ihiil il hl.ould ii.d 

llnv I ,//,/.,, /„«rsuu.rlhiu^, |uMl.M|i«nilluinisli, : 1„. hruitcd 

i.lullc iiiniM.ul, lliou^li ; liul, to uhc au nx- Alinm.l in Hoiii'ly, I 'v<i iUMlilulnl 

|,iv,ssiiiii ; A I'oiirsi' cil' iiuiuiiy, exUniHivc and llimuiigli, 

Mow Hlril(iu(,' tluiii rliwHii!, it "Muttlinl my liiwli," I Ou tliiH vitiil uulyi'ct, imd Hud, to my hoiTor, 



Aui I I ri'oviid viiry booh tlin IiihI lu^t of oui' m^HHiou. 
"iMddli'MticltH, iM il, HIV I 1 wu.idcr llio .■1-iliii;,' 
II".'. ii'l tail doHM aTid ciuhIi you oli ! yi.ii ui.'ii 

havo no (rrhnu: 
You wIHhIi, unruitund, illilirnil I'l'iiiduroH, 
Who si't youmdvcs n\> a.s iiatlornM and prmu'luTH, 
Your Mlly lavlciisc. - wliy, wliat ii nu^ro ({"I'tt 

il ill 
I'liiy, whal do vnu Ii now ol' a w.nniin'M ui'iM'sfiilics f 
1 hav(. Inid yun and sliouvd yon I 'vMiolldnf; lo 

An. I il ':■ i.inl'.'.lly plain y.m n..l ..nly .l.>n'l .iiic, 
Itnl y..ii .1 .1 li.-li.'V.. ni.'" (h.'i.' Iln- o..so w.'ul 

Hiill hi.Ldl.l). 

" 1 Hn|.|i..s.., il y..n .liu.'.l, y.m w.ml.l call on. a 

liiir. 
Onr.'nf^HKvm.'Ulis.'nil,..!, sir ys, ..n 111., np.il, ; 
Vlu'vo a linilo, ami a in.nisl,.i, an.l I doii'l, 

know wliiit." 

I loil.lly HUggosl,...! Ilio w.n.l.s ll.>ll..nl..l, 
l'ic'k|Kick(.t., imd iiiiunilial, 'railiir, and tliii'l', 
As n.'nllo nxpii'livi'H whiidi niij,dit H'vo ivlinl'; 
Kill lliis only prov.'.l an a spark lo llm pow.li.r, 
A II. I llir M.nin I liii.l misr.l .-am.' lnst.T ami 

l.iud.r; 

II l.l.'w ami II luiiii'd, lliiiml.'r.'.l, li>;liti'iuid, ami 

liail...l 
liilii j.ili.iiiH, v.'ilw, piiiiH.uii., lill lau^'imf<ii ipiili. 

I'ail.'.l 
T.i rxpicss 111., al.iisiv.', aii.l lli.ii ils anvar.s 
\\\.r.. hrouj<lit up nil iil omc l.y a lonvul ol' li'ivi's, 
And my last faint, d('.si)airinj; uttnmpt at an (dm- 
K.rvnliou was lost in a tumpost of solis. 

W ,11, I I'.'ll r.irlli.. lady, ami IVll r..r my lial, too, 
lni|.r..v'i-i...l ..11 III,. iTown of 111.. lalliT a liltloo, 

III li.n ofrxprcssiiif,' tim IVfliiiKs wlii.di lay 
i.hiil.' 1.10 (Iwp for words, as Wordsworth would 



II- Ihroii-li 111.- I',.iin ..fa Low. 
III.' .iilrv 1 hai.llv km.w 



i 



•I'h.'U, «illi..ul 
Konml mvs.-lf 

how, 
On .lo.nsl.'p ami sidi'Walk, past lamp-i>osl and 

s.piaro. 
At honu' and up stairs, in my own casy-i'lniir ; 

I'oki'd my I'wt into slippers, luy lire into blnzti. 
Ami said to myself, us 1 Iil, uiy cifiiir, 
Siipp.isinf; » man hail llu' wwdth of Ihn (Var 

nr 111., liussias loliool, lorlha rost of his days. 



Tlmt tho fair Flora's eusu Ih by no means sur- 
prising, 

lliil that tlKM'o exists the ({reatcHt distress 
111 .lur female eomnumity, solely arisiiif; 

Kroiu this nusniipli.'d destitution of dress. 
Whose unfoilunale vieliins are lllliuj^ the air 
With the pitiful wail of " Nothing; to wi'ar." 
Kesearelios in some of the " Upper Ten" distriets 
lieveal tho most painful and startling statisties, 
Of whiidi let me mention only a few ; 
In oni' sinj<hi house, on Kifth Avenue, 
'I'hr.'e youii^' ladies were found, all below tweuly- 

two, 
Who hav.' Iii'.ni lliive whoh. we.'ks wilh.nit any- 

lllillf,' II. 'W 

In Ih.' way of II.hui.t.I silks, iiii.l lliiis l.'ll in Iln' 

liiivh 
Are luiahle to ^o to ball, eoneert, or ehnreh. 
In imollirr hiisje mansion, near the same plaee, 
Was found a di'plorable, heartroudin(^ ease 
Of entire destitution of jirnssels poiiil In.'... 
In a neij;lihoring bloek there was l.iund. In lliree 

ealls, 
Tolal want, lonj; eontiiiu.sl, of eam.ds'diair 

shawls ; 
And a sulli'riug family, wlnise ease exhibits 
The most pressing need of real onnine tippets ; 
One deserving young lady almost unable 
To survive for the want of a new Russian sable; 
Amdher confined to the house, when it 's windier 
Than usual, beiMinse her shawd isn't lii.lia. 
Still iin.ilh.i, whose tortnivs have b.eu most 

l.nrili.- 
K.vi'r siin-e the sad loss of the steamer I'Meilie, 
In wliiidi were iMigulfe.l, not friend or relation 
(Vm wdiose fate she perhaps might have found 

eonsolation. 
Or borne it, at least, with sei-one resignation'). 
Hut tin' ehoi.'cst assortment of Kreueh sleeves 

an.l eollars 
Kv.'r s.'ut out from raris, worth Ihousan.ls of 

.lollars. 
Anil all as to style most nrherchi' and rare. 
Til.' wantofwhieh leaves herwithnothiugtowear. 
Ami renders her life so ilrear and dyspeptic 
That she 's ipiite a reelnse, and almost a skeptic j 
FtU' she touchingly says tliat this sort of grief 
Cannot liml in Keligion the slightest relief. 
And I'hilosophy has not a maxim to spare 



^ 



e- 



HUMOROmj POEMS. 



887 



--Eh 



[& 



For ihe victim of Buch oveiwlicliiiing dcHpair. 
Hut the (M«l(l(;»t by far of all tlipw; aail fi-aliin-H 
Is till! cnu'lty i)iucti«''(l upon tlic ])Oor creatuii« 
liy liuKbiiii'ls ami falliorn, real DlucljcanJu and 

Tinjons, 
Wlio ri'siht the most toudiing appealB nia'le for 

■lianiundH 
I!y tlioir wives and their daughters, and leave 

tlicin for (hiys 
Unsupplicd witli new jewelry, fans, or houijuetd, 
ICven laugli at their uiiscries wlienever they liave 

a ehanee, 
And deride tlieir demands as useless txtrava- 

ganee ; 
One ease ol' a bride was brought to my view, 
'I'oo sa<l for belief, liut, alas ! 't was too true, 
Whose husband lefused, as savage as Charon, 
To [ii-rmit lier to take more than ten trunks to 

Sharon. 
The eonseijuenee was, that when she got tlieie, 
At the end of thieo weeks she ha/1 nothing to 

wear. 
And when she pio[iosed to finish the season 
At Newfiort, the monster refused out and out, 
For his infamous conduet alleging no reason, 
Kxcept that the watei-s were good for liis gout. 
.Sufli treatment as this was too shoeking, of 

course. 
And proceedings are now going on for divorce. 

I'ut why harrow tlie feelings by lining the cur- 
tain 
From these scenes of woe ? f^iough, it is certain. 
Has here been dlselosed to stir u|) the pity 
Of every Ijenevolenl heart in the city, 
And spur up Humanity into a canter 
To rush and relieve these sad cases instanter. 
Won't somebody, moved by this touching de- 
scription. 
Come forward t^j-morrow and hca<l a subscription ? 
Won't some kind philanthropist, weeing tliat 

aid is 
.So needed at once by tliese indigent ladies. 
Take cliarge of the matter? Or won't Peter 

Cooiier 
The corner-stone lay of some splendid super- 
Structure, like th.it which to-day links hijt n.irne 
In the Union unending of honor and fame ; 
And found a new charity just for the care 
Of these unhappy women with nothing to wear, 
Which, in view of the cash which would daily 

be claimed. 
The La.;/iiu/-i/ul Hospital well might be named? 
Won't St<!wart, or mme of our dry-goods irn- 

jKirtcrs, 
Take a contract for clothing our wives and our 

'laughters '( 
Or, (o fuinish the cish to supply these distre^ kh, 



And life's jiathway strew with shawls, collars, 

and dresses. 
Ere the; want of them makes it much rougher 

and tliornier. 
Won't some one discover a new Califoniia ? 

ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day 
I'lea.se trundle your hoops just out of liroadway, 
From its wliirl and its bustle, its fiU)hi<in icn' 

pride. 
And temples of Inule which towel- on each si'l', 
To the alleys and lanes, where Misfortune and 

Guilt 
Tlieir children have gathered, their city have 

built ; 
Where Hunger and Vice, like twin beasts of prey, 
Have hunted their victims to gloom and de- 
spair ; 
llaiw; the rich, dainty dress, and tlio fine liroi- 

dered skirt, 
I'ick your delicate way through <lampness and 

dirt. 
Grope through the dark dens, climb the 

rickety stair 
To the garret, where wreti^hes, the young and 

the old. 
Half starved and half naked, lie i!rou':hetl fiom 

the cold. 
Sec those skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet. 
All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the 

street ; 
Hear the sharp cry of childhood, the deep groans 

that swell 
From the poor dying creature wlio writhes on 

the floor. 
Hear the curses that sound like the echws of 

Hell, 
An you sicken and shudder and (ly from the 

door ; 
Then home to your wardrolx-s, and sjiy, if you 

dare, — 
SiKiiled children of Fashion, — you 've nothing to 

wear ! 

And 0, if perchance there sliould be a sphere 
Wliere all is made right which no puzzles us here. 
Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of 'I'imc 
Fade and die in the light of that r<;gion sublime. 
Where the soul, diocinchanted of flesli and of 

»(;nBe, 
Unscreened by its trajipiiigs and shows and 

pret<;nse, 
Mutit be clothed for the life and the service above, 
With purity, trutJi, faith, meekness, and love ; 
ilaughters of Earth ! foolish virgins, iK'waro ! 
I.*»t in that upjjer realm you have nothing to 

wear ! 

WILLIAM Ar.r.p.N nc'Tii 



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[&- 



888 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



-n 



PLAIN LANGrAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES. 



: HEATHEN CHINEE." 



t 



Which I wish to remark — 

And my language is plain — 
That for ways that are dark 

And for tricks that are vain, 
The heathen C'liinee is peculiar : 

Whicli the same I would rise to explain. 

All Sin was his name ; 

And 1 shall not deny 
In regard to the same 

What that name might imply ; 
But his smile it was pensive and childlike. 

As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye. 

It was August the third, 

And quite soft was the skie.<!, 
Which it might be inferred 

That Ah Sin was likewise ; 
Yet he played it that day upon William 

And me in a way I despise. 

Wliich we had a small game, 

And Ah Sin took a hand : 
It was euchre. The same 

He did not understand , 
But he smiled, as he sat by the table. 

With the smile that was childlike and bland. 

"i'ct the cards they were stocked 

In a way that 1 grieve. 
And my feelings were shocked 

At the state of Nye's sleeve, 
Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers. 

And the same with intent to deceive. 

Hut tlie hands that were played 

By that heathen Chinee, 
And the points that he made, 

Were quite frightful to see, — 
Till at last he put down a right bower, 

Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. 

Then I looked up at Nye, 

And he gazed upon me ; 
.\rid he rose with a sigh, 

And said, " Can this be ? 
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," — 

And he went for that heathen Chinee. 

In the scene that ensued 

1 did not take a hand, 
But the floor it was strewed. 

Like the leaves on the strand, 
Witli the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding 

In the game "he did not understand." 



In his sleeves, which were long. 

He had twenty-four jacks, — 
Which was coming it strong. 

Yet I state but the facts. 
And we found on his nails, which were taper, • 

What is frequent in tapers, — that 's wax. 

Which is why I remark. 

And my language is plain, 
That for ways that are dark. 

And for tricks that are vain. 
The heathen Chinee is peculiar, — 

Which the same I am free to maintain. 



THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 

I KE.siDE at Table Mountain, and my name is 

Truthful James : 
I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games ; 
And 1 '11 tell in simple language what I know 

about the row 
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. 

But first I would remark, that 't is not a proper 

plan 
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man ; 
And, if a member don't agi-ee with his peculiar 

whim. 
To lay for that same member for to ' ' put a 
head" on him. 

Now, nothing could be finer, or more beautiful 

to see. 
Than the first six montlis' proiH>ediiigs of that 
same society ; 
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil 

bones 
Tliat he found within a tunnel near the tene- 
ment of Jones. 

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed 

there. 
From those same bones, an animal that was ex- 
tremely rare ; 
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspen- 
sion of the rules, 
Till he could prove that those same bones was 
one of his lost mules. 



Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said 

he was at fault : 
It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's 

family vault ; 



:i 



[& 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



889 



-a 



He was a most sarcastic man, this cjuiet Mr. I 

Browu, 
And on several occasions he had cleaned out 

the town. 

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent 
To say another is an ass, — at least, to all intent ; 1 
Nor should the individual who happens to be ; 

meant 
Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great 
extent. 

Then Abner Dean of Angel's I'aised a point of 

order, when 
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the 
abdomen ; 
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and 

curled up on the floor, 
And the sulisequent proceedings interested him 
no more. 

For In less time than I write it, everj- member 

did engage 
In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age ; 
And the way they heaved those fossils in their 

anger was a sin. 
Till the .skull of an old mammoth caved the 
head of Thompson in. 

And this is all I have to say of tliese improper 

games, 
For I live at Table Mountain and my name is 
Truthful James, 
Anil 1 've told in simple language what I know 

about the row- 
That broke up our Society upon the .Stanislow. 
Bret harte. 



B-.- 



HER LETTER. 

I 'm sitting alone by the fire, 
Dressed just as I came from the dance, 
In a robe even you would admire, — 
It cost a cool thousand in France : 
I 'm bediamonded out of all rea.son, 
My hair is done up in a cue : 
In short, sir, " the belle of the season " 
Is wasting an hour on you. 

A dozen engagements I 've broken ; 

I left in the midst of a set ; 

Likewise a proposal, half spoken, 

That waits — on the stairs — for me yet. 

They say he '11 be rich, — when he grows up, 

And then he adores me indeed. 

And you, sir, are turning your nose up, 

Three thousand miles otf, as vou read. 



"And how do I like my position ?" 
"And what do I think of New York ? " 
"And now, in my higher ambition. 
With whom do 1 waltz, flirt, or talk ? " 
" And isn't it nice to have riches 
And diamonds and silks and all that ? " 
" And are n't it a change to the ditches 
And tunnels of Poverty Flat 1 " 

Well, yes, — if you saw us out driving 
Each day in the park, four-in-hand ; 
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving 
To look supematurally grand, — 
If you saw papa's picture, as taken 
By IJrady, and tinted at that, — 
You 'd never suspect he sold bacon 
And flour at Poverty Flat. 

.\nd yet, just this moment, when sitting 
In the glare of the grand chandelier, 
In the bustle and glitter befitting 
The " finest soiree of the year," 
In the mists of a gaze de chambiry 
And the hum of the smallest of talk, — 
Somehow, Joe, I thought of "The Yerry," 
And the dance that we had on "The Fork " ; 

Of Harrison's bam, with its muster 
Of flags festooned over the wall ; 
Of the candles that shed their soft luster 
And tallow on head-dress and shawl ; 
Of the steps that we took to one fuldle ; 
Of the dress of my queer vis-d-vis ; 
And how I once went down the midille 
With the man that shot Sandy McGee ; 

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping 
On the hill, when the time came to go ; 
Of the few btiby peaks that were peei)ing 
From under their bedclothes of snow ; 
Of that ride, — that to me was the rarest ; 
Of — the something you said at the gate : 
Ah, Joe, then I was n't an heiress 
To " the best-paying lead in the State." 

Well, well, it 's aU pa.st ; yet it 's funny 
To think, as I stood in the glare 
Of fashion and beauty and money, 
I That I should be thinking, right there, 
Of some one who breasted high water. 
And swam the North Fork, and all that. 
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter. 
The Lily of Poverty Flat. 

But goodness ! what nonsense I 'm writing ! 
I (Mamma says my taste still is low,j 
I Instead of my triumphs reciting, 
i I 'm spooning on Joseph, — heigh-ho 1 



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fi-- 



S90 



HUMOEUUS POEMS. 



-a 



And I 'm to be "finished" by travel, 
Wliatever 's the meaning of that, — 
0, wliy did papa strike pay gravel 
In drifting on Poverty Flat! 

Good night, ■ — here 's the end of my paper ; 
( !ood night, — if the longitude please, — 
For maybe, while wasting my taper, 
Voar sun 's climbing over the trees. 
l)Ut know, if you have u't got riches. 
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, 
That my heart 's somewhere there in the ditches. 
And you 've struck it, — on Poverty Flat. 

Bret Harte. 



THE VEGETABLE GIRL. 

Behind a market stall installed, 

I mark it every day. 
Stands at her stand the fairest gu-1 

I 've met within the bay ; 
Her two lips are of cherry red. 

Her hands a pretty pair, 
"With such a pretty turn-up nose. 

And lovely reddish hair. 

'T is there she stands from mom till night. 

Her customers to please. 
And to appease their appetite 

She sells them beans and peas. 
Attracted by the glances from 

The apple of her eye. 
Anil by her Chili apples too. 

Each passer-by will buy. 

Slie stands upon her little feet 

Tliroughout the livelong day, 
And sells her celery and things — 

A big feat, by the way. 
She changes off her stock for change, 

Attending to each call. 
And when she has but one beet left, 

She says, " Now that beat 's all ! " 

MAY Taylor. 



SONNET TO A CLAM. 

iNr.LOEloi'S friend ! most confident I am 

Thy life is one of very little ease ; 

Albeit men mock thee in their similes 
And prate of being ' ' happy as a clam ! " 
What though thy .shell protects thy fragile head 

From the shai-p bailiffs of the briny sea ? 

T'ny valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee, 
^Yhile rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, 



And bear thee off — as foeraen take their spoil — 
Far from thy friends and family to roam ; 
Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home. 

To meet destruction in a foreign broil ! 

Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard 
Declares, clam ! thy case is shocking hard. 

JOHN GODFREY SAXE. 



THE NANTUCKET SKIPPER. 

Many a long, long year ago, 

Nantucket skippers had a plan 
Of finding out, though " Ijing low," 

How near New York their schooners ran. 

They greased the lead before it fell, 

And then by sounding, through the uight. 

Knowing the soil that stuck so well. 
They always guessed their reckoning right. 

A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim. 
Could tell, by tasting, just the spot, 

And so below he 'd "douse the glim," — 
After, of course, his "something hot." 

Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock, 
This ancient skipper might be found ; 

No matter how his craft would rook. 

He slept, — for skippers' uaps are sound. 

The watch on deck would now and then 
Run down and v;ake him, with the lead ; 

He 'd up, and taste, and tell the men 
How many miles they went ahead. 

One night 't was .Jotham Marden's watch, 
A curious wag, — the peddler's son ; 

And so he mused, (the wanton wTetch !) 
" To-night I '11 have a grain of fun. 

"We 're all a set of stupid fools, 
To think the skipper knows, by feistuig. 

What gi-ound he 's on ; Nantucket schools 
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting ! 

And so he took the well-greased lead. 
And rubbed it o'er a box of earth 

That stood on deck, — a parsnip-bed, — 
And then he sought the skipper's berth. 

"Where are we now, sir ? Please to taste." 
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue. 

Opened his eyes in wondrous haste. 
And then upon the floor he sprung ! 

The skipper stormed, and tore his hair. 

Hauled on his boots, and roared to Marden, 

"Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are 
Right over old Marm Hackett's ganlen ! " 

James t. fields 



-^ 



[& 



HU Mono us POEMS. 



891 T 



THE TWINS. 

In form and feature, face and limb, 

I gi-ew so like my brother, 
That folks got taking me for him, 

And each for one anotlier. 
It jnizzled aU our kith and kin, 

It reached an awful pitch, 
For one of us was born a twin. 

And not a soul knew which. 

One day (to make the matter worse), 

Before our names were fixed, 
As we were being washed by nurse. 

We got completely mixed. 
And thus you see, by Fate's decree 

(Or rather nui'se's whim), 
My brother John got cluistene<l me, 

And I got christened him. 

This fatal likeness even dogged 

Jly footsteps when at school. 
And I was always getting flogged, — 

For John turned out a fool. 
I ]iut this question hojielessly 

To eveiT one I knew, — 
Wliat wnukl you do, if you were me. 

To prove that you were you ? 

Our close resemblance turned the tide 

Of our domestic life ; 
For somehow my intended bride 

Became my brother's wife. 
In short, year after year the same 

Absurd mistakes went on ; 
.And wlien 1 died, — the neighbors came 

And buried brother John ! 

HENRY s. Leigh. 



& 



THE RETORT. 

Old Birch, who taught the village school. 

Wedded a maid of homespun habit ; 
He was as stubborn as a mule. 

And she as playful as a rabbit. 
Poor Kate had scarce become a wife 

Before her husband sought to make her 
The pink of country polished life. 

And prim and fomial as a Quaker. 

One day the tutor went abroad. 

And simple Katie sadly missed him ; 
When he returned, behind her lord 

She shyly stole, and fondly kissed liim. 
The husband's anger rose, and red 

Anil white his face alternate grew : 
"Less freedom, ma'.nm ! " Kate sighed and said, 

"0, dear ! 1 did n't knov; 't wns you /" 

George p. Morris. 



FERGUSON'S CAT. 

There was a man named Ferguson, 

He lived on Market Street, 
He liad a speckled Thomas cat. 

That could n't well be beat. 
He 'cl catch more i-ats and mice and sich, 

Than forty cats could eat. 

This cat would come into a room 

And climb upon a cheer. 
And there he 'd set and lick hisself 

And purr so awful queer. 
That Ferguson would yell at him ; 

And then he 'd purr-severe. 

And then he 'd climb the moonlit fence. 

And loaf around and yowl. 
And spit and claw another cat 

Alongside of the jowl, 
And then they both would shake tlieir tail.. 

And jump about and howl. 

0, this liere cat of Ferguson's 

A\'a.-, fearful then to see ; 
He 'd yell precisely like he w»s 

In awful agony ; 
You'd think some first-class .stomach-ache 

Had struck some small baby. 

Ami all the mothers in the street. 

Waked by the horrid din. 
Would rise right up and searcli tlieir babes 

To find some worrying pin ; 
And still this vigorous cat would keep 

A hollerin' like sin. 

And as for Mr. Ferguson, 

'T was more than he could bear. 

And so he hurled bis bootjack out. 
Eight through the midnight air. 

But this vociferous Thomas cat, 
Xot one cent did he care. 

For still he liowled and kept his fur 

A standin' up on end. 
And his old spine a doublin' up 

As far as it would bend, 
As if his hopes for ha]ipinr ss 

Did on his lungs depend. 

But while a curvin' of the spine 

And waitin' to attack 
A cat upon another fence. 

There came an awful crack ; 
And this here speckled Thomas cat 

'Was busted in the back. 

When Ferguson came down next daj'. 
There lay his old feline, 



^^ 



&- 



892 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



-Ri 



And not a life was left in him 
Althougli lie liiul had nine. 

"All this here etiines," said Ferguson, 
"or ein\ iii' ol' the sjiine." 

N(iw ;dl ye men wliose tender hearts 
'I'his painliil tale does raek, 

,hist take this moral to yourselves, 
All of you, white and black, 

Don't ever go, like this horo cat. 
To gottin' nji your hack 



ANONYMOUS. 



THE HEN. 

A i-.\.MiHT.s hen 's my story's theme, 

Wliieli ne'er was known to tiro 
( H' laying egg.s, Ijut then she 'il scream 
So loud o'er every egg, 'twould seem 
The house must bo on fire. 



A turkey-cock, who ruled the walk, 

A wiser bird and older. 
Could bear't no more, so olTdid stalk 

Right to the hen, and told her : 
"Madam, that scream, I apprehend. 

Adds notliing to the nnittei ; 
It surely helps the egg no whit ; 
Then lay your egg, and ilone with it ! 
I [iray you, madam, as a friend, 

Cease that superfluous clatter ! 
You know not how 't goes through my head.' 
" Hum[ili ! very likely ! " madam said. 
Then, |)roudly putting forth a leg, — 
" llnedueateil barnyard fowl ! 
You know, no more than any owl, 
The noble privilege and praise 
Of authorship in modern days — 

I '11 tell you why 1 do it : 
First, you i>erceive, 1 lay the egg. 

And then — review it." 

From the German of Claudius. 



ECCENTRIC 



InclufUng Scientific, Philosophical, and Professional ; Macaronic (a burlesque inlcrmixtiire of lan^ages); Dialectic; Parodies and 
BurlcMiucs; Cento Verses (Patchwork); Rccijies ; Alliteration; Chain Verse; Echo; Pidpin English (the dialect In use between ihe 
Cliini'sc and the Eii^Ii^h and Americans) ; Curious Versification ; and Etymological Excrcitatiun, —a list indicating the order in which 
the eK.inn)les arc ^jivru, 



DARWIN. 

TiiEUE was an ape in the days that wore earlier ; 
Centuries passed, and his hair grew curlier ; 
Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist, 
Then ho was a Man and a Positivist. 

MOKIIMER COLLINS. 



& 



r A BANQUET GIVHN TO DR. SIEMENS, THE INVENTOR o 
THE GAS-HURNACB. 

1 1' wo may trust the great LaPlaee 
The solar system om;e was gas ; 
And out of this, together whirled, 
Appeared tlie (ilanets and the world : 
Then, through successive waves of change, 
IMulonie, chemic, aqueous, strange, 
'i'hi' course of progress slowly ran 
Through rocks and protoplasm to man. 
(.\s for the form,s, from protoplasm 
Through five-toed horses, without chasm, 
1 need n't say that IIu.\ley has 'em); 
And man, as wo could tell Lal'lace, 
Is eliielly busy making gas 1 
Thus Nature rounds her wondrous plan, 
.And ends it just where it began ! 

ROSSITBR W. KAVMOND. 



TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL. 



■■A li.iin.iii skull lus Ijeifii foiiiul III C.iliforni.1. In the pliocene 

f"H'i ' I Mil 1 ull is the remiinnt, not only of the e.irlicst pio- 

ii*"fi ' til It. I'll! the oldest known human bcini^. ... The 
^kiill ^^ t t.iiiii I III I .hift one hundred nntl fifty feet deep, two miles 
fri'iii \ii I lilt it ncrtis County, by a miner named JaiiKts M.it- 
M'ti ' ' ' Mt Scribner, a merchant, and he gave it to Dr. 
J I lite- State Ceologlcnl Survey The pub- 
It. '> I ' I t II , Mjite Survey on the Geology of C.ilifornia 

•■i.'ti til It M t il oonteinpor.'incotisly with the mastodon, but 

this l..>t,il pr.ivi-. 111. 11 lie was here before the mastodon w.is known 
to exist." — DiJily I'aftr. 

" Si'E.vK, man, less recent ! Fragmentary 

fossil ! 
Primal jiioneor of pliocene formation. 
Mid in lowest drifts lielow the earliest stratum 
or Volraiiic tufa! 

"Older than Ihe beasts, the oldest Paheothe- 

rium ; 
Older than the trees, the ohiest Cryptogamia ; 
Older than tlie hills, those infantile erujitiona 
Of earth's epidermis ! 

' ' Ko — M io — Plio — wliatsoe'er the ' cene ' was 
That those vacant sockets filled witli awe and 

wonder, — 
Whether sliores Devonian or Silurian beaches, — 
Tell us thy strange story ! 



^ 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



893 



■a 



fy^ 



"Or lias the Professor sliglitly antedated 
By some thousand years thy advent on thisplanet, 
(living thee an air that 's somewhat better fitted 
For cold-blooded creatures ? 

" Wert thou ti'ue spectator of that mighty forest 
When above thy head the stately Sigillaria 
Reared its columned trunks in that remote and 
distant 
Carboniferous epoch ? 

"Tell us of that scene, — the dim and watery 
woodland, 

.Sungless, silent, hushed, with never bird or in- 
sect. 

Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with 
tall club-mosses, 
Lyeopodiacea — 

"When beside thee walked the solemn Plesio- 

saurus, 
And around thee crei>t the festive Ichthyosaurus, 
While from time to time above thee flew and 

circled 
Cheeri'iil Pterodactyls. 

" Tell us of thy food, — those half-marine refec- 
tions, 

T'rinoids on tint shell, and Braehipods na nrUu- 
rrj^ — 

l.'uttle-fish to which the plruvrc of Victor Hugo 
Seems a periwinkle. 

" Speak, thou awful vestige of the earth's crea- 
tion, — 
•Solitary fragment of remains organic ! 
Tell the womlrous secrets of thy past existence, — 
Speak ! thou oldest primate ! " 

I'A'cn as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla 
Ami a lateral movement of the condyloid process. 
With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastica- 
tion, 
Ground the teeth together ; 

And from that imperfect dental exhibition, 
Stained with expressed juices of the weed Nico- 
tian, 
Came those hollow accents, blent with softer 
nnmrmrs 
Of expectoration : 

" Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was 

busted 
Falling down a shaft, in Calaveras County, 
But I M take it kindly if you 'd send the pieces 
Home to old Missouri !" 

Bret Harte, 



THK RISE OF SPECIES. 



"THE I'ARADISIi 



MARESNEST (JoquUur). 

The rise of Species ; can it be 
You know not how it was ? Then hear from me. 
Ho ! ye obsolete wings in the outset of things. 

Which the clergy Creation miscall. 
There was naught to perplex by shape, species, or 
sex ; 

Indeed, there was nothing at all. 
But a motion most comic of dust-motes atomic, 

A chaos of decimal fractions. 
Of which each under Fate was impelled to his 
mate 

By love or the law of attractions. 
So jarred the old world, in blind particles hurled. 

And lov(! was the first to attune it. 
Yet not by prevision, but sitnple collision, — 

And this was the cause of the Unit. 
That such was the feat, which evolved light and 
heat 

A thou.sand analogies hint ; 
For instance, the spark from the hoof in the dark. 

Or the striking of tinder and Hint. 
Of the worlils thus begun, the fir.st was the Sun, 

Who, wishing to round oil' liLs girth, 
Began to perspire with great circles of fire, — 

And this was the cause of the Earth. 
Soon desiring to pair, Fiie, Water, Earth, Air, 

To monogamous custom unused. 
All joined by collusion in fortunate fusion, 

.•\nil .so the Spong(' puzzle produced. 
Now the Sponge had of yore many attributes more 

Than the powder to imbibe or expunge, 
And his leisure beguiled with the hope of a child. 

CHORUS. 
philoprogenitive Sponge ! 

MARKSNF.ST. 

Then Him let us call the finst Parent of all, 
Though the clergy desire to hoodwink us ; 

For He gave to the Earth the first animal birth. 
And conceived the Ornithorhynehus. 

CHOnrs. 
Conceived the Ornilhorhyuchu,s. 

MARKSNKST. 
Yes: who, as you have heard, has a bill like a 
bird. 
But hair and four legs like a beast. 
And possessed in his kind a more provident mind 
Than you'd e'er have pi'esumeil from the priest ; 
For he saw in the distance the strife for existence. 
That must his grandchildren betide, 



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894 



HUMOROUS FOE MS. 



--a 



t- 



And resolved as he could, for their ultimate good, 

A remedy sure to i)rovidu. 
With tluit, to ]ire|nire each descendant and heir 

For a dillcrciit diet and clime, 
lie laid, as a test, four eggs in his nest, — 

But he only laid two at a time. 
(Ill I he first ho sat still, and kept using his bill, 

Thai the head in his chicks might jirevail ; 
lire lie lialclied the next young, head downwards 
he slung 
From the l.ianches, to lengthen his tail. 
Conceive! liow lie watched, till his cliickens were 
li.itclied, 
With wliat joy he ohMcrved that each hrood 
WeiT iiiililic at' the start, had their dwellings 
a|.ail, 
And distinct adaptations for food. 
Thereafter each section by Natuic'.s selection 

I'roceciied to husliaud and wive, 
Uut the truth can't be blinked, that the weak 
grew extinct, 
Wliile the lusty eoutiiiiuil to thrive. 
I''.g^;s were laid as before, but each tinic more and 
more 
Varieties struggled and bred, 
Till one end of the scale din|.peii his ancestor's 
tail, 
And lie- other got rid of his lieail. 
From the bill, in brief words, were developed the 
birils. 
Unless our tamo pigeons and ducks lie. 
From the tail and hind legs, in the second-laid 

The apes and l'i..fess..r Huxley. 

ClIOllU.S. 

The apes and I'ldfes.sor Huxley. 

MAIlKSNKsr. 

Yes; one Protoplasm, connecting tho chasm 

'Twixt mammal and reptile and roc, 
Witli millions of dozens of fungus first cousin.s, 

ludiices the world to one stock ; 
,\iid though llim has a place from tho Sponge at 
the base 
In variety farthest removed, 
.\iid bus managed to roach what ho calls luiul and 
.yxrcl,. 
Vet his blood is by laiiguagi- ajiproved. 
For instance, the tribe that contrives to imbibe. 
With tho friends, who boliove in them, ])lunge 
Their h'uuls with mad pranks into railways and 
banks, 
W'r term the vai'ioty Siiongo. 
.■\nd perhaiis like our sire, as all classes mount 
higher, 
We shall merge into oneness again. 



Our species absorb all tho rest in its orb, 
And birds, boosts, and fishes hv mou. 



What ! birds, beasts, and lishes be mon ! 

William John CoURxHoeE 



THE PHILOSOPIIKR AND HIS DAUGHTER 

A soi'Ni) came booming through tho air, — 
" Wliat is that sound f " (|iioth I. 

My blue-eyed pet, with golden hair. 
Made answer presently, 

" I'apa, you know it very well, — 

That sound — it was Saint Fancras Bell." 

"My own Louise, put down tho cat, 

And come and stand by nie; 
1 'm sad to hear you talk like that, 

Where 's your philosophy ? 
That sound — attend to what I toll — 
That sound was not Saint I'ancras Bell. 

"Sound is tho niiino tho sago selects 

For the concluding term 
Of a long series of ell'ects. 

Of which that blow 's the gorm. 
The following brief nnaly.sLs 
Shows Hie iuteipolaiions, Miss. 

"Tho lilow wliiidi, when the clapper slips, 

Falls on your friend, tho Boll, 
Changes its circle to ellip.se, 

(A word you'd better spoil,) 
And then comes elasticity, 
Restoring what it used to be. 

"Nay, making it a little more, 

The circle shifts about, 
As much as it shrunk in before 

The Bell, you see, swells out; 
Ami .so a new ellipse is made. 
(Vou 're not attending, 1 'm afraid.) 

"This change of form disturbs tho air, 

AVhieh in its turn behaves 
In like elastic fashion there. 

Creating waves on waves ; 
Which press each other onward, dear, 
I'util the utmost finds your car. 

" Within thai ear the surgeons find 

.\ tympanum or drum. 
Which has a little bone behind, — 

Malleus, it 's called by some ; 
Teople not proud of Latin grammar 
Humbly translate it as tho hammer. 



^ 



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HUMUROUS POEMS. 



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895 



"TIk- wave's vibrations this transniits 

I 111 to tlie incus bone 
(liirus means anvil), wliicli it hits, 

And this transfers the tone 
'I'o the snnill oa orbiculare, — 
Till! tiniest bone that jjeople cany. 

" 'J'he stapes next — the name recalls 

A stirniii's form, my daughter- 
Joins tluce hall-circular canals, 

Each lilleil with limpid water ; 
Their curious lining, you '11 observe, 
Made of the auditory nerve. 

"This vibrates next — and then we lind 

The mystic work is crowned ; 
For then my daughter's gentle mind 

First recognizes sound. 
See what a host of causes swell 
To mako up what you call the ' liidl.'" 

Awhilo she paused, my bright Louise, 

And jiondered on the case ; 
Then settling that lie meant to tease. 

She slajiiied her father's face : 
"You bad old man, to sit and tell 
Such gibbei-ygosh about a Bell ! " 

SniRLEV BKOOKS 



PHYSICS. 

Tlln UNCONSCIOUS POETIZING OF A PlULOSOPIll 

Til Kim is no force however great 
Can stretch a cord however fini- 
Into a horizontal line 

'I'liat shall bo accurately straight. 

William \vni:\v 

THE COLLEGIAN TO HIS BRIDE : 



''iiARMKii, on a given straight line, 
And which we will call B C, 
Mei'ting at a common jmint A, 
I >iaw the lines A C, A B. 
I 'lit, my sweete.st, so arrange it 
That they 're ci|ual, all the three ; 
Then you '11 lind that, in the sequel, 
All their angles, too, are equal. 

K(|ual angles, so to term them, 
Kach one opposite its brother ! 
Ki|nal joys and equal sorrows, 
Kqniil hopes, 't were sin to smother, 
Kqicil, — O, divine ecstatics, — 



Basel , 



1 1 niton's mathematics I 



THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE. 

I i.ovK thee, Mary, and thou lovest nie, — 

Our mutual Hanie is like the allinity 

That doth exist between two siniiile bodies : 

1 am I'otassiuni to thine Oxygen. 

'T is little that the holy marriage vow 

Shall shortly make ns one. That unity 

Is, after all, but metaphysical. 

'), would that I, my Mary, were an acid, 

A living acid ; thou an alkali 

Endowed with human sense, that, lirought lo 

gether. 
Wo both might coalesce into one salt, 
One homogeneous crystal. O that thou 
Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen ; 
We would unite to form oleliant gas. 
Or common coal, or miiihtha. Would to Heaven 
That I were Phosiihorus, and thou well l,iine, 
And we of Lime comiiosed a Phosphuret ! 
I 'd be content to be Sulphuric Acid, 
So that thou might be Soda. In that ca.sc 
We should be (Jlauber'a Salt. Wert thou Mn^'- 

iiesia, 
Instead we'd form that's named from Kpsom. 
C'ouldst thou I'otassa be, I Aipia-fortis, 
Our happy union .should that compound form, 
Nitrate of Potash, —otherwi.se Sallpeli-r. 
And thiLS, our .several natures .sweetly blent. 
We 'd live and love together, until death 
Should decompose the lleshly tcrlimn quid. 
Leaving our .souls to all eternity 
Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs 
And mine is .Johnson. Wlierefore should not we 
Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs ? 
\y<- will. The day, the hajijiy day, is nigh. 
When .Idhnson shall with beauteous Briggs com- 
bine. 



^- 



THE ELECTKICIAN'S VALENTINE. 

" Tim; tendrils of my soul are twined 
Willi thine, though many a mile apart ; 

And thine in close-coiled circuits wind 
Around the magnet of my heart. 



"Const.'int as Daniell, .strong as Crove, 
Seething through all its dcqiths, like Since, 

My heart pours forth its tide of love. 
And all its circuits close in thee. 

" O, tell me, when .along the line 
From my full heart the current llow.s. 

What currents are induced in thine ? 
One click from thee will end my wnes. " 



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[fl- 



89(3 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



Tliroiigli iniiiiy nii Oliiu tlio Wclior llcw, 
And eli(^k(!il this iiiiswer hack to rue, -- 

" I am thy Farad, danch and lrui\ 
Chanjcd tu a KoU icith love for thee." 



Anonymous, 



THE LAWYER'S INVOCATION TO SPRING. 

WiiHiiKAS, on certain bouylis aird sjirays 
X(iH divers birds are heard to siug, 

And suTidrv (lowers their heads upraise, 
Hail to the coming on of Spring ! 

The songs of those said birds aro\ise 
The memory of our youthful liours, 

As green as those said sprays and houghs, 
As fresh and sweet us those said flowers. 

The birds aforesaid, — happy pairs, — 

Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines 

In freehold nests ; themsidves, their heirs, 
Adniinistriitors, and assigns. 

busiest tmi. orCui.i.l's ('.mrt, 

Where lender phiiulills actions bring, — 

Season of frolic and of sport, 

Hall, as aforesaid, eoniing .Spring ! 

lllNK\ 1', II. liKOWNELL. 



TONIS AD RESTO MARE. 

Aiu : ■■ M.iry. Iimvi ,i si^l: far mc" 

MAUE fuva si fornn^ ; 

Forino ure tonitru ; 
lambienin as anianduni, 

Olet Hymen promptu ; 
Mihi is vctas an ne so, 

As huniano erebi ; 
Olet meeum marito to. 

Or eta beta pi. 

.Mas, piano more meretri.x. 

Mi ardor vel uiio ; 
Inferiam ure artis base, 

Tolevat mo ureho. 
Ah me ve ara silieet, 

Vi hiudu vijniu thus ? 
Hiatu as araiuluni .sex — 

lllue Toni.-us. 

lieu sed lieu vix en imago, 

I\ty missis mare sta ; 
cantu vedit in mihi 

Hibernas nrida ? 
A vevi vafcr hori si, 

Mihi resolves indu : 
Totius olet Hymen rum — 

Aeeepta tonitru. 



cy-- 



NURSERY RHYMES. 

JOHN, JOHN, TUB IMTEK's SON. 

JoHANNKS, Johannes, tibicino natus 
Fugit porniciter porcum furatus, 
Sell |iorcus voratus, Johannes delatus, 
Kl plorans per vias est fur llagellatus. 

TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR. 

Mica, mica, parva Stella ; 
Miror, ijua-nani si tarn bella I 
.Spli'iidens eminus in illo, 
Alba velut gemma, cculo. 

DOYS AND (HULS, COME OUT TO PLAY. 

(Iakcons et fiUes venez toujours, 
I, a hiiie e.st brilliante eonnne le jour, 
Venez au bruit d'un joyeux eelat 
Veni'Z du bons eieiirs, ou ne veuez pas. 

TUUEE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 

Tkes I'hilosophi de Tusculo 
Mare lurvigarunt vasculo : 
Si vas id osset tutius 
Tibi eanerem diutius. 

DING DONC. HELL, THE C.VT 's IN THE WELL. 

AIANON afXixoKfiire • <pp^ap Xi^ev, oDXov iflivjoi', 
T'riv yaXcrjn ■ rta rijffS' airioj d.iJ.ir\aKti]i ; 

TurOis 'iMawTps, x^wp*" Ta"""'] alavXa dSus ■ 
ToO ya\hii> pv0l<rai. I'TJTrioi' CiS' fixoKOi'. 



THE COURTIN'. 



God makes sech nights, all wliito an' still 
Fur 'z you ean look or listen ; 

Moonshine an' snow on held an' hill, 
.Ml silence an' all glisten. 

Zcklc creji' lip quite iinbcknoWM 
An' [irckcd in tliru' the winder, 

An' there sot Iluldy all alone, 
'1th no one nigh to bender. 

A liieplace filled the room's one side. 
With half a cord o' wood in — 

There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) 
To bake ye to a puddin'. 

The wa'niit logs shot sparkles out 
Towards the pootiest, bless lier ! 

An' leetle flames danced all about 
The ehiny on the dresser. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



897 



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Agiii tliL- (.liinibley crook-nci:k.s hung, 

All' in amongst 'em rusted 
1'lic olc (inivii's arm thet gran'tlier Youiiy 

Felclicil hack from Concord husted. 

Tlic very room, coz she was in. 
Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', 

An' slic looked full ez rosy agin 
Ez the aijjiles she was peelin". 

'T was kin' o' kingdom-come to look 

On seeh a hlessed eretur, 
A do^jmsc hlushiii' to a brook 

-\inl niode.ster nor sweeter. 

lie was six foot o' man, A 1, 

Clean grit an' human natur' ; 
None coulil n't quicker jiiti'h a ton, 

Nor dror a furrer straighten 

He 'd sjiai-ked it with full twenty gals, 
Herl sijuired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, 

Fust this one, an' then tliet, by spells — 
All is, he could n't love 'em. 

Bui long o' her his veins 'oiild run 
All crinkly like curled niajile, 

Tlie side she bre-shed felt full o' .sun 
i'^z a south slope in Ajj'il. 

She thought no v'ice lied sech a swing 

Kz liisn in the choir ; 
My ! when he made Ole Hundn^d ring, 

She /.nowccl the Lord was nigher. 

An' she 'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, 
When her new meetin'-l<unnet 

Felt somehow thru' its ci'own a pair 
n' blue eyes sot upon it. 

Thct night, I tell ye, she looked some I 
She seemed to 've gut a new soul, 

For she felt sartin-sure he 'd come, 
Down to her very shoe-sole. 

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, 

A-raspin' on the scrajier, — 
All ways to once her feelin's flew 

Like sjiarks in burnt-up paper. 

lie kin' o' I'itered on tlie mat, 

Some doubtfle o' the sekle, 
His heart keji' goin' pitty-pat, 

lint hern went pity Zekle. 

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk 
Ez tliougli she wished him furder, 

.A.n' on her ajiples kep' to work, 
Piirin' awav like murder. 



" You want to sec my I'a, 1 s'jiose ? " 
" W'al ... no ... I come dasignin'" — 

"To see my Wa ? She 's spriuklin' clo'es 
Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." 

To say why gals acts so or so, 
Oi- don't, 'ould be presumin' ; 

Mebby to mean yen an' say no 
Comes nateral to women. 

He stood a spell on one foot fust. 
Then stood a spell on t' other. 

An' on which one he felt the wust 
He could n't ha' told ye nuthcr. 

Says he, "I 'd better call agin " ; 

Says she, "Think likely. Mister" ; 
Thet last word pricked him like a pin, 

An' . . . Wal, he up an' kist her. 

When .\la bimeby upon 'cm slips, 

Huldy sot [lale ez ashes. 
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips 

An' teary roun' the lashes. 

For she was jes' the quiet kind 

AVhose naturs never vary. 
Like streams that keep a summer mind 

Snowhid in Jenooary. 

Tlie blood clost roun" her heart felt glued 

Too tight for all exiiressin'. 
Tell mother see how metters stood, 

And gin 'em both lier blessin'. 

Then her red come back like the tide 

Hown to the Bay o' Fundy, 
An' all I know is they was cried 

In iiK'etin' come nex' Sunday. 

James Rt'sseix Lowell. 



WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS* 

FROM '■ THE IJICLOW TAreRS." 

GuvKNKit B. is a sensible man ; 

He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks ; 
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can. 
An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ; — 
But .John I'. 
Hobinson lie 
Sez he wtmt vote fer Guvencr B. 

My ! ain't it terrible ? Wut shall we du ? 
We can't never choose }iim o' course, — thet 's 
flat; 
C.upss we shall hev to come round, (don't you?) 

* Presen-ed here because the essentia! humor of tlie 
I satire has oiitllvert its local and temporari- npplieation. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that ; 
Fer John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez ho wunt vote fer Guvener B. 

Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man : 

He 's ben on all sides thet give jilaces or pelf ; 
But consistency still wuz a jjart of his plan, — 
He 's ben true to one party, — an' thet is him- 
self ; — 
So John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. 

Gineral C. he goes in fer the war;* 

He don't vally principle more 'n an old cud ; 
Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer. 
But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood? 
So John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. 

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village. 
With good old idees o' wut 's right an' wut aint. 
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' 
pillage, 
An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a 
saint ; 
But John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez this kind o' thing 's an exploded idee. 

The side of our country must oilers be took, 
An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our coun- 
try ; 
An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book 
Puts the debit to him, an' to \xs the per cmitry ; 
An' John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T. 

Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies ; 
Sez they 're nothin' on airth but jest /cc, faw, 
film : 
And thet all this big talk of our destinies 
Is half ov it ign'ance, an' t'other half rum ; 
But John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez it aint no sech thing ; an', of course, so 
must we. 

Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life 
Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller- 
tail coats, 
An' marched round in front of a dram an' a fife, 
To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em 
votes ; 

• Written at the time of the MexicaD war. which was strongly 
opposed by the Anti-slavery party as bein^ unnecessary and wrong. 



But John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez they did n't know everythin' down in 
Judee. 

Wal, it 's a niarcy we 've gut folks to tell us 
The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I 
vow, — 
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers. 
To drive the world's team wen it gits in a 
slough ; 
Fer John P. 
Robinson he 
Sez the world '11 go right, ef he hollers out 
Gee! 

James Russell Lowell. 



THE NEW CHURCH OBGAU. 

They 've got a bran new organ, Sue, 

For all their fuss and search ; 
They 've done just as they said they 'd do. 

And fetched it into church. 
They 're bound the critter shall be .seen, 

And on the preacher's right. 
They 've hoisted up their new machine 

In everybody's sight. 
They 've got a chorister and choir, 

Ag'in 7)iy voice and vote ; 
For it was never my desire. 

To praise the Lord by note ! 

I 've been a sister good an' true. 

For five an' thirty year ; 
I 've done what seemed my part to do. 

An' prayed my duty clear ; 
I 've sung the hymns both slow and quick. 

Just as the preacher read ; 
And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, 

I took the fork an' led ! 
An' now, their bold, new-fangled ways 

Is comin' all about ; 
And I, right in my latter days, 

Am fairly crowded out ! 

To-day, the preacher, good old dear. 

With tears all in his ej'es. 
Read — "I can read my title clear 

To mansions in the skies. " — 
I al'ays liked that blessed hjmm — 

I s'i>ose I al'ays will ; 
It someliow gi-atifies tn;/ whim. 

In good old Ortonville ; 
But when that choir got up to sing, 

I could n't catch a word ; 
They sung the most dog-gonedost thing 

A body ever heard ! 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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899 



B- 



Some worldly cliaps was standin' near, 

An' when I see them grin, 
I bid farewell to every fear, 

And boldly waded in. 
I thought I 'd chase the tune along, 

An' tried with all my might ; 
But though my voice is good an' strong, 

I could n't steer it right. 
AVlien tliey was high, then I was low. 

An' also contra' wise ; 
And 1 too fast, or they too slow. 

To "mansions in the skies." 

An' after every verse, you know. 

They play a little tune ; 
I did n't understand, an' so 

I started in too soon. 
I pitched it purty middlin' high, 

And fetched a lusty tone. 
But 0, alas ! 1 found that I 

Was singin' there alone ! 
They laughed a little, I am told ; 

But I had done my best ; 
And not a wave of trouble rolled 

Across my peaceful breast. 

And Sister Brown, — I could but look, — 

She sits right front of me ; 
She never was no singin' book, 

An' never went to be ; 
But then she al'ays tried to do 

The best she could, she said ; 
She understood the time, right through. 

An' kep' it with her head ; 
But when she tried this mornin', 0, 

I had to laugh, or cough ! 
It kep' her head a bobbin' so. 

It e'en a'most come off ! 

An' Deacon Tubbs, — he all broke down. 

As one might well suppose ; 
He took one look at Sister Brown, 

And meekly scratched his nose. 
Helookedhishymn-book through and through. 

And laid it on the seat, 
And then a pensive sigh he drew, 

And looked completely beat. 
An' when they took another bout, 

He did n't even rise ; 
But dravved his red bandanner out, 

A n' wiped his weeping eyes. 

I 've been a sister, good an' true, 

For five an' thirty year ; 
I 've done what seemed my part to do. 

An' prayed my duty clear ; 
But death will stop my voice, I know. 

For he is on my track ; 



And some day, I '11 to meetin' go. 

And nevermore come back. 
And when the folks get up to sing — 

Whene'er that time shall be — 
I do not want no pntctit thing 

A squealin' over me ! 

Will M. Carleton. 



DOWS FLAT. 

1856. 

Dow's Flat. That 's its name. 

And I reckon that you 
Are a stranger ? The same ? 
Well, 1 thought it was true. 
For thar is n't a man on the river as can't spot 
the place at first view. 

It was called after Dow, — 

Which the same was an ass ; 
And as to the how 

Thet the thing kem to pass, — 
Jest tie up your boss to that buckeye, and sit ye 
down here in the grass. 

You see this yer Dow 

Hed the worst kind of luck ; 
He slipped up somehow 
On each thing thet he struck. 
Why, ef he 'd a' straddled thet fence-rail the 
demed tiling 'ed get up and buck. 

He mined on the bar 

Till he could n't pay rates ; 
He was smashed by a car 

When he tunneHed with Bates ; 
And right on the top of liis trouble kem his wife 
and five kids from the States. 

It wa.s rough, — mighty rough ; 

But the boys they stood by, 
And they brought him the stuff 
For a house, on the sly ; 
And the old woman, — well, she did washing, 
and took on when no one was nigh. 

But this yer luck of Dow's 

Was so powerful mean 
That the spring near his house 
Dried right up on the green : 
And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary 
a drop to be seen. 



Then the bar petered out, 

And the boys would n't stay ; 
And the chills got about. 



^' 



[&■ 



iiUO 



HU MO HO us FOE MS. 



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And Ills wil'i! fell away ; 
But Dow, ill Ills well, kept a peggiu' in his usual 
ridikilous way. 

One day, — it was June, — 

And a year ago, jest, — 
This Dow kein at noon 
• To his work like the rest. 
With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a 
derringer hid in Ms breast. 

He goes to the well, 

And he stands on the brink, 

And stops for a spell 

Jest to listen and think : 
For the sun in his eyes, (jest like this, sir !) you 

see, kinder made the euss blink. 

His two ragged gals 

In the gulch were at play. 
And a gownd that was Sal's 
Kinder Happed on a bay : 
>iot much for a iiuiu to be leavin', but his all, — 
as 1 've licer'd the folks say. 

And — that 's a peart boss 

Tliet you 've got — ain't it now ? 
What might be her cost ? 

Eh ? Oh ! — Well then, Dow — 

Let 's see, — well, that forty-foot grave was n't 

his, sii', that day, anyhow. 

For a blow of his pick 

Sorter caved in the side. 
And ho looked and turned sick, 
Then he tieiiibl,-d and cried. 
For you see the ilerii euss had struck — " AVater ? " 
— beg your parding, young man, thera 
you lied ! 

It was gold, — in the ipiartz. 

And it ran all alike ; 
And 1 reckon five oughts 

Was the wortli of that strike ; 
And that liouso with the eoopilow 's his'n, — 
which the same is n't bad for a Pike. 

Thet 's why it 's Dow's Flat ; 

And the thing of it is 
That he kinder got that 

Through sheer contrairiness : 
For 't was imter the denied cuss was seekin', and 
his luck made him coi'tain to miss. 

Thet 's so. Thar 's your way 

To the left of yon tree ; 
But — a — look h'yur, sny, 



Won't you come up to tea ? 
Well, then the next time yoM 're pasain' ; 
md ask after Dow, — and thet 'a me. 



JIM. 

Say there ! P'r'aps 
Some on you chaps 
Might know Jim WQd ? 

Well, — no offense : 

Thar ain't no sense 
In gittin' riled ! 

Jim was my claim 

Up on the liar : 
That 's why I come 

Down from up thar, 
Lookin' for Jim. 
Thank ye, sir ! you 
Ain't of that crew, — 

Blest if you are ! 

Money ? — Not much : 
That ain't my kind ; 

I ain't no such. 

Rum ? — I don't mind, 
Seein' it 's you. 

Well, this yer Jim, 
Did you know him ? — 
Jess 'bout your size ; 
Same kind of eyes ? — 
Well, that is strange : 
AVhy it 's two year 
Since he come here. 
Sick, for a change. 

Well, here 's to us ; 

Kh ? 
The deuce you say 1 

Dead ? — 
That little cuss ? 

What makes you star, — 

You over thar ? 

Can't a man drop 

'3 glass in yer shop 

But you must rar' ? 
It wouldn't take 
Zkrned much to break 

You and your bar. 

Dead ! 
Poor — little — Jim ! 
— Why there was me, 
Jones, and Bob Lee, 



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901 



^ 



Harry and Ben, — 
No-acjcount men ; 
Then to take liiia! 

Well, thai' — Good by, — 
No more, sir, — 1 — 

Eh? 
What 's that you say ? — 
Why, dern it ! — sho ! — 
No ? Yes ! By Jo ! 

Sold ! 
Sold ! Why you limb, 
You ornery, 

Derned old 
Long-legged Jim ! 

BRET harte. 



BANTY TIM. 

[Remarks of Sergeant Tilmon J. Joy to the White Man's Coin- 
niittee. of Spunky Point, Illinois.] 

I RECKON I git your drift, gents — 

You 'low the boy sha'n't stay ; 
This is a white man's counti-y : 

You 're Dimocrats, you say : 
And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, 

The times bein' all out o' jint. 
The nigger has got to mosey 

From the limits o' Spunky P'int ! 

Let 's reason the tiling a minute ; 

1 'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat, too. 
Though I laid my politics out o' the way 

For to keep till the war was through. 
But I come back here allowin' 

To vote as I used to do. 
Though it gi'avels me like the devil to train 

Along o' sich fools as you. 

Now dog my cats ef I kin see, 

In all the light of the day. 
What you 've got to do with the question 

Ef Tim shall go or stay. 
And fnrder than that 1 give notice, 

Ef one of you fetches the boy, 
He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime 

Than he '11 find in lllanoy. 

Wliy, blame your hearts, jist hear me! 

You know that ungodly day 
When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how 
ripped 

And torn and tattered we lay. 
When the rest retreated, I stayed behind. 

Fur reasons sufficient to nie, — 
With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, 

1 sprawled on that cursed glacee. 



Lord ! how the hot sun went for us. 

And br'iled and blistered and burned ! 
How the rebel bullets whizzed round us 

When a cuss in his death-gi'ip turned ! 
Till along toward dusk 1 seen a thing 

I could n't believe for a spell : 
That nigger — that Tim —was a-crawlin' to mo 

Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell ! 

The rebels seen him as quick as me. 

And the bullets buzzed like bees ; 
But he jumped for me, and shouldered me. 

Though a .shot brought him once to his knees ; 
But he staggered up, and packed inc oil'. 

With a dozen stumbles and falls. 
Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, 

His black hide riddled with halls. 

So, my gentle gazelles, thar 's my answer, 

And here stays Banty Tim : 
He trumped Death's ace for me that day, 

And I 'ill not goin' back on liini ! 
You may rezoloot till the cows come home. 

But ef one of you tetchcs the lioy. 
He '11 wrastic his hash to-night in ludl. 

Or my name 's not Tilmon Joy I 

JOHN hav. 



HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY. 

Hans Brkitmann gife a barty, 

Dey had biano-blayin ; 
I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau, 

Her name was Madikla Yanc. 
She had haar as ptown ash a pretzel. 

Her eyes vas liimmel-jilue, 
Und yen dey looket indo mine, 

Dey shplit mine heart in two. 

Hans Bieitinann gife a barty, 

1 vent dere you '11 pe ]iound. 
I valt/ct niit iladilda Yane 

TTnd vent shpinnen round und round. 
De pootiest Fraueleiii in de House, 

She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pounii, 
Und efery dime she gife a shoonip 

She make de vindows sound. 

Hans Breitmann gife a barty, 

I dells you it co.st him dear. 
Dey rolled in more as sefen kecks 

Of foost-rate Lager Beer. 
Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in 

De Deutschers gifes a cheer. 
I dinks dat so vine a party, 

Nefer coom to a het dis year. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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Hans Breitmann gife a barty ; 

Dere all vas Souse und Brouse. 
Ven de sooper coined in, de gompany 

Did make deraaelfs to house ; 
Dey ate das Brot und Genay broost, 

De Bratwurst und Braten fine, 
Und vash der Abeiidessen down 

Mit four parrels of Neckarwela. 

Hans BrL'itniann gil'e a barty ; 

We all eot troouk ash bigs. 
I |ioot mine mout to a parrel of bier, 

(Tnd emptied it oop mit a schwigs. 
Und denn 1 gissed Madilda Yane 

Und she shlog me on de kop, 
Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks 

Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop. 

Hans Breitmann gife a bartj' — 

Where ish dat barty now ! 
Where ish de lofely golden cloud 

Dat float on de moundain's prow ? 
Where ish do himmelstrahlende Stern — 

De shtar of de slipirit's light ? 

All gined afay mit de Lager Beer — 

Afay in de Ewigkeit ! 

Charles G. leland. 



RITTER HUGO. 

Dku noble Hitter Hugo 

Von Schwillensanfenstein 
Rode out mit shpeer und helmet, 

Und he coom to de pauks of de Rhine. 

Und oop dere rose a meermaid, 

Vot had n't got nodings on, 
Unil she say, "0, Ritter Hugo, 

Vare you goes mit yourself alone ? " 

Und he says, " I ride in de creen-wood, 

Mit helmet und mit slipeer, 
Till I cooms into ein Gasthaus, 

Und dere I drinks some peer." 

Und den outshpoke de maiden, 

Vot had n't got nodings on, 
" T ton't dink mooch of beebles 

Dat goes mit demselfs alone. 

" You 'd petter coom ilnwu in do wasser, 
Vare dere 's heaps of dings to see, 

Und hafe a shplendid dinner, 
Und trafel along mit me. 

" Dare you sees de fish a schwimmin, 
Und you catches dem efery one." 

So sang dis wasser maiden. 
Vat had n't got nodings on. 



"Dare is drunks all full mit money. 

In ships dat vent down of old ; 
Und you helpsh yourself, by duuder ! 

To shimmerin crowns of gold. 

"Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches ! 

Shoost look at dese diamond rings ! 
Come down und fill yom' bockets, 

Und I '11 kiss you like eferydings ! 

"Vat you vantsh mit your schnapps und your 
lager '/ 

Coom down into der Rhine ! 
Dere ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne, 

Vonce filled mit gold-red wine ! " 

Dat fetched him, — he shtood all shpell-pound, 

She pulled his coat-tails down. 
She drawed him under de wasser, 
Dis maiden mit nodings on. 

CHARLES G. Leland 
(Hans Breitmann) 
• 

THE FORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT. 



AN UNPUBLISHED POEM FROM 



V SOUTH WALES. 



' ' Vell ! Here I am, — no matter how it suits, — 
A-keeping company witli them dumb Brutes ! 
Old I'ark vos no bad judge, — confound his vig ! 
Of vot vould break the Sperrit of a Prig. 

" The Like of Me, to come to New Sow Wales 
To go a tagging after Vethers' Tails, 
And valk in Herbage as delights the Flock, 
But stinks of Sw'eet Herbs vorser nor the Dock ! 

"To go to set this solitary Job 
To Von whose York vos always in a Mob ! 
It 's out of all our Lines, for sure I aiii 
Jack Shepherd even never kep a Lamb ! 

" 1 ar'nt ashamed to say I sit and veep 
To think of Seven Year of keepin Sheep, 
The spooniest Beasts in Nater, all to Sticks, 
And not a Votch to take for all their Ticks. 

"If I fore-seed how Transports vould turn out 
To only Baa ! and Botanize about, 
I 'd quite as leaf have had the t' other Pull, 
And come to Cotton as to all this Vool ! 

" Von only happy moment I have had 
Since here I come to be a Fanner's Cad, 
And then I cotched a vild Beast in a Snooze, 
And picked her pouch of three young Kangaroos I 

"Vot chance have I to go to Race or Mill ? 
Or show a sneaking kindness for a Till ? 
And as for Vashings, on a hedge to dry, 
I 'd put the Natives' Linen in my Eye I 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



903 



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" If this whole Lot of Mutton I could scrag, 
And find a Fence to turn it into Swag, 
I 'd give it all in Lonnon Streets to stand, 
And if I had my pick, 1 'd say the Strand ! 

" But ven I goes, as may be vonce I shall, 
To my old Crib, to meet vith Jack and Sal, 
I 've been so gallows honest in this Place, 
I sha' n't not like to show my sheepish Face. 

"'It's wery hard for nothing but a Box 
0( Irish Blackguard to be keepin' Flocks 
'Along naked Blacks, sich Savages to bus. 
They 've nayther got a Pocket nor a Pus. 

"But folks may tell their Troubles till they're 

sick 
To dumb brute Beasts, and so I '11 cut my Stick 1 
And vot 's the Use a Feller's Eyes to pipe 
Vcre von can't borrow any Oemman's Vipe ?" 

THOMAS HOOD. 



NORTHERN FARMER. 



Whber 'asta beiin saw long and mcii liggin' 'ere 

aloan ? 
Noorse ? thoort nowt o' a noorse ; whoy, doc-tor 's 

abeiin an' agoiin : 
Says that I moiint 'a naw moor yaiilo : but I beaut 

a fool : 
Git ma my yaale, for I beiint a-gooin' to breiik 

my rule. 

Doctors, they knaws nowt, for a says what 's 

nawways true : 
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saiiy tlie things that 

ado. 
I 've 'ed my point o' yaiile ivry noight sin' I beiin 

'ere, 
An' I 've 'ed my f|uart ivry market-noight for 

foorty year. 

Parson 's a beiin loikewoise, an' a sittin 'ere o' 

my bed. 
"The amoighty 's a taakin o' you to 'i.ssen, my 

friend " a said. 
An' a towd ma my sins, an 's toithe were due, 

an' I gied it in hond ; 
I done my duty by un, as I 'a done by the lond. 

Larn'd a ma' beii. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch 

to lam. 
But a cost oop, thot a did, 'boot Bessy Harris's 

bam. 
Thof a knaws I hallus vodted wi' Scjuoire an' 

ehoorch an staiite. 



An' i the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the 

raiite. 
An' I hallus corned to 's ehoorch afoor my Sallv 

wur dead. 
An' 'eerd un a bumnun' awiuiy loike a buzrard- 

clock * ower my yeiid. 
An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but 1 thowt 

a 'ad summut to saiiy. 
An' I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said an' I 

corned aw.aiiy. 

Bessy Harris's bam ! thaknawsshe laiiidit to mea. 
Howt a beiin, mayhap, for she wur a bad un, sheii. 
'Siver, I kep un, 1 kep un, my las.s, tha nuin un- 

derstond ; 
I done my duty by un as 1 'a done by the loiul. 

But Parson a comes an' a goos, an' a says it 

easy an' freeli, 
"The amoighty 's a taiikin o' you to 'issen, my 

friend," says 'eii. 
I weiint saiiy men be loiars, thof summun said it 

in 'aaste : 
But a reads wonn sarmin a weeiik, an' I 'a stubb'd 

Tliornaby Wiiiiste. 

\y ya moind the waiiste, my lasjs ? naw, naw, tha 

was not born then ; 
Theer wur a boggle in it, 1 often 'eerd un niysscn : 
Hoiist loike a butter-bump.f for I 'eerd un nboot 

an aboot, 
But I stubb'd un oop wi' the lot, and rajived an' 

rcmbled un oot. 

Reaper's it wur ; fo' they fun un theer a lajiid on 

'is faiice 
Doon i' the woUd 'enemies t afoor I corned to the 

plaiicc. 
Noiiks or Thimbleby — toner 'ed shot un as dead 

as a naiiil. 
Noaks wnr 'ang'd for it oop at 'aojze — but git 

ma my y:uile. 

Dubbut looiik at the waiiste : theer war n't not 

fead for a cow ; 
Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' looiik at it 

now — 
War n't worth nowt a haiicre, an' now theer 'h 

lots o' fead. 
Fourscore yows upon it an' some on it doon in 

seiid. 

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a 

stubb'd it at fall. 
Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd jilow thruU 

it an' all, 



• Cockchafer. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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If godaiiioighty an' parsou 'ud nobbut let ma 

alodn, 
Mea, wi' liaiite oouderd liaiicre o' Squoire's an' 

load o' my oiin. 

Do godarao/ghty knaw what a 's doing a-taakin' 

o' mca ? 
I beant vvonn as saW3 'ere a bean an' yonder a 

pea ; 
An' Squoire 'nil be sa mad an' all — a' dear a' 

dear ! 
And I 'a nionaged for Squoire come Michaelmas 

thirty year. • 

A mowt 'a taaken Joanes, as 'ant a 'aiipoth o' 

sense, 
Or a mowt 'a taaken Robins — a niver mended a 

fence : 
But godamoighty a moost taiike nieii an' taiike 

ma now 
Wi' aiif tlie cows to cauve an' Thornaby holms 

to plow ! 

Looiik 'ow quoloty smoiles when they sees ma a 

passin' by, 
Says to thessen naw doot "what a mon a be 

sewer-!y ! " 
For they knaws what I beiin to Squoire sin fust 

a corned to the 'All ; 
I done my duty by Squoire an' I done my duty 

by all., 

Squoire 's in Lunnon, an' .summun I reckons 'ull 
'a to wroite. 

For who 's to howd the lond ater mea thot mud- 
dles ma quoit ; 

Sartin-sewer I beii, thot a weant niver give it to 
Joanes, 

Noither a moiint to Robins — a niver rembles 
the .stoiins. 

■But summuH 'ull come ater mea mayhap wi' 'is 

kittle o' steam 
lluzzin' an' maazin' the blessed feald.s wi' the 

Divil's oan team : 
1 ;in I mun doy I niun doy, an' loife they say.s is 

sweet, 
r.ut gin I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn 

abcar to see it. 

What atta stannin' theei' for, an' doesn bring ma 

the yaiile ? 
Doctor 's a 'tottler, lass, and a 's hallus i' the owd 

taale ; 
I weant break rules for Doctor, a knaws naw 

moor nor a floy ; 
Git ma my yaale I tell tha, an' gin I nmn doy I 

mun doy. 

Alfrrd Tennyson. 



THE DULE 'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE. 

LANCASHIRE DIALECT. 

The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine : 

My ribbins '11 never be reet ; 
Here, Mally, aw 'd like to be fine, 

For Jamie "11 be comin' to-neet ; 
He met nie i' th' lone t' other day 

(Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well). 
An' he begged that aw 'd wed him i' May, 

Bi th' mass, if he '11 let me, aw will ! 

Wlien he took my two bonds into his. 

Good Lord, heaw they trembled between ! 
An' aw durst n't look up in his face, 

Becose on him seein' my e'en. 
My cheek went as red as a rose ; 

There 's never a mortal con tell 
Heaw hapjiy aw felt, —for, thae knows, 

One could n't ha' axed him theirsel'. 

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung : 

To let it eawt would n't be reet. 
For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung ; 

So aw towd him aw 'd tell him to-neet. 
But, Mally, thae knows very weel, 

Though it is n't a thing one should own, 
Iv aw'd th' pikeiu' o' th' world to mysel', 

Aw'd oather ha' Jamie or uoan. 

Neaw, Mally, aw 've towd thae my mind ; 

What would to do iv it wur thee ? 
" Aw 'd tak him just while he 'se inclined. 

An' a farrantly bargain he '11 be ; 
For Jamie 's as greadly a lad 

As ever stept ea\vt into th' sun. 
Go jump at thy chance, an' get wed ; 

An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done !" 

Eh, dear ! but it 's time to be gwon : 

Aw should n't like Jamie to wait ; 
Aw connut for shame be too soon. 

An' aw would n't for th' wuld be too late. 
Aw 'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel : 

Dost think 'at my bonnet '11 do ? 
" Be off, lass, — thae looks very weel ; 

He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo ! " 



MR MOLONY'S ACCOtTNT OF THE BALL. 



0. WILL ye choose to hear the news ? 

Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er : 
I '11 tell you all about the ball 

To the Naypaulase Ambassador. 
Begor ! this fete all balls does bate. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



905 



ra 



y- 



At which I worn a pump, and I 
Must here relate tlie splendthor gi'eat 
Of tir Oriental Company. 

These men of sinse dispoised expinse, 

To fete these black Achilleses. 
" We '11 show the blacks," says they, " Almack's, 

And take the rooms at Willis's." 
With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, 

They hung the rooms of Willis up. 
And decked the walls and stairs and halls 

With roses and with lilies up. 

And Jullien's band it tuck its stand 

So sweetly in the middle there, 
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes. 

And violins did fiddle there. 
And when the Coort was tired of spoort, 

I 'd lave you, boys, to think there was 
A nate buH'et before them set, 

Where lashins of good dhrink there was ! 

At ten before the ball-room door. 

His moighty Excellency was ; 
He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd, 

So gorgeous and immense he was. 
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute. 

Into the doorway followed him ; 
And the noise of the blackguard boys. 

As they huiTOod and hollowed him ! 

The noble Chair stud at the stair, 

And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he 
Did thus evince to that Black Prince 

The w-elcome of his Company. 
fair the girls, and rich the curls, 

And bright the oys, you saw there, was ; 
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, 

On Gineral Jung Bahawther was ! 

This Gineral gi-eat then tuck his sate. 

With all the other ginerals 
(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat, 

All bleezed with precious minerals) ; 
And as he there, with princely air, 

Eecloinin on his cushion was. 
All round about his royal chair, 

The sipieezin and the pushin was. 

Pat, such girls, such Jukes and Earls, 

Such fashion and nobilitee ! 
Just think of Tim, and fancy him 

Amidst the hoigh gentility ! 
There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese 

Ministher and his lady there. 
And I reckonized, with much surprise. 

Our messmate. Bob O'Grady, there ; 



There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like 
Juno, 

And Baroness Rehausen there, 
And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar 

Well, in her robes of gauze in there. 
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first 

When only Mr. Pips he was). 
And Mick O'Toole, the gi'eat big fool. 

That after supper tipsy was. 

There was Lord Fiiigall and his ladies all, 

And Lords Killeeu and Duft'erin, 
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife, — 

I wondther how he could stuff her in. 
There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, 

And seemed to ask how should / go there ? 
And the Widow Macrae, ami Lord A. Hay, 

And the Marchioness of Sligo thei-e. 

Yes, Jukes and Earls, and diamonds and jicarls. 

And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; 
And some beside (the rogues !) 1 spied. 

Behind the windies, coorting there. 
0, there 's one I know, bedad, would show 

As beautiful as any there ; 
And I 'd like to hear the pipers blow, 

And shake a fut with Fanny there ! 

WILLIAM .Makepeace Thackeray. 



WIDOW MALONE. 

Did you hear of the Widow Malone, 

Olione ! 
Wlio lived in the town of Athlone, 
Alone ! 
0, she melted the hearts 
Of the swains in them parts : 
So lovely the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 
So lovely the Widow Malone. 

Of lovers she had a full score, 
Or more, 
And fortunes they all had galore, 
In store ; 
From the minister down 
To the clerk of the Cromi 
All were courting the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ; 
All were coui-ting the Widow Malone. 

But so modest was Mistress Malone, 

'T was known 
That no one could see her alone, 
Ohone ! 
Let them ogle and sigh. 
They could ne'er catch her eye, 



--S 



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906 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



-a 



So bashful the Widow Maloue, 

Ohone ! 
So bashful the Widow Malone. 

Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare 

(Ho'.v Quare ! 
It '3 little for blushing they care 
Down there), 
Put his arm round her waist, — 
Gave ten kisses at laste, — 
"0," says he, " you 're my Molly Malone, 

My own ! 
0," says he, " you 're my Molly Malone ! " 

And the widow they all thought so shy, 

My eye ! 
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, — 
For why ? 
But, " Lucius," says she, 
" Since you 've now made so free. 
You may marry your Mary Malone, 

Ohone ! 
You may marry your Mary Malone." 

There 's a moral contained in my song. 

Not wrong ; 
And one comfort, it 's not veiy long, 
But strong, — 
If for widows you die, 
Learn to kiss, not to sigh ; 
For they 're all like sweet Mistress Malone, 

Ohone ! 
0, they 're all like sweet Mistress Malone ! 
Charles Lever. 



BACHELOR'S HAIi. 

Bachelor's Hall, what a (juare-lookin' place 
it is ! 

Kape me from such all the days of my life ! 
Sure but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is, 

Niver at all to be gettin' a wife. 

Pots, dishes, pans, an' such grasy commodities. 
Ashes and praty-skins, kiver the floor ; 

His cupboard 's a storehouse of comical oddities, 
Things that had niver been neighbors before. 

Say the old bachelor, gloomy an' sad enough, 
Placin' his tay-kettle over the fire ; 

Soon it tips over — Saint Patrick! he's mad 
enough. 
If he were prisent, to fight with the squire ! 

He looks for the platter — Grimalkin is scourin' 



Sure, at a baste like that, swearin' 's no sin ; 
His dishcloth is missing ; the pigs are devourin' 
it — 
Tunder and turf ! what a pickle he 's in ! 

When his male 's over, the table 's left sittiu' so ; 

Dishes, take care of yourselves if you can ; 
Divil a drop of hot water will visit ye, — 

Och, let him alone for a baste of a man ! 

Now, like a pig in a mortar-bed wallowiu'. 
Say the old bachelor kneading his dough ; 

Troth, if his bread he could ate without swal- 
lowin'. 
How it would favor his palate, ye know ! 

Late in the night, when he goes to bed shiverin', 
Niver a bit is the bed made at all ; 

He crapes like a terrapin under the kiverin' ; — 
Bad luck to the pictur of Bachelor's Hall ! 

JOHN FlNLEY. 



THE ANNUITY. 

[From a little work, printed for private distribution, bearing the 
unpromising title of "Legal Lyrics and Metrical Ulustrations of the 
Scottish forms of Process " ; but abounding in keen wit and rich 
humor which force themselves on the appreciation even of readers 
who are unacquainted with the Scottish dialect and with the ex- 
quisitely simple forms and phrases of Scottish law.] 

I GAED to spend a week in Fife ; 

An unco week it proved to be ; 
For there I met a waesome wife 

Lamentin' her viduity. 
Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell, 
I thought her heart would burst the shell 
And — I was sae left to mysel' 

I sell't her an annuity. 

The bargain lookit fair eneugh, — 
She just was turned of sixty-three ; 

I couldna guess she 'd prove sae teugh* 
By human ingenuity. 

But years have come and years have gane, 

And there she 's yet as stieve + 's a stane ; 

The limmer 's growing young again 
Since she got her annuity. 

She 's crined J awa' to bone and skin. 

But that it seems is naught to me, 

She 's like to live — although she 's in 

The last stage of tenuity. 
She munches wi' her wizened gums 
An' stumps about on legs o' thrums ; S 
But comes — as sure as Christmas comes — 
To ca' for her annuitv. 



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907 



n 



B- 



I read the tables drawn with care 

For an Insurance Company ; 
Her chance of life was stated there 

Wi' perfect perspicuity. 
But tables here or tables there, 
She 's lived ten years beyond her share, 
An' 's like to live a dozen mair. 

To ca' for her annuity. 

Last Yule she had a fearful hoast * — 
1 thought a kink + might set me free, - 

I led her out 'mang snaw and frost 
Wi' constant assiduity ; 

But Deil ma 'care — tlie blast gaed by. 

And missed the auld anatomy ; 

It just cost me a tooth, forbye J 
Discharging her annuity. 

If there 's a sough § of cholera 

Or typhus — w'lia sae gleg II as she ! 
She buys up baths, an' drugs an' a' 

In siccan superfluity ! 
She doesua need — she 's fever proof — 
The pest walked o'er her very roof, — 
She tauld me sae — an' then her loof U 
Held out for her annuity. 

Ae day she fell, — her arm she brak — 
A compound fracture as could be — 

Nae leech the cure wad undertak, 
Whate'er was the gratuity. 

It 'a cured ! she handles 't like a flail — 

It does as well in bits as hale — 

But I 'm a liroken man mysel', 
Wi' her and her annuity. 

Her broozled** flesh and broken banes 

Are weel as flesh an' banes can be ; 
She beats the taeds tt that live in stanes 

An' fatten in vacuity. 
They die when they 're exposed to air, — 
They cannot thole Jt the atmosphere, — 
But her ! — expose her anywhere. 
She lives for her annuity. 

If mortal means could nick her thread, 
Sma' crime it wad appear to me, — 
Ca 't murder, or ca 't homicide, 
I'd justify 't, — an' do it tae. 
But how to fell a withered Avife 
That 's carved out of the tree of life — 
The timmer limmer §§ daurs the knife 
To settle her annnitv. 



• Cou-rh. t Paroxysm. J Besides. § Whisper. U Sharp. 
»t Hand. •• Bruised. tt Toads. *; Endure. 
§§ The wooden hussy dares. 



I 'd try a shot. But whar 's the mark ? 

Her vital parts are hid frae me. 
Her backbone wanders through her sark 

In an unkenned corkscrewity. 
She 's palsified — an' shakes her head 
Sae fast about, ye scarce can see 't, — 
It 's past the power o' steel or lead 

To settle her annuity. 

She might be drowned ; but go she '11 not 
Within a mile o' loch or sea ; — 

Or hanged — if cord could grip a throat 
O' siccan exiguity. 

It's fitter far to hang the rope — 

It draws out like a telescoj>e — 

'T wad tak a dreadful length o' drop 
To settle her annuity. 

Will puzion * do 't ? — It has been tried ; 

But be 't in hash or fricassee. 
That 's just the dish she can't abide, 

Whatever kind of gout it hae. 
It 's needless to assail her doubts — 
She gangs by instinct — like the brutes — 
An' only eats an' drinks what suits 

Hersel' and her amuiity. 

The Bible says the age o' man 

Threescore and ten perchance may lie. 
She 's ninety-four. Let them who can 

Explain the incongruity. 
She should have lived afore the flood — 
She 's come of patriarchal blooil — 
She 's some old pag-an munimilied 
AliVij for her annuity. 

She's been embalmed inside .ind out, — 

She 's sauted to the last degree, — 
There 's pickle in her very snout 

Sae caper-like an' cruety. 
Lot's wife was fresh compared to her, 
They 've kyauized the useless knir t — 
She canuii decompose — nae mair 
Than her accursed annuity. 

The waterdrap wears out the rock 

As this eternal jaud wears me ; 
I could withstand the single shock, 

But not the continuity. 
It 's pay me here — an' pay me there — 
An' pay me, pay me, evennair, — 
I '11 g.^ng demented wi' despair — 
I 'm charged for her annuity. 

GEORGE OUTRAU. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



SWELL'S SOLILOQUY. 

I iiiiN']' a|i|iw(ivii tlii.s linwid waw ; 

'I'hiw clvvnidlul IiuimimIis Imwl my iiyos ; 
Ami j^'UiiH mill ilwiiiiis aju siii'li a liiuv, — 

Why ilon'l lliii |iawlii'M ruiiiiiwaiiiisu f 

Oliaw™, llat Iwiiili'l liii.s its cliiiwiiis ; 

lliil wliy imiJil all llm viilj^'ali cwuwil 
I'aw.HiMt ill H|iHWliiif{ iiliirawiiiH, 

III cullaliii Hu (ixhvuiiuily luud ? 

Aijil llii'ii I lid lailiciH, pwocioiiH dealis I — 
I iiiauk llii' idiaiigi* on iiv'wy bwow ; 

liai .invii I I wi^lly haw my IWdiH 
Tliiy wi.llmh liki' Ihr liuwid wiiw I 

T.I luiiili tliii (diawiiiiiig I'w.'Rliiivs talk, 
Liko patwoiiH 111' till' hldiiily wiiif,', 

Of waw and all its iluwiy wiiwk, 
It ilui'sn't .Hi'i'in a |iwa|i|iah tliiiij.; I 

I lalliid at Mi.f. (iwc'tiiui'a last nielli., 
'I'll SIM) Inn- niiH-o, Miss Mawy llnrtz, 

And roniiil liiM' makiiif,' -- rwiiHliinf; sif;lit I- 
'I'hr wc'ddi'sl. kind of llanni'l .nhirts I 

<Ui«w.-i', 1 wiwii, and .soiighl llin ihuv, 
With I'awyuh llasliin^,' IVinn my oyoa 1 

1 fan'l a|i|ivv()Vi' this liawiil waw ;-- 
Why diin't tliii luuvtiiiH I'mniiwiimi.sH 'I 



TO THE "SEXTANT." 

O Hex IAN r u( tlm imiotin hmiHi', wii-li swooiis 
And dusts, or is Hnjiposnd to I iind iiiakus lirua, 
And litiis the gaas, and snnitiiiK's luavcs ii screw 

luoso, 
in wii'li Cliso it snii'lls ml id, wui.sn Ihan lam|i iln; 
And wrings tlm liol and lnlrn it wimn mmi dyiw, 
til llicgrii't'orsurvivin imrdnri's, and swimps paths 
And I'lir tlio si'rvnssiiH guts $ lOli pur aiinnm, 
Willi tluini that thinks denr, lot 'cm try it ; 
Criiiii lip ln'foru sturlitu in nil wothors mid 
Kiihlliii liriis when the wether is ns cold 
Ah zirii, and like as not green wood for kiudlin 
i would n't he hired to do it lor no siini, 
lint I) Sextant I there are 1 kernioddity 
Wieh 's more (han gold, wieh doiiiit cost nothin. 
Worth more thananythiiig except thcsoleof miinl 
i mean jiewer .Ire, Sextant, i mean power are I 
t) it is plenty out of doors, so plenty it doaiit no 
What on airth to dew with itself, lint llya about 
Scatteriii leaves and liloin olT men's liatts I 
in short, it 's jest as " fre as are " out doros. 
Hut Scxtiint, in our elinreli its scarce as liuty. 
Scarce iis hank hills, when agints licgs for inisch- 



& 



Wieh some say is purty olfteii (taint nothin to 

mu, wat 1 give aint nothin to noliody) but 

(-) Sextant 
U shet 5(10 men, wimniiu, and children, 
Speshally the latter, up in a tite place, 
And every 1 on oin lirethcs in and out, and out 

and in. 
Say iiO limes a niiiinit, or 1 milliun and a half 

lireths an onr. 
Now how long will a chnirh lid iif are last at 

that rate, 
I ask yon — say 15 minits — and then Wats to bo 

did t 
Why then they must brctlic it all ovrr agin. 
Ami Ihcn agin, ami so on till each has look it 

down 
At least 10 times, and let it uji agin, and wata 

more 
The same iiidividoal don't have the priviledgo 
of brethin his own lire, and no ones else, 
Kaeh one must take whatever comes to him. 
O Sextant, doant you no our lungs is hellnsses. 
To bio the tier of life, and keep it troin goiii out; 
and how can bellns.ses bio without wind 
And aint wind am i i put it to your conschens. 
Arc is the same to us as milk to babies. 
Or water is to lish, or pendlums to clox, 
Or roots and airbs unto an injun doctor, 
Or little pills unto an omepalh, 
Or hoys to gurls. Are is for us to bretho. 
What signilies who preaches if i cant bretho ? 
Wats I'ol ( Wats PoUus to sinners who are 

lied ? 
Ded for want of broth, why Sextant, when wc dy. 
Its only coz wc cant bretho no more, thats all. 
Anil now Sextant, lot me beg of you 
To let a little are into our church. 
(I'owor are is sci-tain proper for the pi'ws) 
And do it weak days, and Sundays tew. 
It aint inucli trouble, only make a hole. 
And the are will come of itself ; 
(It Invs to come in where it can git warm) 
And O how it will rouze tho |icoplc nji. 
And sperrit up the preacher, mid stop garjia. 
And yawns and figgits, ns elTcctooal 
As wind on the dry hoims the rrolit tells of. 

AKAI.I 1 I \ M. WlLl.SON 



DEIIORAH I.KK," 

'T IS a dozen or so of years ago, 
Soinewdiore in the West count ree. 

That a nice girl lived, as ye Hoosiers kuow, 
Hy the name of Tleborah Leo ; 

Her sister was loved by Edgar Poo, 
But Deborah by me. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



909 



,-a 



Now I was green, nml she was green, 

As a smniiier's si[uash might be ; 
And we lovwl as warmly as other I'lilks, — 

I ami my lluljorah Lee, — 
With a lovo that tlie hvsses of Housiinlom 

Coveted lier iiiid me. 

]iiit somehow it Imiiin'iied a lung time ago. 

In the agidsh West eountree, 
That a ehill Mareh morning gave the shakes 

To my heautilul Deborah Lee ;' 
And the grim stenni-doetor (drat him !) came. 

And bore her away from me, — 
The dorlor and di;il'h, old |.iirlner.s thi^v, — 

lii Ihr aguisli WrsI counlive. 

The angels wanted her in heaven 

(Hut they never asked for me). 
And tliat is the reason, I rather gness. 

In the aguish West eountree, 
That the cold March wind, and the doctor, and 
death, 

Took olf my Deborah Leo — 

My beautiful Deborah Lee — 
From the warm sunshine and ihe ojiening llower. 

And bore her away from me, 

Oui' Icive was as strong as a sixdiorse team, 

Oi- Ibi^ love of folks older than we. 

Or i>ossibly wiser than we ; 
I'.ut death, with the aid of doctor and stnim. 

Was rather too many for ine ; 
He closed the peepers and silenced Ihr lnvulh 

or my sweetheart Deborah Lee, 
And licr Wnm lies cold in the prairie mold, 

Silent ami cold, — ah mo! 

The I'liot of the hunter shall press her grave. 

And Die prairiii's sweet wild llowers 
In their odorous beauty around it w^ave 

Through all the sunny hours, — 

Tin' still, la'ight summer hours ; 
And the birds shall sing in the tufted grass, 

And the nectardaden beo, 
AVith his dreamy hum, on his gauze wings pass, — 

She wakes no more to me ; 

Ah, nevernnire to nie ! 
'J'hough the wild birds sing and the wild llowers 
spring. 

She wakes no more to mo. 

Yet oil in tho huah of the dim, still night, 

A vision of beauty I see 
(;iiding soft to my bedside,— a phaidxan of light. 

Dear, beautiful T)el>orah Lee, — 

My briile that was to be ; 
And I waive to mourn that the doctor, and 



Ami the cold March wind, should sto[i the breath 

Of my darling Deborah Leo, — 

Adorable Deborah Lee, — 
That angels should want lier up in heaven 

Before they wanted mo. 



ONLY SEVEN. 



I MAKVELED why a simple child. 
That lightly draws its breath. 

Should utter groans so very wild 
And look as pale as Death. 

Adopting a parental tone, 

1 asked her why she cried. 
The damsel answered, with a groan, 

"1 'vo got a iiain inside ! 

" 1 thought it would have sent nn^ nnul 

Last night about eleven." 
Said 1, " Wluxt is it makes you bad ? 
Mow many apples have yon had 'I " 

She answered, " Only .seven ! " 

" Ami are you sure you took no nun'O, 

My little nund '." ([Uoth I. 
" O, please, sir, mother gave me four, 

I5ul //i(y were in a jiie I " 

" If that 's the case," 1 .stamnuTed out, 
" Of course you 've had eleven." 

The maiden answered with a pout, 
" 1 ain't had moie nor .seven I " 

I wondered hugely what she meant. 
Ami said, " I 'ni had at riildlcs. 

But 1 know where little girls are sent 
Fur telling taradiddles. 

"Now if you don't reform," said 1, 
" Vuu '11 never gu tu heaven ! " 

But all in vain ; each time I try 

Thi' little idiot nnd<es rejily, 

" 1 ain't had nnire nor .seven ! " 

rdsisniier. 

To boriow Wunlsworth's name was wrong, 

Or slightly ini,sa|iplied ; 
And so 1 'd better call my song, 

" Lines after Aehe-insido. " 

H. S I. RICH. 



ty-.- 



.Ira1h. 



' See page W- 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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A TALE OF DRURT LA2fE.* 

FROM ■• REJECTED ADDRESSES." 

" Thus he went on. stringing one extravagance upon another, in 
the style his boolis of chivalry had taught hiin. and imitating, as 
near as he could, their very phrase." — DON QUI.XOTE. 

To be spoken by Mr. Kemble, in a suit of the Black 
Prince's armor, borrowed from the Tower. 

Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, 
While from green curtain 1 advance 
To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance. 
And tell the iovra what sad mischance 
Did Drury Lane befall. 

As Chaos, which, by heavenly doom, 
Had slept in everlasting gloom. 
Started with terror and surprise 
When light first flashed upon her eyes, — 
So London's sons in nightcap woke. 

In bedgown woke her dames ; 
For shouts were heard mid fire and smoke, 
And twice ten hundred voices spoke, — 

" The playhouse is in flames ! " 
And, lo ! where Catherine Street extends, 
A fiery tail its luster lends 

To every window-pane ; 
Blushes each spout in Martlet Court, 
And Barbican, moth-eaten fort. 
And Covent Garden kennels sport, 

A bright ensanguined drain ; 
Meux's new Brewhouse shows the light, 
Rowlanil Hill's Chapel, and the height 

Where Patent Sliot they sell ; 
The Tennis Court, so fair and tall, 
Partakes the ray, mth Surgeons' Hall, 
The Ticket-Porters' House of Call, 
Old Bedlam, close by London Wall, 
W^right's shrimp and oyster shop withal. 

And Richardson's Hotel. 
Nor tliese alone, but far and wide. 
Across red Thames's gle.iming tide. 
To distant fields the blaze was borne. 
And daisy white and hoary thorn 
In borrowed luster seemed to sham 
The rose, or red sweet Wil-li-am. 
To those who on the hills around 
Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, 

As from a lofty altar rise, 
It seemed that nations did conspire 
To ofl"er to the god of fire 

Some vast, stupendous sacrifice ! 
The summoned firemen woke at call, 
And hied them to their stations all : 
Starting fiom short and broken snooze, 
Each sought his ponderous hobnailed shoes. 
But fii'st his worsted hosen plied ; 

• An imitation of Sir Walter Scott. 



Plush breeches next, in crimson dyed. 

His nether bulk embraced ; 
Then jacket thick, of red or blue. 
Whose massy shoulder gave to view 
The badge of each respective crew, 

In tin or copper traced. 
The engines thundered through the street. 
Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, 
And torches glared, and clattering feet 

Along the pavement paced. 
And one, th^ leader of the band. 
From Charing Cross along the Strand, 
Like stag by beagles hunted hard. 
Ran till he stopped at Vin'gar Yard. 
The burning badge his shoulder bore. 
The belt and oil-skin hat he wore. 
The cane he had, his men to bang. 
Showed foreman of the British gang, — 
His name was Higginbottom. Now 
'T is meet that I should tell you how 

The others came in view : 
The Hand-in-Hand the race begun, 
Then came the Phcenix and the Sun, 
The Exchange, where old insurers run, 

The Eagle, where the new ; 
With these came Rumford, Bumford, Cole, 
Robins from Hockley in the Hole, 
Ltiwson and Dawson, cheek by jowl, 

Crump from St. Giles's Pound : 
Whitford and Mitford joined the train, 
Huggins and Muggins from Chick Lane, 
And ( 'lutterbuck, who got a sprain 

Before the plug was found. 
Hobson and Jobsoii did not sleep, 
But ah ! no trophy could they reap, 
For both were in tlie Donjon Keep 

Of Bridewell's gloomy mound ! 
E'en Higginbottom now was posed. 
For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed ; 
Without, within, in hideous show. 
Devouring flames resistless glow. 
And blazing rafters downward go. 
And never halloo " Heads below ! " 

Nor notice give at all. 
The firemen terrified are .slow 
To bid the pumping torrent flow. 

For fear the roof should fall. 
Back, Robins, back ! Crump, stand aloof! 
Whitford, keep near the walls ! 
Huggins, regard your own behoof. 
For, lo ! the blazing rocking roof 
Down, down, in thunder falls ! 
An awful jiause succeeds the stroke, 
And o'er the ruins volumed smoke, 
Rolling around its pitchy shroud. 
Concealed them from the astonished crowd. 
At length the mist awhile was cleared. 
When, lo ! amid the wreck upreared, 



-^ 



Gradual a moving head appeared, 

And Eagle firemen knew 
'T was Joseph Muggins, name revered, 

The foreman of their crew. 
Loud shouted all in signs of woe, 
"A lluggius ! to the rescue, ho ! " 

And poured the hissing tide : 
Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain, 
And strove and struggled all in vain, 
For, rallying hut to fall again. 

He tottered, sunk, and died ! 

Did none attempt, before he fell, 
To succor one they loved so well ? 
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire 
(His fireman's soul was all on fire) 

His brother chief to save ; 
But ah ! his reckless generous ire 

Served but to share his gi-ave ! 
Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, 
Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, 

Where Muggins broke before. 
But sulphury stench and boiling drench. 
Destroying sight, o'erwhelmed bun quite, 

He sunk to rise no more. 
Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved. 
His whizzing water-pipe he waved : 
"Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps! 
You, Clutterbuek, come, stir your stumps ! 
Why are you in such doleful dumps < 
A fireman, and afraid of bumps ! — 
What are they feared on ? fools ! 'od rot 'em ! 
Were the last words of Higginbottom. 

Horace smith. 



ERTISED CALL FOR . 



NATIONAL ANTHEM. 



A DiAofrosis of our history proves 
Our native land a land its native loves ; 
Its birth a deed obstetric «ithout peer. 
Its growth a source of wonder far and near. 

To love it more, behold how foreign shores 

Sink into nothingness beside its stores. 

Hyde Park at best — though counted ultra 

grand — ■ 
The " Boston Common " of Victoria's land — 



6- 



Thee 
reading thus far. for 
college of surgeons o 



t be blamed for rejecting the above aftei 
an " anthem " could only be sung by t 
eacon Street tea-party. 



NATIONAL ANTHEM. 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN B . 

The sun sinks softly to his evening post. 
The sun swells grandly to his morning crown ; 

Yet not a star our flag of heaven has lost. 
And not a sunset stripe with him goes down. 

So thrones may fall ; and from the dust of those 
New thrones may rise, to totter like the last ; 

But still our country's nobler planet glows, 
While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast. 

Upon finding that this does not go well to the air of " Yankee 
Doodle." the committee feeljustilied in declining it ; it being further- 
more prejudiced against it by a suspicion that the poet has crowded 
an advertisement of a paper which he edits into the first line. 

Next we quote from a 

NATIONAL ANTHEM. 

BY GENERAL GEORGE P. M -. 

In the days that tried our fathers. 

Many years ago. 
Our fair land achieved her freedom, 

Blood-bought, you know. 
Shall we not defend her ever. 

As we 'd defend 
That fair maiden, kind and tender, 

Calling us friend ? 

Yes ! Let all the echoes answer. 

From hill and vale ; 
Yes ! Let other nations hearing, 

Joy in the tale. 
Our Columbia is a lady, 

High-born and fair, 
We have swoni allegiance to her, — 

Touch her who dare. 

The tone of this " anthem " not being devotional enough to suit 
the committee, it should be printed on an edition of linen-cambric 
handkerchiefs for ladies especially. 

Observe this 



NATIONAL ANTHEM. 



One hue of our flag is taken 

From the cheeks of my blu.^hing pet, 
And its stars beat time and sjiarkle 

Like the studs on her chemisette. 

Its blue is the ocean shadow 
That hides in her dreamy eyes. 

And it conquers all men, like her. 
And still for a Union flies. 



Several members of the 
oo much of the Anacreon spice 



find that this "anthem" has 



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912 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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NATIONAL ANTHEM. 



The little brown sqiiinel hops iu the corn, 

The cricket quaintly sings ; 
The emerald pigeon nods his head, 

And the shad in the river springs ; 
The dainty sunflower hangs its head 

On the shore of the summer sea ; 
And better far that I were dead. 

If Maud did not love me. 

I love the squirrel that hops in the com, 

And the cricket that qxiaintly sings ; 
And the emerald pigeon that nods his head, 

And the shad that gayly springs. 
I love the dainty sunflower, too. 

And Maud with her snowy breast ; 
1 love them all ; but I love — • I love — 

I love my country best. 

This is certainly very beautiful, and sounds somewhat like Ten- 
nyson. Though it may be rejected by the committee, it can never 
lose its value as a piece of excellent reading for children. It is 
calculated to fill the youthful mind with patriotism and natural his- 
tory, beside touching the youthful heart with an emotion palpitat- 
ing for all. 



THE COCK AND THE BULL.* 

You. see this pebble-stone? It'sathiiig I bought 
Of ^ bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day — 
I like to dock the smaller parts-o'-speech. 
As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur 
(You Piitch the paronomasia, play o' words ?) — 
Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days. 
AVell, to my muttons. I purchased the concern, 
And clapt it i' my poke, and gave for same 
By way, to-wit, of barter or e.vehange — 
"Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own 

term — 
One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' tlie 

realm. 
0-n-e one and f-o-u-r four 
Pence, one and fourpence — you are with me. 

Sir? — 
What hour it skills not : ten or eleven o' the clock. 
Our il:iy (unci what a roaring day it was !) 
In l''('liiii;ii V, riijliteen sixty-nine, 
Ali'Xiinilrina N'irtoria, Fidei 
Hiu — lim — how runs the jargon? — being on 

til rone. 

Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put, 
The basis or substratum — what you will — 
Of the impending eighty thousand lines. 
"Not much iu 'em either," quoth perhaps simple 

Hodge. 
But there 's a superstructure. M'ait a bit. 



& 



Mark first the rationale of the thing : 
Hear logic rival and levigate the deed. 
That shilling — and for matter o' that, the pence — 
I had o' course upo' me — wi' me, say — 
(Mccum 's the Latin, make a note o' that) 
When I popped pen i' stand, blew snout, 

scratched ear. 
Sniffed — tch ! — at snuff-box ; tumbled up, he- 
heed. 
Haw-hawed (not hee-hawed, that 's another guess 

thing :) 
Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door, 
I shoved the door ope wi' my omoplat ; 
And in vcstibtilo, i' the entrance-hall, 
Donned galligaskins, antigropeloes. 
And so forth ; and, complete with hat and gloves, 
One on and one a-dangle i' my hand. 
And ombrifuge (Lord love you !), case o' rain, 
I flopped forth, 's buddikins ! on my own ten toes, 
(I do assure you there be ten of them,) 
And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale 
To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy. 
Put case I had n't 'em on me, could 1 ha' bought 
This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-niight-call toy. 
This pebble-thing, o' the boy-thing ? Q. E. D. 
That 's proven without aid from mumping Pope, 
Sleek porporate or bloated Cardinal, 
(Is n't it, old Fatchaps ? You 're in Euclid now.) 
So, having the shilling — having i' fact a lot — 
And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them, 
I purchased, as I think I said before. 
The pebble (lapis, lapidis, — di, — dera, — de — 
AVhat nouns 'crease short i' the genitive. Fat- 
chaps, eh ?) 
0' the boy, a bare-legged beggarly son of a gun, 
For one and fourpence. Here we are again. 

Now Law steps in, big-wigged, voluminous- 
jawed ; 
Investigates and re-investigates. 
Was the transaction illegal ? Law shakes head. 
Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case. 

At first the coin was mine, the chattel his. 
But now (by virtue of the said exchange 
And barter) vice versa all the coin. 
Per juris opcrationem, vests 
r the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom ; 
(In scECula sceculo-o-o-orum ; 
I think I hear the Abbate mouth out that. ) 
To have and hold the same to him and them . . . 
Confer some idiot on Conveyancing, 
Whereas the pebble and every part thereof, 
And all that appertaineth thereunto. 
Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would, or 

should, 
(Suhandi ccetera — clap me to the close — 
For what 's the good of law in a case o' the kind ?) 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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Is mine to all intents and puqMses. 

This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale. 

Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality. 
He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him, 
(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my 

hand) — 
And paid for 't, like a gen'lman, on the nail. 
" Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny ? Devil a bit. 
FidiUestick's end ! Get out, you blazing ass ! 
Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-baby me I 
Go double or quits \ Yah ! tittup I what 's the 

odds?" 
— There's the trausaction viewed, i' the vendor's 

light. 

Next ask that dunipled hag, stood snuffling by, 
"With her three frowsy-blowsy brats o' babes. 
The scum o' the kennel, cream o' the filth-heap 

—Faugh !. 
Ale, aie, aie, aie ! hroroTOTOToi^ 
('Stead which w-e blurt out Hoiglity-toighty 

nowl — 
And the baktr und candlestick-maker, and Jack 

and Gill, 
Bleared Goody this and queasy Gaffer that. 
Ask the schoolmaster. Take schoolmaster first. 

He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad 
A stone, and pay for it riU, on the square, 
And cany it off per saUtim, jauntily. 
Propria quae maribits, gentleman's property now 
(Agreeably to the law explained above). 
In proprium u^uin, for his private ends. 
The boy he chucked a brown i' the air, and bit 
r the face the shilling : heaved a thumping stone 
At a lean hen that ran cluck-clucking by, 
(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door, ) 
Then abiit — what 's the Ciceronian phrase ? — 
Exccssit, evasit, crupit, — off slogs boy ; 
Off in three flea-skips. Haclenus, so far, 
So good, tam bene. Bene, satis, male, — 
Where was I ? who said what of one in a quag ? 
I dill (ince hitch the syntax into verse : 
J'rl'iii/i personale, a verb personal, 
i_'nni::fi-ilnf, — ay, "agrees," old Fatchaps — cum 
Nominativo, with its nominative, 
Generc, i' point o' gender, numero, 
0' number et persona, and person. Ut, 
Instance : Sol ruit, down flops sun, et, and. 
Monies umbrantur, snuffs out mountains. Pah ! 
Excuse me, sir, I think I 'm going mad. 
You see the trick on 't though, and can yourself 
Continue the discourse ad libitum. 
It takes up about eighty thousand lines, 
A thing imagination boggles at : 
And might, odds-bobs, sir ! in judicious hands. 
Extend from here to Mesopotamy. 

CHARLES L CAL\-F_RLr',-. 



On, on, my brown Arab, away, away ! 
Thou hast trotted o'er many a mile to-day. 
And I t:-ow right meager hath been thy fare 
Since they roused thee at dawn from thy straw- 
piled lair. 
To tread with those echolcss, unshod feet 
Yon weltering flats in the noontide heat. 
Where no palm-tree prott'ers a kindly shade. 
And the eye never rests on a cool grass blade ; 
And lank is thy flank, and thy frequent cough, 
0, it goes to my heart — but away, friend, ofl" ! 

And yet, ah ! what sculptor who saw thee stand. 
As thou standest now, on thy native strand. 
With the wild wind raffling thineuncombed hair, 
And thy nostril upturned to the odorous air. 
Would not woo thee to pause, till his skill might 

trace 
At leisure the lines of that eager face ; 
The coUarless neck and the coal-black paws 
And the bit gi-asped tight in the massive jaws ; 
The delicate curve of the legs, that seem 
Too slight for their burden — and, 0, the gleam 
Of that eye, so somber and yet so gay ! 
Still away, my lithe Arab, once more away ! 

Nay, tempt me not, .'Vrab, again to stay ; 
Since I crave neither Echo nor Fun to-day. 
For thy hand is not Echoless — there they are, 
Fxin, Glowworm, and Eeho, and Evening Star, 
And thou hintest withal that thou fain wouldst 

shine. 
As I read them, these bulgy old boots of mine. 
But I shrink from thee, Ai-ab ! Thou eatest eel- 
pie. 
Thou evermore hast at least one black eye ; 
There is brass on thy brow, and thy swarthy hues 
Are due not to nature, but handling shoes ; 
And the bit in thy mouth, I regi'et to see. 
Is a bit of tobacco-pipe — Flee, child, flee ! 

CHARLES L. CALVERLEY 



THE MODERN HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT. 

Behold the mansion reared by dsedal Jack. 

See the malt, stored in many a plethoric sack. 
In the proud cirque of Ivan's bivouac. 

Mark how the rat's felonious fangs invade 
The golden stores in John's pavilion laid. 

Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides, 
Subtle grimalkin to his quarty glides, — 
Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent 
Whose tooth insidious Johann's sackcloth rent. 



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914 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



\m\ how llio lU't'ii-iiioiitlicd ciiiiiiie foe's assault, 
Tliat VdXL'il llio avengrr of Uii- stolon mult ; 
Stoml ill tUu liallowf.l invuiiictn of tlu! hall 
That roBO coniplelo at JiicU'h cn'Rlivc call. 

Hero stalks tho imiietuoiis cow, with cniiiii)loil 

honi, 
■Whereon the cxaceiliatiiif,' hoiiml was torn, 
Who baywl the fi^line NlaiinlitiM--l>eaMt, that slow 
Tho rat ineilacious, whose keen fangs van through 
'IMiu textile llhers that involveil the grain 
'i'hat lay in Hans' iiiviolale cloniaiii. 

Here walks forlorn the damsel crowiieil with nio, 
l.aetifovouB siioils from vaeoinu lUigs who drew, 
or that oornleuhito beast whoso tortuous lioru 
Tossed to tho clouds, in fierce vindictive scorn, 
Tho harrowing hound, wliosc^ braggart bark and 

stir 
Arched llie litlio siiineand ri'ared the indignant fur 
or |aiss, that with verininieidal daw 
Struck till' weinl rat, in whose insatiate maw 
Lay reeking uiull, that erst in Ivan's courts wc 

saw. 



Robed ill soncacent garb, that sooniod, in sooth. 
Too long a prey to C'hroues' iron tooth, 
Behold tho man whoso amorous lips incline, 
l''nll with young Kros' osculativo .sign, 
T.i the hull maiden, whoso lac-albic hands 
Drew allai-lactic wealth from lacteal glands 
Of tho iuimorlal bovine, hy whoso horn, 
Oistort, to realm ethereal was borne 
The beast catuleaii, vexer ot that sly 
Ulysso.s nuadruiiodal who made dio 
The (dd mordacioUK rat, that dared devour 
Aiitccedaneous ale in .lohn's domestic bower. 

1,0 1 here, with liirsulo lumors ilolhsl, succiuct 
Of sa|iouaceous locks, the priest who linked 
In Hymen's gohleii bauds the lorn nnthiirt. 
Whose means exiguous stared from many a rift. 
Even as ho kissed tho virgin all forlorn. 
Who milked the cow with implicated horn. 
Who in fine wrath tho (sauiiio torturer skied, 
That dared to vex tho insiilious muricide. 
Who let auroral elllueuco through the pelt 
Of tho sly rat that robbed (he palace .buk had 
built, 

Tho loud eantankoroHS Shanghai eomos at last, 
Whoso shouts aroused tho shorn occlcsinst, 
Who sealed the vows of Ilyinon's sacrament 
To him wdio, robed in garinonts indigent, 
Exosculatos tho damsel laehryinose, 
Tho emulgator of that horned briito morose 
That tossed tho dog that wm'riod the cat that kilt 
Tho rat that ab' the mall that lay in tho house 
that .lack built. 



JONES AT THE BARBER'S SHOP. 

SonNi'., n Jim-ber's Shop. Barber's man rnijfi(j:-d 
in culling hair, making wigs, and oilier bar- 
beresque operalions. 

Enter Jones meeting Oii.y llir. barber. 

.loNEs. I wish my hair cut. 

OiLY. Pray, sir, take a seat. 

(Oil,Y pals a chair for Jon KH, who sits. During 
the following dialogue Oii.v continues culling 
.loNKs's hair.) 

Oii.Y. Wo 've had much wet, sir. 
JoNKS. Very much Indeed. 

Oii,Y. And yet November's days were fine. 
•loNKS. " They were. 

Oily. 1 liope.lfairweatherinight have lasted us 
Until the end. 
,biNKs. At one time — so did 1. 

Oll.v. Hut we have had it very wet. 
.loNKs. We have. 

(A pause of some ten tninutcs.) 
On.Y. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last 
time ; 
Hut this 1 say, .sir, it was badly out: 
No doubt 't was in the country. 

,IuNK.s. No ! in town ! 

Oil.Y. Indeed ! I should have fancied other- 

wise. 
.loNHs. 'T was cut in town and in this very 

room . 
Oll.v. Amazement !— but 1 now remember 
w.ll — 
We had an awkward, now provincial hand, 
A fellow frcun the country. Sir, he did 
Wore damage to my business in a week 
Tlmn all my skill can in a year repair, 
lb' must have out your hair. 

.biNKS {looking at him). No, 't was yinirself. 
Oll.v. My.seir ? Impossible I You must mis- 
take." 
.loMW. I don't mistake — 'twas you that cut 
my hair. 

(.7 hoig innise, iiiterriipled only by the clijiping 
of the scissors.) 

Oll.v. Your hair is very dry, sir. 
,1(1N1!S. Oh ! indeed. 

Oll.Y. Our Vegetable ICxtract moistens it. 
.loNKs. 1 liki' it dry. 

Oily. Hut, sir, the hair when dry 
Turns ipiickly gray. 

.Tones. That color I prefer. 

OlI-Y. Uut hair, when gray, will rapidly fall 



tQ-^- 



And baldm 
.ToMCs. 



i will ensue. 



I would be bald. 



--ff 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



OH 



^^ 



OiLV. Perhaps you mean to say ynu M like a 
wig, — 
Wo 've wigs so natural they can't bo told 
From real liair. 

JoNK.i. lle('e[itio!i 1 iletest. 

(Anutliir iniilxr nisiir.s, (/iirnn/ ir/di-h OiLY blows 
down .luMis's «,v/, Hint n li- ns him from the 
linen u-fopper in tt'hich he has been cnveloptiU 
tlurimj the process of hair-cutting.) 
Oii.Y. We've brashes, soaps, and scent of 

every kind. 
Jones. I see you have. (Pays 6 d.) 1 think 

you '11 find tliat right. 
f)ii.y. If there is nothing I can show you, sir, 
Jon us. No; nothing. Yet — there may be 
something, too, 
That you may show me. 

Oii.v. Name it, sir. 

JiiNKH. The door. 

( )i i.v {to his inan). That 's a rum customer at 
any rate. 
Had I cut him a.s short as ho cut me. 
How little liair upon his head wonhl be I 
Hut if kind friends will all our pains requite, 
Wo '11 hojic for hotter luck another night. 

[S!iop bell rings, and curtain fails, 
ruNcii. 



TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. 

Roi.i, on, thou ball, roll on ! 
Through jiatldess realms of space 

Holl on ! 
Wh.at lliough I'm in a sorry ease? 
What thoLigli I cannot meet my bills? 
Wliat tliough 1 sudor toothache's ills ? 
What tliough I swallow countless jjilla ? 
Never you mind ! 

Holl on ! 

Hnllon, thnu b;,Il, roll on! 
Tluiiugh seas of inky air 

Roll on ! 
It's Inie 1 'vo got no shirts to wear, 
1 1 's true my butcher's bill is dui'. 
It's true my prospei:ts all look blue, — 
Hut don't let that unsettle you ! 
Never you mind ! 

Roll on ! 

[It rolls on. 

. W. S. GILUURT. 



She was u phantom of delight, 
And I was like a I'ool. 



Wordsworth. 
Eastman. 



e-^ 



1 ONLY knew she camt 
Like troutlots in a ] 



MY LOVE." 

r:amo and went 



Pm-cll. 
Hood. 

3 Verses" ; p.^tcJiwork, 



One kiss, dear maid, I said, and sighed, Coleridge. 

Out of those lips unshorn : LonyfcUow. 

She sliook her ringlets round her head, Stoddard. 

And laughed in merry scorn, Tennyson. 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Tennyson. 

Vou heard thein, () my heart ; Alice C'ary. 
'Tis twelveatnight by the castle clock, Coleridge. 

lieloved, wo must part. Alice Cary. 

"Come back, como back !" she cried in grief, 

Campbell. 

"Mycyes aicdini witli tears, — liayard Taylor. 
How shall I live througli all the days ! Osyood. 

All through a hundred years ? " T. S. Perry. 

'Twas in the piimo of summer time Hood. 

She blessed mo with her hand ; Iluyt. 

We strayed together, deeply blest, Edwards. 

Into the dreaming laml. Cornwall. 

The laughing bridal roses blow, Patinore. 

To dress her dark-brown hair ; Bayard Taylor. 
My heart is breaking with my woo, Tenny.san. 

Most lic'autiful ! most rare ! Itead. 

I clasped it on her sweet, cold hand, Browninrj. 

The precious gohlen link ! Smith. 

1 calmed her fears, and she was calm, Coleridije. 

" Mrink, pretty creature, drink." IVorcliworth. 

And so I won my Genevieve, Coleridge. 

And walked in Paradise ; Ifervey. 

The fairest thing that over grew JFordsworth. 

Atween me and tin' skies. Osijood. 

Anonvmous. 



A RECIPK FOR SALAD, 

To make this condiment your poet begs 
Tho jiounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs ; 
Two boiled potatoes, passed through liitchen 

sieve. 
Smoothness and softness to the salad givi' ; 
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 
And, half suspected, animate the whole ; 
Of mordant mustard add a single s|)Oon, 
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon ; 
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault 
To aild a double (juantity of salt ; 
Four times the spoon with oil fi'om Lucca crown, 
And twice with vinegai', procured from town ; 
And lastly, o'er tho Mavored compound toss 
A magic aoupcon of anchovy sauce. 



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HUMOROUS POEMS. 



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grceii and glorious ! herbaceous treat ! 
'T would temjit the dying anchorite to eat ; 
Back to the world he 'd turn his fleeting soul, 
And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl ; 
Serenely full, the epicure would say, 
" Fate cannot harm me, — I have dined to-day.' 
SYDNEY Smith. 



ROASTED SUCKING-PIG. 

Air, — "Scots wha hae," etc. 

Cooks who 'd roast a sucking-pig, 
Purchase one not over big ; 
Coarse ones are not worth a fig ; 

So a young one buy. 
See that he is scalded well 
(That is done by those who sell). 
Therefore on that point to dwell 

Wei-e absurdity. 

Sage and bread, mix ju.st enough, 
Salt and pepper quantum siiff., 
And the pig's interior stuff, 

With the whole combined. 
To a fire that 's rather higli. 
Lay it till completely dry ; 
Then to every part apply 

Cloth, with butter lined. 

Dredge with flour o'er and o'er, 
Till the pig will hold no more ; 
Then do nothing else before 

'T is for ser\'ing fit. 
Then scrape off the flour with care ; 
Then a buttered cloth prepare ; 
Rub it well ; then cut — • not tear — 

Off the head of it. 

Then take out and mix the brains 
With the gi'avy it contains ; 
While it on the spit remains. 

Cut the pig in two. 
Chop the sage and chop the bread 
Fine as very finest shred ; 
O'er it melted butter spread, — 

Stinginess won't do. 

When it in the dish appears. 
Garnish with the jaws and ears ; 
And when dinner-hour nears. 

Ready let it be. 
^^^lo can offer such a dish 
May dispense with fowl and fish ; 
And if he a guest should wish. 

Let him send for me ! 

PUNCH'S " Poetical Cookery Book." 



SIEGE OF BELGRADE. 

An Austrian army, awfully arrayed. 

Boldly hy battery besieged Belgrade. 

Cossack commanders cannonading come, 

Dealing destruction's devastating doom. 

Every endeavor engineers essay. 

For fame, for foi-tune fighting, — furious fray ! 

Generals 'gainst generals grapple — gracious God ! 

How honors Heaven heroic hardihood ! 

Infuriate, indiscriminate in ill. 

Kindred kill kinsmen, kinsmen kindred kill. 

Labor low levels longest loftiest lines ; 

Men march mid mounds, mid moles, mid mur- 
derous mines ; 

Now noxious, noisy numbers nothing, naught 

Of outward obstacles, opposuig ought ; 

Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed. 

Quite quaking, quickly "Quarter! Quarter!" 
quest. 

Reason returns, religious right redounds, 

Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds. 

Truce to thee, Turkey ! Triumph to thy train. 

Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine ! 

Vanish, vain victory ! vanish, victory vain ! 

Why wish we warfare ? Wherefore welcome 
were 

Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier ? 

Yield, yield, ve youths ! ye yeomen, vield your 
yell! 

Zeus's, Zarpater's, Zoroaster's zeal. 

Attracting all, aims against acts appeal ! 



THE STAMMERING WIFE. 

W^HEN, deejily in love with Miss Emily Pryne, 
I vowed, if the maiden would only be mine, 

I would always endeavor to please her, — 
She blushed her consent, though the stuttering 

lass 
Said never a word, except, " You 're an ass — 

An ass — an ass-iduous teaser I " 

But when we were married, 1 found to iny 

ruth. 
The stammering lady had spoken the truth. 

For often, in obvious dudgeon. 
She 'd say, — if I ventured to give her a jog 
In the way of reproof, — " You 're a dog — you 
're a dog — 
A dog — a dog-matic curmudgeon !" 

And once when I said, " We can hardly afford 
This extravagant style, with our moderate hoarK, 

And hinted we ought to be wiser. 
She looked, I assure you, exceedinglv blue, ^ 

^ ff 



f 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



917 



-a 



And fretfully cried, "You 're a Jew — you're a 
Jew — 
A very ju-dicious adviser ! " 

Again, when it happened that, wishing to shirk 
Some rather unpleasant and arduous work, 

I begged her to go to a neighbor. 
She wanted to know why I made such a fuss, 
And saucily said, "You'reacus — cus — cus — 

You were always ac-cus-tomed to labor ! " 

Out of temper at last with the insolent dame. 
And feeling that JIadam was gi'eatly to blame 

To scold me instead of caressing, 
I mimicked her speech, — like a churl as I am, — 
And angrily said, "You 're a dam — dam — dam 

A dam-age instead of a blessing ! " 

John Godfrey Saxe. 



^- 



Echo. 
Lover. 



Echo. 
Lover. 



Echo. 
Lover. 



Eeho. 
Limer. 



Echo. 
Lover. 



Echo. 

' Chain- 
■dmi;. 



Nerve thy soul with doctrines noble, 
Noble in the walks of time. 
Time that leads to an eternal, 
An eternal life sublime ; 
Life sublime in moral beauty, 
Beauty that shall ever be ; 
Ever be to lure thee onward. 
Onward to tlie fountain free : 
Free to everj- earnest seeker. 
Seeker for the fount of youth, 
Youth exultant in its beauty. 
Beauty of the living truth. 



ECHO AND THE LOVER. 

Echo ! mysterious nymph, declare 

Of what you 're made, and what you are. 

Air ! 
Mid airy cliffs and places high. 
Sweet Echo ! listening love, you lie. 

You lie ! 
Thou dost resuscitate dead sound.s, — 
Hark ! how my voice revives, resounds ! 

Zounds ! 
I '11 question thee before I go, — 
Come, answer me more apropos ! 

Poll ! poh ! 
TeU me, fair nymph, if e'er you saw 
So sweet a girl as Phoibe Shaw. 

Pshaw ! 
Say, what will turn that frisking coney 
Into the toils of matrimony ? 

Money ! 

verse ; each line begins with the last word of the one 



Lover. Has Phcebe not a heavenly brow ? 

Is not her bosom white as snow ? 
Echo. Ass ! no ! 

Lover. Her eyes ! was ever such a pair ? 

Are the stars brigliter than they are ? 
Echo. They are ! 

Lover. Echo, thou liest, but can't deceive me. 
Edw. Leave me ! 

Lover. But come, thou saucy, pert romancer, 

Who is as fail' as I'hcebo ? Answer ! 
Eclw. Ann, sir. 

ANO.NYMOUS. 



ECHO. 

I A.SKED of Echo, t' other day, 

(Whose words are few and often funny,) 
What to a novice she could say 

Of courtship, love, and matrimony. 

Quoth Echo, plainly, — "Matter-o'-monoy 1" 

Whom should I marry ? — should it be 

A dashing damsel, gay and pert, 
A pattern of inconstancy ; 

Or selfish, mercenary flirt ? 

Quoth Echo, sharply, — " Narj' flirt I" 

What if, aweary of the strife 
That long has lured the dear deceiver. 

She promLse to amend her life, 

An<l sin no more ; can I believe her ? 

Quoth Echo, verj- jjromptly — " Leave her I' 

But if some maiden with a heart 
On me should venture to bestow it, 

Pray, should I act the wiser part 
To take the treasure or forego it ? 
Quoth Echo, with decision, — "Go it!" 

But what if, seemingly afraid 
To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, 

She vow she means to die a maid, 
In answer to my loving letter? 
Quoth Eclio, rather coolly, — " Let her!" 

VHnsit if, in spite of her disdain, 

I find ray heart intwined about 
With Cuj)id's dear delicious chain 

So closely that I can't get out? 

Quoth Echo, laughingly, — "Get out !" 

But if some maid with beauty blest. 
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, 

Will share my labor and my rest 
Till envious Death shall overtake hor ? 
Quoth Echo {sotto voce), — " Take lier !" 

John (.oofrev saxe. 



i 



e- 



918 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



n 



TOPSIDE GALAH (EXCELSIOR).* 

That nightee teem he come chop chop 
One young man walkee, no can stop ; 
Colo maskee, icee maskee ; 
He got flag ; chop b'long welly culio, see — 
Topside Galah ! 

He too muchee foUy ; one piecee eye 
Lookee sharp — so fashion — alia same mi : 
He talkee largee, talkee stlong, 
Too muchee culio ; alia same gong — 
Topside Galah ! 

Inside any housee he can see light, 
Any piecee loom got fire all light ; 
He look see plenty ice more high, 
Inside he mouf he plenty cly — 
Topside Galah ! 

" No can walkee !" olo man speakee he : 
" Bimeby lain come, no can see ; 
Hab got water welly wide ! " 
"Maskee, mi must go topside — " 
Topside Galah ! 

" Man-man," one galo talkee he ; 
"What for you go topside look-see?" 
"Nother teem," he makee plenty cly, 
Maskee, alia teem walkee plenty high — 
Topside Galah ! 

"Take care that spilum tlee, young man, 
Take care that icee ! " he no man-man, 
That coolie chin-chin he good-night ; 
He talkee, "mi can go all light," — 
Topside Galah ! 

Jobs pidgin man chop chop begin. 
Morning-teem that Joss chin-chin, 
No see any man, he plenty fear, 
Cause some man talkee, he can hear, — 
Topside Galah ! 

Young man makee die ; one largee dog see 
Too muchee bobbery, findee he. 
Hand too muchee colo, inside can stop 
Alia same piecee flag, got culio chop, — 
Topside Galah 



ANON^'MOUS. 



chi'H chin, talk. 

vielly culio. very curious. 

ycsi, the Deity. 

yets fids'" "">"■ priest- 



NTTRSERY SONG. 

SiNGEE songee sick a pence, 

Pockee muchee rj'e ; 
Dozen two time blaokee bird 

Cookee in e pie. 

When him cut-ee topside 
Birdee bobbery sing ; 

Himee tinkee nicey dish 
Setee foree king ! 

Kingee in e talkee-room 
Countee muchee money ; 

Queeny in e kitchee. 

Chew-chew breadee honey. 

Servant galo shakee, 
Hangee washee clothes ; 

Chop-chop comee blaokee bird, 
Nipee oflT her nose ! 



ANONYMOUS. 



f&- 



chop rhop, v&vy fast. 

fnasltef, doit't mind. 

chef b'lons. of a kind. 

topsicU S'^lah, hurrah for the height 1 



• This and the following piece are specimens oi Pidgin English, 
the dialect in use between the Chinese and Enghsh or Americans, 
e is said to have originated in the Chinese pronunciation 



SNEEZING. 

What a moment, what a doubt ! 
All my nose is inside out, — 
All my thrilling, tickling caustic, 
PjTamid rhinocerostic, 

AVants to sneeze and cannot do it ! 
How it j'earns me, thrills me, stings me, 
How with rapturous torment wrings me ! 

Now says, "Sneeze, you fool, — get through 

it."" 

Shee — shee — oh ! 't is most del-ishi — 

Ishi — ishi — most del-ishi ! 

(Hang it, 1 shall sneeze till spring !) 

Snuff is a delicious thing. 

LEIGH Hunt. 



TO MY NOSE. 

Knows he that never took a pinch, 
Nosey, the pleasure thence which flows ? 
Knows he the titillating joys 

Which my nose knows ? 

nose, I am as proud of thee 
As any mountain of its snows ; 

1 gaze on thee, and feel that pride 

A Eoman knows ! 



NOCTURNAL SKETCH. 

BLANK VERSE IN RHYME, 

Even is come ; and from the dark Park, hark, 

The signal of the setting sun — one gun ! 

And six is sounding from the chime, prime time 



& 



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HUMOEOUS POEMS. 



919 



To go and see the Dniry-Lane Dane slain, — 
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, — 
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, 
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch ; 
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride 
Four horses as no other man can span ; 
Or in the small Olj-mpic Pitt sit split 
Laughing at Liston, whUe you quiz his phiz. 

Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings 

things 
Such as, with his poetic tongue. Young sung ; 
The gas upblazes with its bright white light. 
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl 
About the streets, and take up Pall-Mail Sal, 
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. 

Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash. 
Past drowsy Charley, in a deej) sleep, creep. 
But, frightened by Policeman B. 3, flee, 
And while they 're going, whisper low, " No go ! " 

Now puss, when folks are in their beds, treads 

leads, 
And sleepers, waking, gramble, "Drat that eat !" 
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls 
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will. 

Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise 
In ch-ildish dreams, and with a roar gore poor 
Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly ; — 
But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest- 
pressed, 
Diearaeth of one of her old flames, James Games, 
And that she hears — wliat faith is man's ! — 

Ann's banns 
And his, from Reverend Mr. Pace, twice, thrice ; 
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out. 
That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' 
woes ! 

THOMAS Hood. 



ODE FOR A SOCIAL MKETING ; 

WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER. 

Come ! fill a fresh buuiper, — for why should 
we go 

ioijwood 

While tlie nootor stUl reddens our cups as they 
flow ? 

decoction 

Pour out the rich juioco still bright with the sun, 

dye-stuff 

Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubicj shall run. 



half-ripened apple; 



their life-dews have 



[& 



sugar of lead 

How sweet is the broath of the fiiagrancothoyohoJ I 



stable-boys sniokin^i long-nine 



That were g.arnered by 
thraugh tho vinoo . 

scowl howl scoff sneer 

Then a omilo , and a glaDti , and a te»t9t, and a ehcer , 

sfrj'clinine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer 

In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, 

Down, down wnth the tyrant that masters us all ! 

{-ong livo tl'.o gtxy uurvaiit that tau^hu far xw nil ' 

0l1\ER WE.NDELL HOLMES 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBDTM. 

[A farmer's daughter, during the rage for albums, h-inded to the 
author an old account-book ruled for pounds, shillings, and pence, 
and requested a contribution.] 

This world's a scene as dark as Styx, 

Where hope is scarce worth 

Our joys are borne so fleeting hence 

That they are dear at 

And yet to stay here most are willing 

Although they may not have l 

WILLIS GAVLORD. 



METRICAL FEET. 

Trochee trips from long to short ; 

From long to long in solemn sort 

Slow Spondee stalks ; strong foot ! yet ill able 

Ever to come up with Dactyl trisyllable. 

Iambics march from short to long ; — 

With a leap and a bound the swift Anapitsts 

throng ; 
One syllable long, with one short at each side. 
Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride ; — 
First and last being long, middle short, Amphi- 

macer 
Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high- 



bred racer. 



SAMUEL Taylor Coleridge. 



THE LOVERS. 

S.\LI.Y S.\LTER, she was a young teacher who 

taught. 
And her friend, Charley Cliurch, was a preacher 

who praught, 
Though his enemies called him a screecher who 

scraught. 

His heart, when he saw her, kept sinking and 

sunk, 
-And his e^'e, meeting hers, began winking, and 

wunk ; 
While she, in her turn, kept thinking, and thunk. 



-& 



£h- 



920 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



--a 



He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed, 
For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed. 
And what he was longing to do then he doed. 

In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke. 
To seek with his lips what his heart long had 

soke ; 
So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke. 

He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode ; 
They so sweetly did glide that they both thought 

they glode. 
And they came to the place to be tied, and were 

toed. 

Then homeward, he said, let us drive, and they 

drove, 
And as soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove. 
For whatever he could n't contrive she controve. 

The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole ; 
At the feet where he wanted to kneel then he 

knole ; 
And he said, " I feel better than ever 1 fole." 



So they to each other kept clinging, and clung. 
While Time his swift circuit was winging, and 

wung ; 
And this was the thing he was bringing and 

brung : 

The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught; 
That she wanted from others to snatch, and had 

snaught ; 
Was the one she now liked to scratch, and she 

scraught. 

And Charley's waim love began freezing, and 

froze, 
While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze 
Thegirlhehad wished to be squeeziug,and squoze. 

"Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to 

leave him, and left, 
"How could you deceive me, as you have de- 

ceft?" 
And she answered, " I promised to cleave, and 

I've cleft." 

PHOsBE CARV. 



fy-- 



-^ 



fh^ 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



B^- 



Pagei 

A baby was sleeping S. Lover 21 | 

A barking sound the shepherd hears .... IVordswarth 614 ' 
Abou Hen Adhein (may liJs tribe increase !) L. Hunt 686 ' 

Above the pines the moon Bret HurU- 840 

A brace of sinners for no good Dr, H'okott 863 

Abram and Zimri owned a field together C Cook 685 

A cliild sleeps under a rose-bush fair /K. IV. Caldwell 729 : 
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun . John U'ilson 6g8 '. 

A country life is sweet 1 A nonymons 496 . 

Across the narrow beach we flit Celia Thaxter 446 

A dew-drop came, with a spark oi^ixn\{t.. Anonymous 761 

A diagnosis of our history proves R. H. Newell 91 1 j 

Adieu, adieu, my native shore Byron 190 j 

Adieu, adieu ! our dream of love 7*. K. Hcrvey 185 ! 

A district school not far away J. IV. Palmer 36 I 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever Burns 183 ' 

A fair little girl sat under a tree R. M. Mines 31 ' 

A famous hen 's my story's theme Claudius S92 

Afar in the desert I love to ride Thos Fringle 238 

A fellow in a market-town Dr. IVokott 864 

A flock of merry singing-birds IVilson Flagg 439 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass hy... H^^'ords wo r lit 680 

Again the violet of our early days Efien. Elliott 383 

A girl who has so many willful ways D. M. Craik 87 1 

A good that never satisfies the mind Drummond 304 ' 

A good wife rose from her bed one motn. Anonymous 180 ' 

Ah, Ben 1 say how or when Hen-ick 815 

Ah, Chloris, could I now but sit Sir C. Sed/ey 85 : 

Ah ! do not wanton witli those eyes Ben Jonson 132 

Ah, how sweet it is to love I Dryden 85 

Ah I little they know of true happiness ..Mac-Carthy 502 | 

Ah I niy heart is weary waiting Mac-Carthy 380 

Ah, my sweet sweeting Anonymous 64 

Ah! poor intoxicated little knave J. IVolcott 731 

Ah, sunflower ! weary of time Win. Bla ';e 426 

Ah, sweet Kitty Neil ! Mac-Carthy 151 

Ah, then, how sweetly closed those crowded days ' 

W. A list OH 37 
All ! what is love? It is a pretty thing .Robt. Greette 70 

Ah ! w hence yon glare Shelley 4S4 

Ah ! who but oft hath marvelled why ....J.G. Saxe 148 
Ah, yes, — the fight? Well, messmates, well..Ww(j«. 565 ' 
Airs that wander and murmur round ..W. C. Bryant iiz 

PuKvov alKivov Anonymous 896 I 

A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store G- Caiman, Jr. 85S 

Alas for them ! their day is o'er Charles Sprague 735 

Alas, Fra Giacomo Robt. Buchanan 302 

Alas 1 how light a cause may move Moore 227 

Alas I they had been friends in youth Coleridge 59 

Alas ! what pity 't is that regularity G. Coleman 865 j 

Alice was a chieftain's daughter Mac-Carthy 160 , 

A lighter scarf of richer fold .-). y Re'piier 787 | 

A light is out in Italy Laura C Redden 848 I 

A little golden head close to my knee Susan Coolidge 27 [ 

A little life Anonymous 266 1 

A httle more toward the light A. Dobson 715 | 



Page 

A little onward lend thy guiding hand Milton 241 

All day long the storm of battle Anonymous 479 

All day long till the west was red Anonymous 571 

All grim and soiled and brown with tan IVhittier 550 

All hail ! thou noble land iP'. Allston 532 

All hail to the ruins, the rocks, and the shores I 

Montgomery 560 

All in our marriage garden G. Massey 37 

All in the Downs the fleet was moored y. Gay 185 

All in the May-time's merriest weather.. .Alice Cary 99 

All is finished I and at length Longfellow 563 

All is not golde that shineth bright in show ...Anon. 146 
" .Ml quiet along the Potomac" ...Mrs. E. L. Beers 474 

All the world 's a stage Shakespeare 723 

All things in nature are beautiful types C F- Cratick 361 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights Coleridge 107 

Alone and sad I sat me down yoaguin Miller 625 

Along the frozen lake she comes Anonymous 622 

Although 1 enter not . . Thackeray 67 

A man there came, whence none could tell AUingham 742 

Amazing, beauteous change 1 Doddridge 339 

A mighty fortress is our God {Translation 0/ F. //. 

Hedge). Martin Lut/ter 335 

A milkmaid, who poised a full pail y. Taylor 786 

A mist was driving down the British Channel 

Longfellow 823 

Among the beautiful pictures .Mice Cary 38 

Among their graven shapes IVhittier S52 

Among thy fancies tell me this Herrick 78 

A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er 

yane Taylor 785 

An ancient story I '11 tell you Anonymous ^53 

An Austrian army awfully arrayed Anonymous 916 

And are ye sure the news is true ? U\ y. Mickle 201 

hw^ hast thou sought thy heavenly home D. M. Moir 26^ 

And is the swallow gone ? \Vm Hotvitt 443 

And is there care in heaven ? Spenser 337 

And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed ..Pope 664 

And on her lover's arm she leant Tennyson 124 

And there two runners did the sign abide IVm- Morris 1 10 

And thou hast walked about //. Smith 661 

And wilt thou leave me thus? Sir T. IVyatt 191 

An empty sky, a world of heather yean Ingeloiv 1S7 

An exquisite invention this Leigh Hunt 149 

A nightingale, that all day long Cowper jSh 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky... Emerson 402 

A nobie peasant, Isaac Ashford, died Geo. Crahbe f^Ti 

An old farm-house with meadows wide*. M. Douglas 72S 

A poL-t loved a star Lord Lytton 157 

Appeared the princess with that merry child . . Taylor 120 

Arbutus lies beneath the snows W. W. Bailey 579 

Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome Byron 629 

An thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? Dekker 495 

Art thou weary, art thou languid Anonymous 327 

A ruddy drop of manly blood E 

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping.. 



"^ 



[fi- 



-Ri 



922 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Aa by the shore, at break of day Moore 544 

A sentinel angel sitting high in glory y. Hay 234 

A simple child Wonlsworth 34 

As into blowing roses siiniiner dews .. . D. A. li'asso/t 714 

As i[ tell upon a day Ji. Barn/ieUi 444 

Ask me no more Tennyson 1 20 

Ask me why I send you here Herrick 424 

As Mumiiou's marble harp renowned of old Akemide 748 
A soldier 111' ihe l.c^ion lay dying in Algiers ..A'i'/-/c« 476 

As once a Grecian maiden wove Moore 103 

A song for the plant of iny own native Wo^i.-Fosdick 420 
A song 10 the oak, the brave old oak..//. F, ChorUy 416 
A sound came booming through the air.....S'. Brooks 894 

As, rising on its purple wing Byron 330 

As sliadows cast by cloud and sun W. C. Bryant 356 

As ships becalmed at eve, that lay A, if. Cloiigh 183 

As slow our ship her foamy track Moore i8y 

A stranger came one night to Yussoufs tent ..Lowell 684 
Ah vdiice 1 valked by a dismal swamp //. //. Brownell 8yo 

A r.w.illnw 111 the spring R. S. S. Andros 441 

A v\ii I, .iiii.iciive kind of grace Matihew Royden B16 

A .v., I ,1, nuler in the dress Herrick 698 

Asv\luii, 1.11 Carmel's sterile steep F.H. Bryant 537 

At Aiiiaihus, that from the southern side Wm. Morris 113 

At llannockburn the English lay Burns 513 

At t-.uly dawn I marked .them in the sky Montgomery 444 

*■ A irm|i]c lu riiL-iHl:.lii[p," 1 1 led Laura Moore 61 

A i!inii..iij.l iiiiU-. iH'iii I. Mid .ue viQ., Barry Cornwall 447 

Al muliiiu'.lil, 111 111. Kii.ii.U-.i liMit Halleck 524 

Ai 1, uiiliin the .1.1 \\ h.un Anna B. Aver ill h^Si 

A Imiu Ii, .1 ki-.s 1 tlu I h. 11 111 w.ih snapt Tennyson 124 

At I'.iir. 11 w.l^, .11 t)ir oi-iia KhiiTG . . . Bulwer-Lytion 228 

A ii.iv.lri thicui^h a (Uisiyroad Chas. Mackay 697 

Al I he close of the day , when the hamlet is still . Beattie 674 

Ai tlie king's gate the subtle noon Helen Hunt 683 

At Timon's villa let us pass a day Pope 702 

Ave Maria t o'er the earth and sea Byron 373 

A violet in her lovely h.iir Chas. Swain 68 

A voice from stately Babylon Anonymous 814 

Awake, awake, my Lyre A. Coivley 6gi 

Awake : the starry midnight hour- ..flrtrry Cornwuii 94 
Aw. ly !awavl through the sighllcssair..G. IV. Culler 761 

A weary weed, tossed to and fro C. G. Femier 583 

A well tlu-re is in the West country Southey 865 

A wet sheet ami a tlowing sea Cunningham 584 

A rthite pine floor .ind a low ceiled room. .-^wcw^wwwJ 498 

A widow— she had only one 1. F. Locker 246 

A wind came up out of the sea Longfellow 368 

Ay. but I know Shakespeare 210 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign dowrj 1. . . . O. IV. Holmes 575 
H.Klielor'shall, what aquare-lookin'place it is ! Anon. 906 
Haekward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight 

Elisabeth A kers A Hen 173 

Halow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe I A nonymous 2-\ 1 

Iteantiful Evelyn Hope is dead R. Browning 275 

Heautilnl, sublime, and glorious B. Barton 559 

Beautiful was the night Longfellow 646 

Hccause I breathe nol love to everieone ^/> Ph Sidney 80 

Hefell that in that season on a day Chaucer 642 

liefore 1 trust my fate to thee Miss Procter 79 

IJcforu proud Rome's imperial throne B. Barton 551 

liehold, the fairy cried S/telley 683 

Heliold the mansion A nonvmotts 913 

liehold the sea Emerson 562 

Heboid the young, the rosy Spring ( Translation of 

'J'homas Afoore) Anacreon 384 

Heboid this ruin I 'T was a skull A nonymous 736 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Moore 123 
Beneath a shivering canopy reclined. . .Dr. F. Leyden 370 

Beneath our consecrated elm Lotvell 841 

Beneath this stony roof reclined T^ IVarton 366 

Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher. ../)r. S. Butler 855 



Better trust all and be deceived F. A. Kemhle \ 

Between Nose and Eyes Coivper \ 

Between the dark and the daylight Longfellozv 

Be wise to-day ; 't is madness to defer Young ; 

Beyond the smiling and the weeping H. Bonar : 

Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies. /V*Vj/ ■ 
Bird of the wilderness J. Hogg \ 



Birds, the free tenants of land, 

Blessings on thee, little man. . 
Blest as the immortal gods is he 
Blossom of the almond-trees... 
Blow, blow, thou 1 
gulf all ? 






Montgomery . 

Whittier 

Sappho 



id Shakespeare : 

H. H. Brownell ■ 



Bobolink I that in the meadow Thos. Hill 

Bonnie wee thing ! cannie wee thing Bums 

Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen f. Hogg 

Home by the soldiers he had led M. L. Ritter 

Break, break, break Tennyson 

Break, Kantasy, from thy cave of cloud. .j5«i Jotison 

Breathes there the man with soul so dead Scott 

Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough Sheelin 

Thos. Davis 
" Bring forth the horse!" The horse was brought Byron 

Buried to-day Dinah Mulock Craik 

Burly, dozing humble-bee I Emerson 

Busy, curious, thiisty fly V. Bourne 

But chief-surpassing all — a cuckoo clock . . C. Bowles 
But Enoch yearned to see her face again. . . . Tennyson 



, like 



But happy the\ ! 1 
But Irememhci. v 
liutlookl o'erilu- 
But most of all if 
But not frae life's 
But now our quack 
But souls that ol I 
But where to fiml 
But who the meUn 



Halleck 

. !i,i]r" 1 ol iheir kind Thomson 
in ill.' In hi w. IS done Shakespeare 
II ML ih.-.ii.Klerstand /'. B. Read 

lis my admiration J. Hurdis 

>ugh work J. E. Rankin 

are g.imesters Geo. Crahbe 

, (twii L,.uiil hie partake..//. I^lore 
i.ii h.iii'ii .( s|H»t below Goldsmith 
> Ml nioiii ,.111 tell? Beattie 



" But why do you ^o . ' .-..ml ihe lady E. B. Bro^vning 

By broad Potomac's silent shore A nonymous 

By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause Shakespeare 

By Nebo's lonely mountain C F. Alexander 

By the flow of the inland river F.M. Finch 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood Emerson 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone R. Hoyt 

Calm is the morn without a sound Tennyson 

Can angel spirits need repose Anonymous 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes Burns 

Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer...C A. Stevens 

Celiaand I the other day -^.Matt. Trior 

Charmer, on a given straight line Punch 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches W' C. Bennett 

Child of the later days! Anottymous 

Chloc, we must not always be in heaven Dr. li'akott 

Christ I I am Christ's 1 and let the name Myers 

Christmas is here 'Thackeray 

Clasp me a little longeron the brink Campbell 

Clear, placid Leman I thy contrasted lake Byron 

Clear the brown path to meet his coulter's gleam 

O. IV. Holmes 

Cleon hath a million acres C. Mackay 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Byron 

Cling to thy home ! if there the meanest shed Leonidas 

Close his eyes ; his work is done ! G. H. Boker 

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. T. Dwight 

Come a little nearer, doctor B F. IVUlson 

Come, all ye jolly shepherds f. Hogg 

Come as artist IV. H Venable 

Come back to your mother O. IV. Holmes 

Come, brother, turn with me from pining thought 

R. H Dana 



u 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



923 



.^ 



pled greensward dancing. . Oro. DarUy 31 
t-harves, as the sun goes down 

EUzabtth Akers Allen 2},i 

tsname Bret H arte ^^^ 

T. Colt-ridge 143 



Come, ho 



Come lii 



Come, dear children, let us awny M. A mold 775 ' Down the c 

Come, dear old comrade, you and 1...0. If. Iloliiies 50 Down to Ih 

Come! fill a fresh bumper O. H^. Holmes 919 

Come, follow, follow me Anonymous 763 Dow's Flat 

Come from my first, ay, come ! tV. M. I'racd S32 Do you ask what the birds say ? j 

Com. !,.„ .„„,. ,.„„ ,nd dwell... ^arrj. CornwaV 764 • Drawn out like lingering bees Annie D. Green 84 

u , ^u , , '^/"'=!E°'----f'V--0'"'" 6-8 I Drink to me only with thine eyes Benjomonn,, 

Holy Ghost ! thou fire divmc ! C. Wentworlh 317 Drop, drop, slow tears /' FUlclier \i- 

n the evening, or come in the morning. . Davis 100 j Drunk and senseless in his place'.' ".'.'.'.'.'. Bret Harte Scjl 

nto the garden, Maud Tennyson <jb Duncan Gray can.' here to woo Burns 1 =2 

let us plant the apple-tree W. C. Bryant 419 Each day, when the glow of sunset 

l.s.en to me, you gallants so free. .Anonymous 594 [ ^. ^ ^ Snnsster 27, 

, and be my love C. Marlowe lo^ Early on a sunny morning Anonymous 8- 

Come not, when I am dead Tennyson 230 Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us. . . Lotvell 3S6 

Lome, now a roundel, and a fa.ry song.. ,$■//«*«/,«'•' 7f.4 Karth Iws not anything to show more fair Words-worth b2b 

"""■"" '-■1'"'= sthepLace .<iliakesl>eare 407 Earth with its dark .lod dre.ldful hills Alice Cary 356 

I r.aveler unknown Chas. IVesley 334 Echo! mysterious nymph Anonymous 917 

.-„.„c>.ve, cu.neover W.J.IIoppm .01 , E'en such is time ; which takes on trust Raleigh 721 

Come, rest m Ihis bosom ... Moore .33 j England, with all thy faults, I love Ihee still. . Co^^er 5.5 

Lome, see the Dolphm s anchor forged . j". Ferguson 500 Ensanguined man Thomson 704 

Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivmg Ere last year's moon Emily C. Judson 20 

Beaumont and Fletcher 677 Ere the twilight bat was flitting D. M. Moir 574 

- - knot of peace | Ethereal minstrel I pilgrim of the sky I . . Worrfr j<,„rM 433 

^ . . . - ,, -ud from the dark Park, hark /•. //(.orfqi a 

Lome to me, dearest ^ '•'- — ' ^' .1- - 1 ... ' " 

thcr I 
to the river's reedy shore F. B. Sanborn 755 i Every 



e. O tho 



Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certani knot of peace j Ethe; 

Sir Thilifi Sidney 677 Even is come : 

''''"■^^' 7- Brennan 204 ] Every day brings a ship /£,, 

U. Gray 198 , Everyone, by instinct taught Montgomery 581 

dding, says the proverb T. IV. /'arsons 149 



Come to these scenes of peace IV. L. Bo-wles 366 

Comrades, leave me here a little Tennyson 214 

Cooks who 'd roast a sucking pig Puiuh 916 

Cooper, whose flame is Halleck 842 



Could I pass those lounging 
uld ye come back to me, . 



ntries Punch 834 

Miglas, Douglas 
Diimh Mulock Craik 4S0 

Creator Spirit by whose aid y. Boyden 31.S 

Cromwell, I did not ihink to shed a tear Shakespeare 243 

Cromwell, our chief of men Milton 817 

Cupid and my Campaspe played y. Lyly ,^% 

Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow I'ofe 702 

Cyriack, this three years' day Milton b-ji 

Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say 

Thos. Diltdin 516 
Dark as the clouds of ( 
Dark fell the night, thi 
Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily 



Faintly as tolls the evening chime Moore 618 

Fain would 1 love, but that I fear....ZJr. R. Hughes 146 

Fair Amy of the terraced house E. B. Broivning 147 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see Her rick 427 

Fairer than thee, beloved Anonymous 76 

Fair Greece I sad relic of departed worth I Byron 526 

Fair insect, that, with thread-like legs IV. C. Bryant 451 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree Herrick 419 

Fair Portia's counterfeit .> Shakespeare 63 

Fair ship that from the Italian shore Tennyson 2S4 

Fair stood the wind for Fr.lnce M. Drayton 456 

False diamond set in flint! IV. C. Bryant 121 

False world, thou ly'st : thou canst not \mi..Quarles 719 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness 1 

Shakespeare 242 

■ ■G.H. Boker 464 Farewell I but whenever Moore 193 

J. Sterling 601 " Farewell ! farewell I " is often heard ...Anonymous 183 
Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter ! . . Moore 



^ , . Rev. IV. R. Duryea lib Farewell, life I my senses swim T Mood no. 

Darkness is thinning y. M. Neale 322 Farewell, my sweet Virginia y IVekster ,96 

Daughter of God ! that sut'st on high Wm. Tennent 484 Farewell rewards and fairies I [r Corbett 774 

Day rn melting purple dying Maria Brooks .97 Farewell I thou art too de.-.r for my possessing 

Day of vengeance, without morrow y. A Dix 3.3 Shakesfieare ,9. 

Day set on Norham s castled steep Scott 622 Farewell, thou busy world, and m.ly C Cotton 674 

yes. . . . //. Smith 421 Farewell to Lochabcr, and farewell, my Jean Ramsay 189 
E. B. Browning 272 Father, I know that all my life .... /J nna L. Waring 858 

Father of all I in every age /V/f 333 

Father ! thy wonders do not singly stand Jones Very 331 
'■' more the heat o' the sun Shakesp. 



Day; 
Dead 



e^ 



that ope your frown 

: of them shot by th 

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd N. Cotton 

Dear friends, whose presence in the house.. . .C/.zr/t<- 35'! 

Dear hearts, you were wailing a year iia..Chadwick 265 Fea 

Dear Ned, no doubt you 'II be surprised .Anonymous 157 Fear not, O little flock I the foe M. Altenburg l68 

Dear lorn, this brown jug F. Fawkes i^i First lime he kissed me, he but only kissed 

D^r N"hl «T' V ""■'■ ^'■°'' ^■'^ '''''"■"' 5^^ I ^- B. Browning ,42 

n f^l •*:"" ""S" C.G Leland 902 Flowers are fresh, and bushes green Lord .Strang/ord 222 

Deserted by the waning moon T. Dibdin 585 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green bracT 

Did you hear ofthe Widow Malone,Ohone!..Z,i,,r 90s Burm i,o 

Diedown O dismal day, and let me live.... IJ. Gray ^Ita Flung to the heedless winds IV. y. Fox\a 

Diego Ordas, come to El Dorado Anonymous 758 " Fly to the desert, fly with me" \toore 95 

Diesira:, dies ilia ! Thos. de Celano 313 Follow a shadow, it still flies you Ben Jonson 84 

Dip down upon the northern shore Tennyson 379 For aught that ever I could read Shakesp -are 206 

Does the road wind up-hill all the way ? Ch. Rossetti 326 ; For England when with favoring gale C. Dibdin 585 

Do we indeed desire the dead Tennyson 285 Forever with the Lord Montgomery 353 

Down deep in a hollow so damp..^„. R. S. Nichols 7S9 For Scotland's and for freedom's right B. Barton 512 

Down, down, Ellen my litt e one A y. Mundy 695 ' Fortune, men say Sir y Harrington 855 

uown swept the chill wind from the mountain peak For why. who writes such histories as these .Higgins 683 

Lowell 400 1 Fresh from the fountains of the wood ..y. H. Bryant 410 



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924 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



■^ 



Friends ! 1 came here not to talk Miss Mit/ord 512 j 

Friendship, like love John Gay 860 j 

From RoUl to gray Whittier 553 | 

From liarmony, from heavenly harmony Dryden 694 

1' rom Oberon, in fairyland Ben Jomon 765 

Fn-ni till.' desert I come to thee Bayard Taylor 134 

From tl5e recesses ola lowly spirit J. Bowriug 337 

From this hundred-terraced height Sidney Lanier 545 

From you 1 have been absent in the spring 

Shakespeare 203 

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow Tennyson 727 

C'.amarra is a dainty steed Barry Cornivall 430 

Gnrtjonset filles, venei toujcurs Anonytnons 896 

C lather ye rosebuds as ye may Herrick 727 

c;;iy. guiltless pair C. Spragite 442 

Genteel in personage H. Fielding 76 

Gently hast thou told thy message Milton 242 

Get up, get up ! for shame 1 Herrick 89 

(;in a body meet a body Bitrtis 136 

Girl in dark growth, yet glimmering ...D. G. Rossetii 708 

(Jive me more love or more disdain 7'. Careiv 80 

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet. ...3'/> W. Raleigh 324 
Give me three grains of corn, mother Miss Edwards 255 

Give place, ye lovers Lord Surrey 65 

" Give us a song ! " the soldiers cried Bayard Taylor 741 

God makes sech nights, all white an* still Loivcll 896 

God might have bade the earth bring forth M. Howitt 428 

Gi.d of the tliundcr ! //.//. Milman 336 

God pnis)ier long our noble king R» Sheale 591 

God shield ye, heralds of the spring /*. Ronsard 382 

God's love and peace be with thee Whittier 53 

Go, feel what I have felt Anonymous 494 

Go from me. Yet feel that I shall stand 

E. B. Browning 140 

Go, happy Rose ! and, interwove Herrick 71 

Going — the great round Sun E. W. Jenks 728 

Golden hair climbed up on Grandpapa's knee. 'Anon. 27 
Golden head so lowly bending.. ^«. R. S. Ho^vland 26 

Gold! gold 1 gold I gold ! T. Hood 705 

Go, lovely rose! E. Waller 60 

Gone at last E. C. Stedman 849 

Gone, gone, — sold and gone Whittier 190 

Good by, proud world, I *m going home Emerson 719 

Good Hamlet, cast thy nightcd color off. ..y/m^rjAwrc 290 

Good morrow to thy sable beak Jonnna Baillie 441 

Good name in man or woman, dear my lord 

Shakesfeare 676 

Good night ! ( Transl. of C. T. Brooks) ICdrner 504 

Good people all of every sort Goldsmith 861 

Good people all, with one accord Goldsmith 861 

Go, soul, the body's guest y. Sylvester 721 

Go to thy rest, fair child Mrs^ Sigourney 271 

Great Monarch of the world, from whose power 

springs Chnrhs I, 239 

Great ocean 1 strongest of creation's sons. ..^. Pollok 562 

Green be the turf above thee Halleck S34 

Green grow the rashes O Bunts 145 

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass Leigh Hunt 440 

Grief haih been known to iwxw .. Caroline B. Southey 79S 

Guvener B. is a sensible man Lowell 897 

Ha ! bully for me again when my turn for picket is 

over CD. Shanly 475 

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! y. Logan 436 

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven .Milton 367 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances 1 Scott 467 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! Shelley 437 

Half a league, half a lengue Tennyson 464 

Hnnielin Town 's in Brunswick R. Brmtming 77S 

Hans Breitmann gife a barty C. G. Leland 901 

Happy insect 1 ever blest W, Harte 448 

Happy insect, what can be .Abrahant Cowley 449 

Happy the man, who<;e wish and care Pofe 176 



Happy the man who, void J. Philips 856 

Hark t ah, the nightingale! M. Arnold 443 

Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds . -Byron 819 
Hark, hark 1 the lark at heaven'^gate sings 

Shakespeare 438 
Hark 1 the faint bells of the sunken city J. C Mangan 752 

Hark ! — 't is a convent's bell J. Pierpont 660 

Harness me down with your iron bands G. W. Cutter 501 
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star Coleridge 338 

Have other loveis — say my love Anonymous 157 

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay 

O. W. Holmes 879 

Have you sent her back her letters? G. Arnold 213 

Hal whare ye gaun, ye crawlin' ferlie? Bums 450 

Heap on more wood ! the wind is chill Scott 641 

Hear the sledges with the bells E. A. Poe 657 

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate Pope 722 

Heaven, what an age is this C. Cotton 670 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands Tennyson 447 

Heigh-ho 1 daisies and buttercups y. Ingelow 33 

Heir of that name Emma C Emlntry 824 

He is gone on the mountain Scott 272 

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free Coivper 552 

He is the happy man whose life even now Cctvper 672 

He lived in " Farmer George's" day Anonytnous 654 

Me, making speedy way through spersed ayre Spenu-r 753 
Hence, all ye vain Av\\^\\X'&'.. Beaumont and Fletcher 235 

Hence, loathed Melancholy Milton 709 

Hence, vain deluding joys Milton 710 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow . -Shenstone 656 

*• Henri Heine " — 't is here ! M. A mold 837 

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines Bfyant 554 
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling C. Dibdin 587 
Here, Charmlan, take my bracelets.... IV, W. Story 138 
Here have I found at last a home of peace., y. Wilson 161 

Here I come creeping, creeping Sarah Roberts 427 

Here in this leafy place Anonymous 480 

Here is a little golden tress Amelia B. Welly 275 

Here is one leaf reserved for me Moore 87 

Here 's the garden she walked across..^. Browning 88 

Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee Herrick 63 

Her hair was tawny with gold E. B. Browning 529 

Her house is all of echo made Ben yonson 699 

Her suffering ended with the day T. B. A Idn'ch 293 

Her window opens to the bay Whittier 194 

He 's a rare man yean Ingelow 565 

He 's ganc, he 's gane ! Bums 830 

He that loves a rosy cheek T. Carew 75 

He that many bokes rcdys Anonymous 683 

He was in logic a great critic Dr. S. Butler 856 

He was of that stubborn crew Dr. S. Butler 346 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead Byron 303 

High walls and luige the body may confine . Garrison 554 

His is that language of the heart Halleck 827 

His echoing ax the settler swung A. B. Street 649 

Hisleaniing such, no author Lucius Cary 816 

His puissant sword unto his side Dr. S. Butler 472 

His young bride stood beside his bed Eliza Cook 291 

Hoarse M.xvius read Coleridge S64 

Home of the Percy's high-born race ■• Halleck 626 

Home they brought her warrior dead Tennyson 286 

Honor and shame from no condition rise Pope 700 

Ho ! pretty page with the dimpled chin.. . . Thackeray 153 
Horanovissima,temporapessima Bernard de Morlai.x 311 

Horatio, thou art e*en as just a man Shakespeare 60 

Ho. sailor of the sea t .^. Dobell 570 

How beautifulis the rain! Longfellow 390 

How beavitiful it was Longfellow 849 

How beautiful this night ! the balmiest sigh. . .Shelley 376 
How calm they sleep beneath the shade. .C Kennedy 305 
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood 

S. Woodworth 40 



[tr 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



'-Fn 



925 



sthe 



How do 1 love thee ? Let 



Campbell 1 34 

Carlos Wilcox 452 

n at Lodore "i.^Southey 410 
count the ways 

E. B. Brownjfiff 142 
the day been 1 how bright was the sun I 

Walls 394 



Iflove were what the rose is A. C. Swiniitmr 8g 

If music be the food of love, play on Sluiktsptare 691 

I found hiiii sitting by a fountain side 

Beaumont and Fletcher 688 

I f sleep and death be truly one Tennyson 285 

If solitude hath ever led thy steps Shelley yji 

Ifstorcsofdry and learniid lore wcgain D. Webster 60 



fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean G. Herbert 683 i If that the world and love were young SirW. Raleigh 104 



Ho 



V glorious fall the valiant 

From the Greek'o/ Tyrteeits 454 

1 happy is he bom and taught Sir II. Wotton 674 

f many a time have I Lord Byron 621 

^ many summers, love Barry Cormmll 171 

/ many thousand of my poorest subji 



If the red slayer think he slays Et, 

If this fair rose offend thy sight A iionymous (14 

If thou must love me, let it be for naught . . Hnnvning 1 4 1 

1 f thou wert by my side, my love Bishop Heber 1 7 1 

If thou wilt case thine heart T. L. Beddocs 302 

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright Scott 624 



Shakespeare 678 1 f to be absent were to be . 



How near to good is what is fair Ben Jomon 64 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august . . Yotittg 694 
How seldom, friend, a good grcit man inherits 

Coleridge 676 
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

W. C. Bryant 263 

How shall I then begin y.Dryden 817 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest If. Collins 505 

How still the morning of the hallowed day Grahame 340 
How sweet it was to breathe that cooler air 

Bloomficld 481 I ha' 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maid Moore 207 : 1 ha' 

How sweet the answer echo makes Moore 92' I ha' 

How sweet the harmonies of afternoon../". Tennyson 640 I ha' 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank 1 | I ha' 

Shakespeare 69 



■ Col. R. Lovebu 



194 



derful is death I Shelley 680 I I have ships that went to sea . . . 

"=""'"='>!« "O" y' '■ol'l- ■ ■^'""' 303 ' I have swung for ages to and fro 



may trust the great La Place R. W. Raymond 892 
II women could be fair and never fond.. .Www/j'w/i'iu 714 

I gaed to spend a week in life G. Outram 906 

I grew assured before I asked C. Patmore 1 1 9 

I had sworn to be a bachelor W. B. Terrell 61 

1 had told him, Christmas morning A nnie C. Ketchum 27 

I have a lover, a little lover Anvnymous 39 

I have a name, a little name E. B. Browning 35 

I have a son, a little son J. Moultrie 30 

I have fancied sometimes Benj. F. Taylor 693 

got a newborn sister Mary Lamb i3 

had playmates Chas. Lamb 262 

in memory a little story Alice Cary 297 

learned to look on nature Wordsworth 361 

seen a nightingale { Translation 0/ Thomas 

Roscoe) Estevan Manuel de l-'illegtis 444 

R.B. Coffin 



there is no living, none. . .Shakespeare 
1 watching for the early buds to wake 

Mrs. Howland 281 



How 

H.'l^h'T.rT '"1" ' ;:" '-"",'"^;« ■■"" >"= ""■"••■^'"'a 303 1 have swung for ages to and fro..../?. W. Raymond 76 

Hush my dea , he st, 1 and slumber Watts 24 I have traced the valleys fair John Clare 8, 

H ,h i 1^ rf " " ',r ■''"'" ': ^- '^'""' '3' ' '"="'' 'he trailing garments of the night Longfellow 377 

rrrJf f r^"^^ ^"*'" Anonymous 20 I in these flowery me.lds would be A Walton O20 

am ^Z V T\ ^"' Vj-.f')"'-^' "^ ' '">' "= <>''*" 'o ^'«1> Anonymous 29, 

an ?n Kom ?'^hff""\ • '"^^ "-J""' '" 1 ' '""'=<' <"" of window, I smelt the white clover 

1 am in Kome 1 Oft as the morning ray Rogers (i2Ci\ 'f T I 

I am monarch of all I survey .Cow/.er 675 | I lent my girl a book one day F^S. Co'JeZ lla 

I like a church: I like a cowl Emerson 673 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase Longfello^v 305 

, . , , ^ . I ' '" present how I did thrive . ..Shakespeare 8j 

1 arise from dreams of thee Shtlley 140 1 I Ml sing you a good old song A nonymms 865 

1 asked an aged man wnh hoary hairs Marsden 729 I love, and have some cause F. Qtmrles 322 

asked of echo, t other day 7- G. i^x. 9,7 I love at eventide to walk alone 7oh„ Clare 3,0 

I br,ng fresh showers for the thirsting flowers Shelley 749 ' I love contemplating - apart Campbell 569 

I brought her home, ray bonny bride. ..i. C. Moulton 17 I loved a lass, a fair one Geo. Wither 225 

I cannot, cannot say W.C. Richards 240 I loved him not ; and yet, now he is gone ... . Latutor 279 

I cannot eat but httle meat 7- Still Ssi I loved thee long and dearly P. P. Cooke 276 

I cannot make h,m dead I y. Pierpont 267 I loved thee once, I Ml love no more . . ..Sir R. Ayton 2,1 

cannot think that thou shouldst pass iviny... Lowell .66 1 I love it, I love it 1 and who shall dare. ..Elisa Cook 403 

care not, though ,t be ... y. Morris 142 j I love thee, love thee, Giulio I E B Browning ,88 

I climbed the dark browof the mighty Helvellyn Scott 613 ; I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me Punch 893 

I come froni haunts of coot and hero Tennyson 40S , I love to hear thine earnest voice O W. Holmes 450 

1 come not here to talk Mary Russell Mit/ord ^12 I love to look on a scene like this N. P. Willis 52 

I d been away from her three years, —about that | I love to wander through the woodlands hoary 

, , , ^ , , . Anonymous iss ; Sarah //. Whitman 638 

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be. .^. -4 . Procter 328 : I 'm a careless potato, and care not a pin Anonymous 42. 

I do not love thee for that fair T. Carew 75 ' I 

I don't appwove this liawid waw Anonymous 908 1 I 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song IV. Collins 374 ; I 

If chance assigned SirT. Wyalt 71 I 



4^- 



If doughty deeds my lady please Gra/ta 

I feel a newer life in every gale Percival 385 \ I 'm 

If every man's internal care Metastasio 732 , I'm 

I fever you should come to Modena Rogers 605 ' I 'm 

If he 's capricious, she'll be so C. Patmore 12 J In a 

I fill this cup to one made up E. C. Pinkney 76 In a 

If it be true that any beauteous thing {Translation In a 

o/y. E. Taylor) M.Angelo 69 In a 

If I were told that I must die to-morrow. .S. Coolidge 34 ' In V, 



adc a posie, while the day ran by G. Ilerl-ert 717 

arveled why a simple child U.S. Leigh 906 

et a traveler from an antique land Shelley 661 

1 in love with you, baby Louise I M. Eytinge 22 

1 in love with neiuhbor Nelly R. IS. Brough 51 

1 sitting alone by the fire /Sret Harle 889 

1 sittin' on the style, Mary Lady I'ufferin aSS 

I wearin awa', Jean Lady Nairn 292 

I land for antiquities greatly renowned JancTaylor 7S,S 

1 small chamber Lonvell S47 

lley, centuries 7t^o....Mary L. Bolles Branch 754 

lley far away Thos. Davis 164 

id Street building H. Smith St>7 



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[S- 



926 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



-ct 



4zj •" 



Indeed this very love which is my ho^m . . . Broivnifig 140 
1 need not praise the sweetness of his song. . . . Lcnvell 851 
III either hand the hastening angel canght ....Milton 242 
I never gave a lock of hair away. .. .A'. B. Broxvning 141 
III facile natures fancies quickly grow 

From the Italian of Lrottardo dtx Vinti 699 

In fi)rni and feature, face and limb //. S, Leigh 8gi 

I w good King Charles's golden days A uonymous 857 

In heavy sleep the Caliph lay y. F. Clarke 789 

111 holy miglit we made the vow 

From the Greek of Meleager 1 84 

1 11 Koln, a town of monks and bones Coleridge 864 

111 May, when sea-winds pierced Emerson 424 

In nul.iiu !iLiti( rin. y Anofiymous 748 

In Ta ■tuin' . LIU ii 111 Lines I trod. ...J?. IP'. Kay mo mi tzq 

In Sau.i, I ', ni -nil, (Hid, the Lord G. H. Hoker 607 

In silent Ijaiicu .-.yiu'd met Anofiytnous 64; 

In shunbcrs of midnight the sailor-boy \7^y...Dimond 567 

In summer, when the days were long Anonymous 107 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the basin of 

M inas Longfeiiotv 645 

I n the ancient town of Bruges . . • Longfellow 659 

In tlie barn, the tenant cock f Cunningham 368 

111 iIiL- (lays that tried our fathers H. //. Newell 911 

In the fair gardens of celestial peace....//. B Stowe 2G1 

In the lair land o'crwalched IVhittier 835 

111 ihc hullow tree in the old gray tower 

Barry Cornwall 447 

In the hour of my distress Herrick 311 

In the low-raftered garret y. T. Trowbndge 219 

In the merry month of May Nicholas Breton 144 

In iheir ragged regimentals. G. H. MacMaster 534 

In the region of clouds T. Paine 755 

In the silence of my chamber li^. E- Aytoun 262 

In the spring-time, chaffinch gay. . . IV. y. Conrthope 432 

In the still air the music lies unheard H. Sonar 351 

InlhrM,mm,Trv,>n //. F. Spof^ord S7S 

In ihr ^ ill.v ol llir l%L;nitZ Longfellow 626 

In ilii 1. 1 . ni.m can strength enjoy Pope 705 

In v.im ill.-. .>i,! ..nu! a\cs were prepared W. Falconer 564 

1 only knew she c.iuie and went Anonymous 915 

I praised the speech, but cannot now .ibide it 

Sir yohn Harrington 465 
I prithee send me back my heart .... ^/> y. Suckling 86 

I reckon I git your drift, gents 7- ^'^y 9°" 

I remember, I remember T. Hood 40 

I reside at Table Mountain Bret Harte 888 

I said to sorrow's awful storm Lavinia Stoddard 358 

I sal an hour to-day, John A mmymous 55 

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden.. W. 7- Mundy 82 

I saw him kiss your cheek C. Patmore 135 

I saw him once before O. W. Holmes 244 

I saw thee when, as twilight fell Ray Palmer 358 

I saw two clouds at morning y. G. C. Brainard 73 

1 sing a doleful tragedy Anonymous 867 

Is it indeed so ! If I lay here dead.i*. B. Brotvning 141 

Is it the ivilni. tlir (-"rna palm IVhittier 417 

1 sh'|>i ml Jirini. .1 iliat life was Beauty Anonymous 503 

I ^Minrinn.' lioM ii 1 1. ill a sin Ttnnyson 384 

I soiikIii iIhc i.uni,! al)out. O thou my God 1 

'P. Hey wood 35 J 
1 spr.uigtothe stirrup, and Joris and he K. Browning 470 

Is there a whim -inspired fool Burns 829 

Is there for honest poverty Hurtts 257 

Is there when the winds are singing $ianchard 32 

Is this a dagger which I see before xa^ . , Shahfspeare 796 
Is this a fast, — to keep Herrick 334 

I stood, one Sunday morning R. M. Milnts 250 

I I fortifies my soul to know A. H. Clough 324 

1 1 had pleased LkkI to form poor Ned Southry 255 

I think ol thee I my thoughts do twine and bud 

E. B. Brotvning 141 



I thought our love at full, but I did err Lo^vell 616 

It is an ancient mariner Coleridge 783 

It is done I IVhittier 555 

It is not beauty I demand Anonymous 76 

It is not growing like a tree Ben yottson 65 

it is the miller's daughter Tennyson 131 

It kindles all ray soul. .,,From the Latin of Casimir 335 

It lies around lis like a cloud Harriet B. Stowe 350 

It may be through some foreign grace H. Ttmrod 99 

It must be so. Plato, thou reasonest well \.. Addison 734 

It 'a hardly in a body's pow'r Burns 671 

It's we two, it 's we two for aye yean Ingelow 163 

It was n beauty that I saw Ben yonson 6j 

It was a dreary day in Padua G- H. Boker 806 

It was a friar of orders gray 'Phos. Percy 723 

It was a gallant sailor man R. H. Stoddard 180 

It was a summer evening Southey 4S9 

I I was fifty years ago Longfellotv 508 

It was many and many a year ago E. A. Poe 275 

It was midway in the desert {Trans. )....Freiligrath 7i.'* 

It was nothnig but a rose I gave her A nonymous 381 

"It was our wedding day " Bayard Taylor 168 

It was the autumn of the ytzr.... Elizabeth A. Allen 207 

It was the wild midnight Geo. Croly 506 

It was upon an April morn IV- E. Aytoun 457 

I 'vc wandered east, I 've wandered west Motherwell 195 

I wandered by the brookside R. M. Milnes 92 

I wandered lonely as a cloud Wordsworth 427 

I was a scholar, seven useful y. Marston 855 

I was in Margate last July R.H. Bnrliam 871 

I weigh not fortune's frown or smile y. Sylvester 667 

I went to the garden of love IVm. Blake 7 1 3 

I will go back to the great sweet tc\oX\\qt . .Swinhurfte 336 

I will not have the mad Clytie T. Hood 422 

I will paint her as I see her E. B. Brotvning 44 

I wish I were where Helen lies I Anonymous 276 

I wish my hair cut Punch 914 

I wish we were hame to our ain folk A nonymous 203 

I wonder if Brougham A nonymous 836 

I would not enter on my list of friends Cozvper 703 

I wrote some lines O. IV. Holmes 879 

Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier. .Leigh Hunt 57 

Jenny kissed me when we met Leigh Hunt 50 

Jingle, jijigle, clear the way G IV. Pettee 622 

Jist afther the war, in the year ninety-eight Le Fanu 519 

Johannes, Johannes, tibicine natus Anonymous 896 

John Anderson, my jo, John Bums 173 

John Brown in Kansas settled E. C. Stedman 537 

John Davidson and Tib his wife Anonymous 859 

John Dobbins was so ciptivated R. S. S. S75 

John, you were figuring C. Lamb 833 

Jorasse was in his three-and- twentieth year. ..Rogers 604 
Judge not, the workings of his brain. .A. A. Procter 740 
Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 

Thomson 621 
Just in thy mould and beauteous in thy form. Cooper 585 

King Francis was a hearty king Leigh Hunt 605 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low. y. G. Saxe 134 

Kiss me, though you make believe Alice Cary 212 

Knows be that never took a pinch A. A. Forrester 918 

Know'sl thou the land where bloom ( Translation) 

Felicia Hemans 537 
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Byron 413 

Lars Porsena of Clusium T. B Macaulay 507 

Last night, among kis fellow roughs .Sir F. H Doyle 475 

Laud the first spring daisies E Youl 382 

Lawn as white as driven snow Shakespeare 664 

Laws, as we read in ancient sages Beattie 705 

Lay him beneath his snows D. M. Craik 845 

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom 

y. H Newman 326 
Less worthy of applause, though more admired CiMw/rf-r 639 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



927 



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Let . 
Leti 



Lei 



npla 



1 remember the days of old Moore 518 Maud Muller, on a summer's day iriittier .oj 

be your servant S/mi,s/>mr, 494 May the Babylonish curse C/uis. Lamb 4,, 

""' "'* -y^PiWPll SoHtluy 833 May, thou month of rosy beauty Leigh Hu.U 385 

Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning ..IValUr i..j 

Men make their wills — but wives y. G. Saxe 8S3 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed. . . U^. C. Bryant 440 

Mcthinks it is good to be here Herbert Knowles 309 

Melhinksit were no pain to die Gluek 290 

Mica, mica, parva stella Anmymoiis 896 

Mich.icl bid sound the archangel trumpet .Wlton 455 

ff. D. r/wreati 136 1 Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam 
• ■ B. F. Taylor 202 y ir p 

the armed Knight A n„e A ske-ive 329 Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire I // K U'/'iL Z\ 

y™"' f,- "-■'"'<•'■' 302 Miltonl thou shotddst be living Wordi^varth 8,5 



Let Sporus tremble Pofe 818 

Let Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy.. T. Hood 868 

Life! 1 know not what thou art A. L. Barbaidd bji 

Life is the veil that hides eternity A tioiiytiious 730 

Lffe may be given in many ways Linvetl 845 

Light as a (take o( foam upon the Wmi. .Montgomery 58( 

Light-winged smoke. 

Like a foundling in s 

Like 

Like 



the da 

Like a tree beside the river G- Massey 

Like the violet, which alone (F. Habinglon 48 M 

Like to Diana in her summer weed R. Greene 64 M 

Like to the clear in highest sphere T.Lodge 94 M 

Like to the falling of a star H. King 301 M. 

Linger not long. Home is not home without thee Mi 

AnonymoHS 199 
Listen, my children, and you shall \mr ..Long/ello^v 534 
Listen, young heroes ! your country is calling Holmes 558 
Lithe and long as * 

Little Elliesits alone E. B. Browning 

Four Years, little Two Years R. IV. Raymond 26 
Gretchcn, little Gretchen wanders Andersen 252 



; be a cot beside the hill Rogers 175 

eyes have seen the glory y. IV. Howe 556 

eyes he closed, but open left the cell Mi/ton 160 

Flora McFlimsy IV. A. Btitler S84 

, moan, ye dying gales 1 Henry Neele 235 

strange than true : I never may believe 

Skakes/>eare 667 

than the soul of ancient song..^'. y. Liffincott 738 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes. . . . irords-.vartk 667 



Littit 



Little inmate, full of mirth... 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked cli 



rpent Irani.... (K G.Simms 418, Mother, mother, the winds are at play Caro/,*- C//ma„ 387 

r K B :... - Musichathcharmstosoolhethes.avage.. ..CoH^r-cz/f 692 

" Music I " they shouted, echoing my demand Taylor 137 

Little I ask ; my wants are few O. IV. Holmes 66, My banks lhey°are "funlhed with bees ' Iv. S/uil"Z ''7! 

Cow/er 449 My beautiful, my beautiful I C. £. Norton 6u 

"n I My boat is on the shore Byron 832 

Emerson 365, My chaise the village inn did gain Anonymous 249 

'°"''' ^^y My curse upon thy venomed stang Biirtts yoS 

'"' ■'''"''''■''*■'■ 3^5 My dear and only love, I pray Earl 0/ Montrose 92 

of the day Lamfbell in \ " My ear-rings, my ear-rings " J.G.Lockkart n, 

■ .he «,r„d page A'. .S^^to, 32s Myeyes! how I love you Anonymous 150 

D. M. Craik 17 j My genius spreads her wing Goldsmith 633 

,...K..„ MygcntlePuck, come hither Skakesfeare 265 



; while you \\\ 



the epicun 



Lochiel, Lochiel ! b( 

Long pored St. Aust 

Look at me with thy large b 

Look in my face ; my name is Might-h,i 



T , 1, ,.„ ,j ,j u u ,j t , :^' ?■ '^''"'"' 7^° My sirl hath violet eyes and yellow hair R. Buchanan ,29 
Look round our world ; behold the cha.n of love /•„/. 362 | My God, I love thee ! not because ....St F. Xavier ,2. 
Lord, I am weepmg Sydney Dobell .98 ' My God, it is not fretfulness H. Bonar 329 

Lo:^WInst'".ir'mr°"n ^"ony»-o,.si^i My hear. ..ches, and a drowsy numbness pains. A',»/. 36 

Lord, thou hast given me a call Herriek 323 My heart is there Vl nonymom 2L 

Lo whr,, !L rTn^lT"' '''l'"' \ ^^^f'"-^'""- 338 I My heart leaps up when I behold liordsroorth 394 

^o I !l! K ""de north and south C. /•,./„,.,, 68 ' My held is like to rend, Willie Motherwell 32 

Loud -ind clear'"' "' •.• ul °'"" "" I ^'^ '"'"' ' ^" '"'^'^ P»P"' "»"« ""O »''!" 
i^oua ana clear R. H . Barham b%a\ ran 

^!;:f™^!:^."-f'-''^^•^""'- ^ ^^-r. ss'! My n^ is nke .he summer rose t^'^^^ 

../. Lodge 148 My little love, do you remember...^. Bulwer-Lytlon 106 
..S. Daniel 70 My loved, my honored, much- respected friend Bums 348 

' vehiolesssnn.of , ^"onymous 75 My love he built me a bo,>nie bower Anonymous 289 

■.nelverlce "i " '■" ^^^ '°"' ' ''^'■"° f=" "''•" "■"" ^houldsl die Lo^uelt .66 

... I!""' ,•.:•,-•,: •;,■ •,-.'','""'J'.'"<"" is My love in her attire doth show her ^\, . . A nonymo,a 66 

lyne bg My minde to me a kingdom is ?,> Edward Dyer 665 

7i6 I My mule refreshed, his bells Rogers .,08 

My name is Norval : 



ny bo 
a sickness fu 

It, love'not 
Jt me for ci 
orns degre 
chored clo 



: lifleth higl; 

H. B. Tho. 

r afternoon A. B. Street 37 



, th, iiimr... CIZ, 71' ' ■• u „ ■'■' ^^^ ">" "■■""= '" '^°"='' '■ °" ">= Grampian hills y. Home 604 

ake the K. ieh ' -'B^^- -^loom^eld 394 ! My old Welch neighbor over ,he way IVlMier 4,8 

' „ 'm1 " 5 U- - ■ ^_ " ■^""■. '°* I My only l«ve is always near Eredi. Locker 66 



O^ 



Lowe 

LucViw golden Eirl R ""■'/' '"Z '°* ' ^^ °"'^ '"^^ " ^'"^>" "'" ^''"^- ^"'^'^ 

Mlclldf l^h mu'rd rsle=p.\-;:::- ■•"'T^.t:;::^ l"s ^' ^'r^'^y'""' - •'."• » f":« "f "-S C Tychborn 720 

jCjaidenl with the meekbrlwn eyes.\\\\-fA":5C/r: 1 i L\:7t.Z^^^^^^^^ 

M.iid of Athens, ere we par. .. «„,„„ ,0 ' «r' -V . J . B. J\eaa jsi 

Make me no vows of con^t,n.„ .....Byron 184 Mysterious night ! when our first parent knew Imte 375 

Man s home IS everywhere. On ocean's flood (mi a .. 1 -^aaison s'< 

1 e un ocean snood [ Naked on p,iren.'s knees Calidasa 18 

Man's love is of man-. Kf. , ,.,• Stgoumey 69s Nay I if you will not sit upon my knee. \V. IV. Story ,,3 
•Ma, wam'btZlelwe^h^^^^ "' ^^y- y"" "-"Bh". my friend.. . .>/,>. C. R. Dorr 26 
M.,n wants bu.h.tle here below ....y Q.Adams 668 Nearer, my God, to thee .V. /--. Adams 3,7 

'''"Ilty 404 Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going >C«»«/«^ 862 

.by soul with doctrines noble Anonymous 917 

any more R. Browning 222 

wedding, ever wooing Thomas Campbell 80 

O fair gazelle Bayard Taylor 416 



lut li.tle hei 
Many a green isle needs n 

Manyalong. long year ago y, T. Fields ,890 

Many a year is in its grave Uhland 2'^6 

Margarita firs, possessed j . Cowley 144 



; .hings .hat do a..ain Lord Su 



Nex. to t 



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INDEX UF FIRST LINES. 



h 



Nixht IS tlie liciie for rent MoHtjiouury ■}^^^> 

NIkIu w4^ rtK*>i'> (It'bceiuliiig ^ojfcrs 408 

Nine vc^l^ liavc hiippcd like hour-glaBS »a\M!i. , Lowe/i 53 

No .ibl)cv's gluuiu ,,..,iV.£. ChattMing 753 

No inurt; tliube .simple (lowers beluiig li'hittUr 8jb 

Nookoiluiulernentli steep hierilu hills thiit n^V!.,AHon 575 
No single virtue we coulil nmst cumnmnd. . ..y^/:tv/<fN 387 

No aolclier, si<tte»maii i;. i^/. Craik 84^ 

No Htir in the nir, no stir in the aea Southey 576 

No&un — no moon 1 7*. //<W 397 

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note CA.ii. iyoi/t 83a 
Not ..s >..u nif.mi. O l.-.um-d man .^. D. F. tiamiolph 356 
Nothing hut leavi-h ; the hpirit grieves/-. E, Aktrmnn 333 

Not in ihc laughing b.nvi-rs Ammymom 246 

Not nft hefore has peopled earth yohn U'l/stm 824 

Not only we, the latest seed of Time 'Jenuysim 644 

Not onrs the vows of snch as plight B. Barton 78 

Not yet, the flowers arc in my path. .,.L.£, Lamion 334 

No war or battle's sound Milton 7^4 

Now came still evening on. and twilight gray Milton 375 
Now has the lingering month at last gone by //'. Moi-ris 111 
Now Mop ytuo noses, veadeis, all and some. ./^»/</. « fiig 
Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger Milton 384 

Now the third and fatal contlict R. C. Trtmh 68t> 

Now upon Syria's land of roses Moort 413 

Now went forth the morn Milton 454 

Now westward Sol had spent the richest beams 

K* Crashaw 74s 

O, a dainty plant is the ivy green C. l^icl'tens 43S 

(1, ask not, hope thou not, too much F, //rmans 58 

dalliN terminate, as Paul observes, all strife. .r«>?(*/*'r 6()tj 
1 1 luMiiicons God I uncircumsciibed treasure y- Taylor 330 

(>, lu-st of delights, as it everywhere is Moort ua 

O, bie.iihe not his name I Moorg 834 

O Caledonia I stern antl wild . . .Scott 514 

O, cante ye owerby the Yoke-burn Ford James ff<'g^ 505 

O, deem not they are blest alone i/'. C. Bryant 718 

O, dinna ask me gin I lo*e ye Dnnlofi 107 

tJ, don't be sorrowful, darling ! . . . . Rgmf>raniit PeaU 183 

O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea Byron 584 

C\ over from the deeps Ray Fahner 360 

O faint, delicious, springtime violet I . . . /K. //'. Story 435 

O faire.st of creation, last and best Afi/ton 166 

Df.ill men, saving Sylla the man-slayer Byron 840 

( >f all the garden flowers David M. Moir 415 

Of all ih(* j-irls that are so smart Harry Carry 154 

Of all the notable things on earth y, G. Saxe 88a 

Of all the thoughts of God that are..^". B, Browning tj-j 

Of all the torments, all the caa-s li'illiam n'alsk 89 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw Burns 194 

O rather,let me not die young! ..^AnanytftOHS 342 

(^f heaven or hell I have no power to sing. fK Morris 666 
O first of human blessings, and supreme !. .. Thomson 453 

O for a lodRe in son^e vast wilderness Coiv/^trr 556 

(^ forest dells ami streams I O Horianlide. . ..MosvAms 3R3 
O. formed by nature, and refined by art.., 7*. TiiM/ i6i 
Oft have I seen, at some cathedral door. . Liyn^Arllow 650 

Oft in the stilly night Moore 337 

Oft it has been n^y lot James Merrick 856 

(1ft when, reluming with her loaded bill Tkotnsou 443 

O gentle, gentle summer rain Bennett 713 

(mkI, melhiuks. it were a happy life.. .vVA<i*rjr/(f<i»-(f 177 

1 > Cod I though sorrow bo my fate Mary 0/ H ungary 328 

O, v;o not yet, my love Tennyson i86 

O cooii painter, tell me true Alice Cary 17S 

O h.ippiiu'ss ! our being's end and aim I AV/V 673 

O hearts that never cease to yearn An^nyMons 360 

O heavens, if you do love old men Shakes^are 715 

0, 1 have \>assed a miserable night Shakespeare S09 

O Italy, how beautiful thou art i Rogers 638 

K\ it is hard to work for Ood Frederic H'. Fal>er 356 

O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease Colfritige 750 



O land, ol every laud the best Phabe Cary 483 

O, lay ihy hand iii mine, dear I Gerald Massey 17J 

Old liirch who taught the village school G. F Morris 891 

Old Orimes is dead A, G. Green 87B 

Old man, God bless you I T/^j^^l 476 

Old Master Uroivn brought his ferule down Anon. 36 

Old Tubal Cain was n man of might C. Mackay 488 

Old wine to drink I R, f/. Mess0nger 716 

O linden-trees I whose branches high W. IV, Caldwell 387 
O lovely Mary Donelly, it's you 1 love Ihc best I 

//* Allin^ham 155 
O, luve will venture in where it daurua wccl be seen 



O Marcius, Marcius, Sliales/eare 60 

O inare;eva si fornie J. Swi/t 896 

O Mary, at thy window be I Bttrns go 

O Mary, go and call the cattle home C Kingsley 577 

O melancholy bird, n winter's day Lord Thurloto 446 

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 5"/irtXv.v/crt?¥ 63 

O mother dear. Jerusalem David Dickson 332 

O moilMM ,.i"., ni,. t,i\ i.u, /r. C. Bryant 531 

O. \^^^ '..>;' I 1, 1 ,. ,M,- 1 have Shelley 79S 

O, iii\ lui, '.hi,-!!!,- \^ \\\\A ^\\\\.,A' Cnnningham 169 

On a lull ila:iu K'^'u., .; liuua N. Breton 6y 

On Alpine heights the love of (Jod is ^hcA {Transla- 

tioH 0/ Charles T. Brooks) Krumtnacher 407 

O Nancy, wilt thon go with me T. Fercy, D. P. 103 

On came the whirlwind— like the last Scott 46a 

Once in the flight of ages past Montgomery 309 

Once more upon the waters I yet once more I . . Byron 563 

Once on a golden at'ternoon A Himymous 440 

Once, Paumauok, when the snows had melted 

Walt ll'Aitman 434 

Once Switierland was free 1 7- X Rnowles 539 

Once this soft turf, this rividet's sands H-'. C Bryant 485 

Once npon n midnight dreary £". A. Fee 780 

Once when the days were ages R. H- Stoddard 733 

On deck, beneath the awning Thackeray 58S 

One day, as 1 was going by T- Hood 39 

One day I wandered where the salt sea-tide , ..Anon. 701 

One day, nigh weary of the yrksome way Spenser 753 

One eve of beauty, when the sun Anonymous 699 

One hue of our Hag is taken R. H. Newell qii 

One more unlortimate T, Hood 351 

One night came on a hurricane 7'. Hood 590 

One sweetly snlenm thought FMrlv Cary 337 

One year ago, — a ringing voice H. B. Stowe 267 

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore. ./V,V 66 

On Unden, when the sun was low Camplvll 469 

Only a woman's right-hand glove J. B. S. aia 

Only waiting till the shadows. ., Adelaide A. Procter 531 

Cln, on, my brown Arab CC. Calverly 913 

t) no, no, — let tne lie John Fierponi 486 

On Richmond Hill there lives a \jk%%.,., James Vpton 90 
On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden 

ffhittier 42 
On the cross-beam under the Old South bell.. . U'illis 436 

On the isle of Penikese H'hittier 850 

On the sea and at the Hogne Robert Bro^vning 5^8 

On this tree when a nightingale //. Luttrell 833 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake Percii'at 411 

On what foundations stands the warrior's pride 

i\ Johnson 816 

On woodlands ruddy with autumn 1^'. C Bryant 489 

\ O perfect Light, which shaid away. A, Hume 3SS 

O, pour upon my soul again W- Allsion 237 

O. praise an' tanks I De T-ord he come , . . Wkittier 557 

I O reader 1 hast thou ever stood to see Sontkey 417 

I O kosamond, thon fair and good Fhathe Cary 55 

I O sacred Head, now woimded Paul Gerhardt 336 

j O, saw yebonnie Lesley Bh*^s 195 

J t!) say. can you see by the dawn's early light F S. Key 536 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



929 



■a 



& 



O say, what ii tlini iliing called Light C. CMer 35a 

O sextant of the meetin- house A- Af. IViUson 908 

O. SMIR imlo my rovmdelay I T. Chatlerlon 281 

O, snatched away in hcauty's bloom ! iiyron 371; 

O swallow, swallow, llying, (lying south. .•• Tennyson 120 

O, that last day in Lucltiiow fort Robl. Lowell 47 1 

O, that 'swhat yon mean now, a bit of a song . . ilAJr/vj 153 

( ) that the chemist's magic art Holers jhj 

O that those lips h.ul language Cowper 739 

O the banks of the Lee, tile banks of the Lee, .Davh 165 

O the broom, the yellow broom I Maty llowilt 42.1 

O the charge at lialaklava I A. IS. Meek 463 

O the days are gone when beauty bright Moore 224 

O, the French are on the say I AnoHymoiii 518 

O the gallant fisher's life 7 CluMhill 630 

() then I sec. Queen Mab hath been with you 

Shttkesfieare 765 

O, the pleasant clays of old Frances Brown 74s 

O, the sight entrancing Moore i,b% 

O the snow, the beautiful snow F. if. Watson 350 

O, those little, those little blue shoes. . ;*-'. C. Bennett 23 
(-) thou eternal One I whose presence bright Bowrhi,^ 330 
O Ihou, great Friend to all the sons of men T. farter 352 

O thou of home the guardian Lar Lowell 1 79 

O thou, that, with surpassing Milton 805 

CI thou vast Ocean I Barry Cornwall 564 

O unexpected stroke, worse than of death Milton 241 

O unseen spirit I now a calm divine. . . yohn Sterling 367 

Our band is few, but true and tried H'. C. Bryant 533 

Our boat to the waves go free IFm. Fllery Clianning 58.; 
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered 

Campbell 480 
Our bugles sound gayly, To horse and away I 

R. W. Raymond a,hb 
Our Father Land I and wouldst thou know. .i". Lover 6c)f, 
Our fathers' Cod I from nut whose h.and. . . . /r/i/W,-,- 541 
Our good steeds snulT the evening air. /i. C. Steitman .(W. 
Our life is twofold: sleep h,ts its own yiax\&.... Byron 6«o 

Our revels now are ended Shakespeare 790 

Out of the bosom of the Air Long/ellow 41)3 

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass . . A". I' Osgood 482 
Outstretched beneath the leafy .shade A". &'C. Soutluy 345 

Ovit upon it. 1 have loved Sir John Suckling ' 66 

Over the dumb cainpagna sea E. B. Brvioning 631 

Over the river they beckon to me... A'. A. W. I'riest 2(15 
Over the waters clear and dark .... Julia C. R. Dorr 759 

O, wad that my time were owro but D. M. Moir 198 

O, water for me I liright water for me I Ediu. Johnson 494 

O, weep for Moucontour I T. B. Macaulay 51I1 

O, when 'I is sunnncr weather W. L. Bowles 4.6 

O, wherefore come ye forth 7". B. Macaulay j 1 7 

O whistle, and I 'II come to you, my lad Bums loi 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? \V. Kno.r 301 

O, will ye choose to hear the news? Thackeray 90, 

O wMiterl wilt thou never, never go? — David Gray 404 

O World I O Life I O Time I Shelley 243 

O ye wha are sae guid yoursel' Burns 708 

Pack clouds away, and welcome day T. lleywood 369 

Paris,AncliiBc3,and Adonis, l\\ree{'Tramlation) Anon. Hit} 

Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully N. P. inilis 793 

Passing from Italy to Greece John Ford 744 

Pauline, by priile Bulwer-Lytlon 306 

Pause not to dream of the future before us 

F. S. Osgood 503 

Peace to all such I a. Pope 818 

Peace I what can tears avail ? Barry Cornwall 193 

Phillis is my only joy SirC. Sedley 65 

Pibroch ofDonuil Dim Scott ^bb 

Piped the blackbird on tile beechwood spray 

T. IV est wood 43 

Plato, anticipating the reviewers Long/ello^v 4 13 

Pleasing 't is. O modest Moon I U.K. PVhite 495 



Plumdd r.inks of tall wild cherry 7.>A« T. Trowbridge 305 
" Praise God from whom all blessings flow " 

D. M. Craik 502 

ruou- iIhiu ihv words 7. //. A'ewman 741 

I'll III. iHKhiingale M. T. fisscher 443 

I'm III' III iiliv lianie away IC, B. Browning 308 

t^>oi^i li.,iii u.uL ! It Cometh itot to ii\\\.. Anonymous ,t<i2 
Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares. ..Sir /I. Hotton 619 

Uake the embers, blow the coals A'. Browning 805 

Kemove yon sktdl from out the scattered heaps Byron 726 
Kest there awhile, my bearded lance . .Horace Smith 910 
Kettu'u, return I all night my lamp is burning S. Doltell 196 

Riding from Coleraine Thackeray 0.17 

Killemau, shoot me a fancy shot C* D. Shauly 474 

King out, wild bells, to the wild 8ky Tennyson 725 

Rise, sleep no nuire Barry Cornwall t,i8 

" Rock of Ages " Anonymous 330 

Rocked in the cradle of the deep EtnmalVillard 586 

Roll on, thou ball, roll on I IV.S. Gilbert 915 

"Room for the leper I Room 1" N. P. Il'illis 648 

R.nisseau could weep Carlos Wiko.x; 835 

Riulolph, professor of the headsman's. t>. //'. Holmes 881 
Said I not so, — that 1 would sin no mote ? G. Herbert 330 

Sally Salter, she was a young teacher l'ha:be Cary 919 

Saviour, when in dust to thee Sir R. Grant J19 

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky. .A. Cowley 367 
S.ty over again, and yet once over again E.B.Bro^vning 141 

Say there ! P'r'aps Bret Harte 900 

Say, ye that know, ye who have felt ... A'. Bloom/ield 431 

Seatetl one day at the organ A. A. J'rocter 735 

See how the orient dew A. Marvell 392 

See, O, see I Lord Bristol 366 

See, the llowery spring is blown John Dyer 384 

See yon robin on the spray Harrison Weir 43S 

.Shall I love you like the wind, love R. W. Raymond 78 

Sh.ill I tell you whom I love ? William Browne 74 

Shall I, wasting in despair George irither 147 

Shame upon thee, sav.^ge monarch — man Tup/er 7.11 

She bids yon on the wanton rushes lay you tlown 

Shakespeare <>yH 

She came along the little lane A'ara Perry 1 \i 

Shed no tear. O. shed no tear John Keats 70s 

She dwelt among the imtroddeil ways. . . Wordsworth 49 

She is a winsome wee thing Burns \bb 

" She is dead I " they said to him A nonymous 29s 

She is not fair to outward view //, Coleridge 88 

She moves as light across the grass /). M. Craik 78 

Shepherds all, and maidens fair 

Beaumont and Fletcher 431 

She says, " The cock crows, — hark I " (Chinese) 186 

She shrank from all, and her silent mood Landon 394 

She sits in a fashionable pailor Stark 883 

She stonil alone amidst the April fields i. C. Moulton 243 

She stood breast high amid the corn T. Hood 49 

She stood in the harvest field at noon-.i?. S. Turner 109 

She walks in beauty, like the night Byron 07 

Shi V. I ,L iiliniiim of delight Wordsworth 67 

■'^ 'I" I' ' ■■'■ Emerson 74b 

Sliiiii I 111 il iiIiiimI empire of the night. .. 7'/^tf/»j<)» 387 

•^1 Ill mill II luiiiiilance be forgot Bums 716 

Slim, lull I III I il. 1,1, good John I Pope 706 

Sill III I iilli il till' < Hints of heaven 'Thomas ll^stwood 373 

SiK-iil MvMi)ih, wuli curious eye I John Dyer 406 

Since there \ no helpe, -- come let us kisse .and i>arlc 

Al. Drayton 191 

Singee songee sick a pence Anonymous 918 

Sing, sweet iliMi 1,1 ,, r.i.ll. .Old singi T. T. Staddart 611) 

Singing Ih Il il 7. (7 i'».« 883 

Sir Marm.i.liil , V, . , h u\y knyf^w. .George Colman i66 

Sit down, ;..nl i.oul, .ui.l I mint Barry Cornwall 333 

Sitting .all day in a silver mist Sarah ll'oalsey 760 

Six skeins .and three, six skeins and three Alice Cary 1 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



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Six years had passed and forty ere the six . . G. Craibe 244 I Tell me not in mournfd numbers L.r,gMl„^ m 

S ayer of wmter, art thou here aga.n ?. . . . ;F». Ahrris 379 ' Tell me not, s^eet, I am unkinde R. l7,wZ ,T. 

S eek coat eyes of fire A uonymous 24 j Tell me where is fancy bred Shui,,feare 7 

Sleep breathes at last from out thee Leigh H„nt 34 Tell me, ye winged winds Chas. Mackay L 

S o on'lntd'ream' "iu IT'^ ^^ ^1'"'°" '" ''"' ^^^ '--'^ •" "^ -king eyes M. A rnM o 

bleep on ! and dream of Heaven awhile ! Rogers 88 Thank Heaven ' the crisis EAP 

Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed Henry King .90 Thanks untraced to lips unknowti'. '. '.'.'. '. W. . muttier 667 

day, tormentmg caress. L. BariaM 353 ! That each who seems a separate whole Te„„yso„ 



Sleep, si 

Slumber, Sleep, - they were two brothers Goethe 679 

Sly Beelzebub took all Coleridge 864 

So all day long the noise of battle rolled . . . Tennyson 597 

So fallen 1 so lost ! the light withdrawn Whittier 844 

Softly woo away her breath Barry Cornwall 292 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er Scott 4S1 

So many words, so much to do Tennyson 283 

Somebody 's courting somebody A nonymous 122 

Some oftheir chiefs were princes of the land.. Dryden 816 

Some of your hurts you have cured Emerson j^b 

Some say that kissing 's a sin Anonymous 136 

Some wit of old B. Franklin S78 

Some women fayne that Paris was . O. R. 77 

So nigh is grandeur to our dust Emerson 746 

So spake the Son, and into terror changed .... ^////o« 455 
So the truth's out. I '11 graspit likeasnake Z).;i/.Cra,i 21S 
Speak, O man, less lecent I Fragmentary fossil ! 

Bret Harte 892 
Spirit that breathest through my lattice W. C Bryant 371 

Springe is yeomen in Anonymous 378 

Spring it is chfery T. Hood 243 

Spring, the sweet spring T. Nash 384 ] The but 

Stabat mater dolorosa Jacopone 315 ' The 

St, Agnes' Eve, —ah, bitter chill \lit3.s..John Keats 125 
Stand here by my side and turn, I pray W'. C. Bryant 402 
Stand ! the ground 's your own, my braves ! Pierpont 534 
Star of the flowers, and flower of the stars IVilkinson 735 
Star of the mead ! sweet daughter of the day Leyden 426 

Star that bringest home the bee Campbell 37 1 

Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe 1 G. M. Lewes 256 

Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake Mrs. Ofie 248 

Steady, boys, steady ! y. !V. ll'atson 477 

Steer hither, steer your winged pines. . . H^m. Browne 757 i The day is ended, 
'idrest. .6"' yo'JK'K 698 I The day returns. 



That Heaven's beloved die early Eie,^. 'eium 827 

1 hat I love thee, charming maid Wm. Maginn 142 

That nightee teem he come Anonymous 918 

1 hat way look, my infant, lo ! IV. Ifords^uorth 25 

I hat which hath made them drunk Shakespeare ,)q6 

That which her slender waist confined U alter 86 

The angel of the flowers, one day Krummacher 423 

The autumn is old T. Hood i'^i 

The baby sits in her cradle Anonvmons 22 

I'he baby sleeps and smiles. . ..Harriet ]V. Stillman 22 
The bard has sung, God never formed a %o\i\ .. Brooks 223 
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne 

Shakespeare 644 
The bell strikes one ; we take no note of time Voting 724 

The bird that soars on highest wing Anonymous 354 

The black-haired gaunt Paulinus Anonymous 355 

The blessed damozel leaned out Z>. G. Rossetti 758 

The blessed morn has come again Ralph Hoyt 402 

The breaking waves dashed high Mrs. Hemans 552 

The brilliant black eye Moore 143 

I'he bubbling brook doth leap when I come by Very 361 
the cheese weel stowit they be.. Z)o^c// 469 
rested on the breathless glass. .£>■«<!« 628 

The careful hen Thomson 432 

The castled crag of Drachenfels Byron 409 

The cock is crowing Wordsworth 382 

The cold winds swept the mountain's height i'. Smith 403 

The conference-meeting through at last Stedman 740 

The country ways are full oi mut. .Alexander Smith 109 
The cunning hand that carved this face T. B. Aldrich 70S 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day T. Gray 306 

The day had been a calm and sunny day J. H. Bryant 400 

„,.„ . , .,-, , ,- • ,.,, The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep W«o«, 351 

bt.ll to be neat, st.ll to bedrest Ben Jonson 698 I The day returns, mv bosom bums Burns 169 

Stood the afflicted mother weeping Jacopone S'S | The dreamy rhymer's measured snore. IV. S. Landor 8,7 

Stop, mortal 'here thy brother lies Eben. Elliott 827 j The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine. . ..Edwin IVaugh ,04 

Straightway Virginius led the maid. . T. B. Macaulay 794 1 The dusky night rides down the iVy. Henry Fielding 6,7 

Ludwig Hotty 397 The earth goes on, the earth glittering in ^aM.Anon. 308 

th was formed Milton 363 



Summer joys 

Sun of the stately day Bayard Taylor 546 : T 

Swans sing before they die Coleridge 864 

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of content. . Greene bbi 
Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain 

Goldsmith 634 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Herrick 6g 

Sweet bird ! that sing'st away the early hours 

IV. Vrufnmond 43S 
Sweet birds that by my window sing Edward Spencer 434 

Sweet brooklet ever gliding Sir Robert Grant 701 

Sweet country life, to such unknown Herrick 641 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright G. Herbert 302 

Sweeter and sweeter y. IV. Palmer 46 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Wordsworth 49 

Sweet is the pleasure y. S. Dwight 503 

Sweet is the voice that calls Geo. A mold 394 

Sweetly breathing vernal air T. Carew 383 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade 

Co7vper 50 

Swiftly walk over the western wave SlieUey 375 

Sword, on my left side gleaming Korncr 46S 

Take back into thy bosom, earth B. Simmons 836 

Take one example to our purpose quite ... R. Pollok 831 
Take, O, take those lips away 
^ Shakespeare and yohn Fletcher 225 

T Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean Tennyson 235 



The 



Ider folk shook hands at last H'hittier 340 

The face of all the world is changed E. B. Browning 140 

The face which, duly as the sun E. B. Browning 299 

The fairest action of our human life Lady Carew 741 

The farmer's wife sat at the door Anonymous 272 

The fire oflove in youthful blood Earl 0/ Dorset 85 

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath 

E. B. Brotoning 142 

The forward violet thus did I chide Shakespeare 64 

The fountains mingle with the river Shelley 136 

The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night H. Gould 44 

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose Lamb 451 

The gale that wrecked you on the sand Emerson 746 

The glories of our birth and state yas. Shirley 301 

The gorse is yellow on the heath Charlotte Smith 442 

The grass is green on Bunker Hill . . . yoaquin Miller 54.) 
The gray sea and the long black land. ./i'. Browning n6 
The groves were God's first temples... W. C. Btyant 414 
The half-seen memories of childish days A. De Vere 6t 

The harp that once through Tara's halls Moore 51S 

The heath this night must be my bed Scott 185 

The hollow winds begin to blow Dr. yenner 389 

The host moved like the deep sea wave Scott 575 

The island lies nine leagues away R H. Dana by; 



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The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair. - . - Bar ham 866 
The jestershook hishood and bells (LP. //". ThoryUmry 729 
The June roses covered the hedges with blushes 

Mary Louise Ritter I31 
The keener tempests rise : and fuming dun. Thomson 401 

The king with all the kingly train John Wilson 248 

The kiss, dear maid, thy lip has left Byron 185 

I'lie laird o' Cockpen he 's proud and he 's great 

Lady Nairjt 156 
The lark sings for joy in her own loved land. . .Anon. 447 
The latter rain, — it falls in anxious haste Jones Very 395 

The lion Is the desert's king F. Freiligratk 429 

The little brown squirrel hopsin the com R-H. Newell 912 

The little gate was reached at last Lmvell 119 

The Inst days of my life until to-day. ..Z>, G. Rosseiti 717 
The maid, and thereby hangs a tale..^zr J. Suckling 



n\\o bii 
nelancholy days 



nerry bn 



The I 



The I 



The Mo 



5 sash . . T. B. Read 505 

me W.C. Bryant 428 

; faster than their age 

Sir Johji Bo'.vring 550 

e leaping Chas. Kingsley 47 

, merry lark was up and singing. .Kingsley 270 

lidges dance aboon the burn R. Tannahill 371 

light of one fair face sublimes my love Angela 66 

listletoe hung in the castle hall T. H. Bayly 606 

loon had climbed the highest \i\\\...John Lowe 280 

lOon is up, and yet it is not night Byron 374 

loon it shines Translation ofC. T. Brooks 20 

loon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the brae 

lore we live, more brief appear Campbell 719 

loming dawned full darkly IV. E. Aytoun 791 

ng pearls Will Chamberlayne 682 

's kiss, first I R. Browning 137 

The mourners came at break of day *?«»«// F Adams 261 

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat T. O^Hara 540 

The Muse's fairest light in no dark time J. Cleveland 815 

llien before all they stand, the holy vow Rogers 165 

The night has a thousand eyes Bourdillon 294 

The night is dark ; behold the Shade was deeper 

A nonytnoits 360 
The night is late, the house is still ....J. IV. Palmer 266 
Thenight ismade forcoolingshade 7- T. Trowbridge 563 
The night was dark, though sometimes a faint star 

Richard IV. Gilder 369 
The night was winter in his roughest tnood.. .Cow/er 400 

Then took the generous host Bayard Taylor A,-i2 

The ocean at the bidding of the moon. . . C Tennyson 639 
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower../. Ingelow 277 

The path by which we twain did go Tennyson 56 

The play is done, — the curtain drops Thackeray 25S 

I'he picture fades : as at a village fair Longfellow 20 

The pines were darken Ramoth hill Whittier 200 

The poetry of earth is never dead John Rents 449 

The point of honor has been deemed of use . .Cow/>er 705 

The quality of Mercy is not strained Shakespeare 677 

The queen looked up, and said, a Teymyson 71S 

The rain is o'er. How dense and bright. ./J. Xorton 392 
The readers and the hearers. ..Sir John I/arring/on 855 

There also was a Nun, a Prioress Chaucer 642 

There a number of us creep IVatls 698 

There are gains for all our losses.... /P. ^. Stoddard 52 
There are some hearts like wells Caroline S. Spejtcer 69S 

There are who say the lover's heart T. K. Her7>ey 159 

There came a man, making his hasty moan..Z. Hunt 684 

ime to the beach a poor exile of Erin j 

Cainpbell 522 \ 

1 the fane a beauteous creature stands ' 

From the PorUtguese 0/ Calidasa 695 
a dungeon in whose dim drear light. .Byron 173 
a flower, a little flower Montgomery 426 



Then 



Then 



The 



garde 



64 



There is a gentle nymph Milton 756 

There is a glorious City in the Sea Rogers 62S 

There is a green island in lone Gougaune Barra 

J. J. Callanan 523 
There is a land, of every land the ^nd.^. Montgomery 505 

There is a pleasure m the pathless woods Byron 559 

There is a Reaper whose name is Dt^ixHi. .Long/ellow 264 

There is a tide in the affairs of men Shakespeare 700 

There is a time, just when the frost A ?ionymous 396 

I'here is no breeze upon the fern IValter Scott 459 

There is no flock, however watched and tended 

Longfellow 260 

There is no force, however great W. IV/u-ivell S95 

There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet Moore 59 
There is no worldly pleasure here below Sir R. Ayton 74 

There is the hut N.G. Shepherd 296 

There lived a singer in France, of old W. C Swinburne 197 

There's a city that lies H. S. Cornwcll 754 

There 's a grim one-horse hearse 'TJunnas Noel 257 

There 's a legend that 's told of a gypsy who dwelt 

Francis MaJioney 344 
There sat an old man on a rock ..Fitz-Hugk Ludlow 716 

There's beauty in the deep ! J- G. C Brainerd 572 

There 's no dew left on the daisies and clover 

Jean Ingelo7t> 33 

There sunk the greatest not the worst Byroti 821 

There the most daintie paradise on ground... ^/evwrr 752 

There was a King in Thule Goethe 7S5 

There was a man named Ferguson Anonymous 891 

Tliere was an ape in the days Mortimer Collins S92 

There was a sound of revelry by night Byron 460 

There was a time when /Etna's silent fire .... Cowper 484 
There was a time when meadow, grove. . Wordsworth 752 
There was (not certaine when).^/r /f^w Harrington 855 

There was three kings Burns 854 

There were seven fishers with nets in their hands 

Alic<- Cary 579 
There were three maidens who loved a king Z.. Hooper 77 
There were three sailors of Bristol City. . . Thackeray 874 

There where death's brief pang Byron 823 

The ripe red berries of the wintergreen />. Z'. German 541 

The Rise of Species : can it be fV. J Courthope 983 

The road was lone : the grass was dank. . T. B. Read 347 

The rose had been washed Cowper 423 

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new Scott 423 

The rose looks out in the valley Gil Vicente 443 

The royal banners forward go Fortunatus 319 

Tlie scene was more beautiful far to the eye . . . Javtes 575 

The sea crashed over the grim gray rocks Anon 574 

The sea. the sea, the open sea Barry Cornwall 583 

The seraph AbdieJ, faithful found MiUnn 347 

These are thy glorious works. Parent of Good Milton 325 
These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 

Tfwmson 377 
The sea was bright, and the bark rode well 

Barry Cortiwall 588 
I'he shades of eve had crossed the glen. .S. Ferguson 48 

The shadows lay along Broadway N. P Willis 250 

The sky is changed ! — and such a change !. . . . Byron 634 

The snow had begun in the gloaming Lowell 264 

The soul of music slumbers in the shell Rogers 691 

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed Waller 730 
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise E.B.Browning z^i 

The spacious firmament on high Joseph Addison 338 

The spearmen heard the bugle sound W. R. Spencer 616 
The spice-tree lives in the garden green ..J. Sterling 418 

The splendor falls on castle walls Tennyson 41 1 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill Scott 614 

Tlie stag too, singled from the herd Thomson 616 

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops. .Byron 629 

i he stately homes of England Mrs. Hemans 180 

riie storm is out : the land is roused K'dmer 527 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



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& 



nd autumn had been so wet.. ..Soutkey 

The summer sun is falling soft Thos. Davis 

The sunburnt mowers are in the swath, .il/. 5 Benton 
The sun comes up and the sun goes down H. Spofford 
The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond 

R. Tannahill 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear Shelley 

The sunlight fills the trembling air. ..£". C. Stednian 

The sunlight glitters keen and bright Whitiier 

The sun sets in night Anne Home Hunter 

The sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home 

Stephen C. Foster 
The sun sinks softly to his evening post R. H. Newell 

The sun that brief December day IVhittier 

The tattoo beats ; the lights are gone. . T. J. Jackson 

The tendrils of my soul Anonyntoiis 

The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain 

John G. C Brainerd 
The timehathlaid his mantle hy. -Cluirles o/ Orleafts 

The town of Passage Francis Maiwny 

The tree of deepest root is found. ..//w/^r L. Thrale 
The twilight hours, like birds, flew by ..A. B. Welby 

The voice ofa wondrous seer H. N. Powers 

The wanton troopers, riding by A. Marvell 

The warm sun is failing Slielley 

The waters purled, the waters swelled Goethe 

The weary night \% o'er at last From the German 

The weather leach of the topsail shivers Mitchell 

The wind blew wide the casement IV. G- Sim?ns 

The wind it blew, and the ship it flew G. MacDonald 

The winter being over Ann Collins 

The wisest of the wise W. S. Lajidor 

The word of the Lord by night Emerson 

The world is too much with us Wordsworth 

The world is very evil From Latin of de Morlaix 

The world 's a sorry wench Fred. Locker 

The Yankee boy John Pierpont 

They are all gone into the world of light //. Vaughan 

They are dying ! they are dying ! Mac-Carthy 

They come ! the merry summer months. .Motherwell 

The year stood at its equinox C. G. Rossetti 

They '11 talk of him for years to come F. Mahofiy 

They made her a grave too cold and damp Moore 

The young May moon is beaming, love Moore 

They sat and combed their beautiful hair Nora Perry 
They tell me I am shrewd with other men J. /K. Ho7ve 

They told me I was heir Helen Hunt 

They 've got a bran new organ JV. M. Carleton 

They waked me from my sleep Z.. H. Sigoumey 

Thine is a strain to read F, Hemans 

Think not I love him, though I ask for him 

Sltahespeare 

This ae night, this ae night Anonymous 

This is the forest primeval Longfellow 

This is the ship of pearl which poets feign Holmes 

This only grant me that my means may lie A, Cowley 

This region, surely, is not of the earth Rogers 

This was the ruler of the land Geo- Croly 

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true. . . .^//7/'i'« 
This world 's a scene as dark as Styx. IVillis Gaylord 

I'hose evening bells ! those evening bells ! Moore 

Thou alabaster relic ! while I hold Horace Smith 

Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew W. C. Bryant 
Though the hills are cold and snowy....//. B. Stowe 

Though the mills of God grind slowly Longfellow 

Thought is deeper than all speech C. P- Crattch 

I'hough when other maids stand by. . . . Chas. Swain 
Thou Grace Divine, encircling all ... .Eliza Scudder 

Thou liappy, happy elf ! T. Hood 

Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie 

A . Cunningliam 
Thou hidden love of God, whose height. ..J- Wesley 



Thou large-brained woman E. B. Browning 837 

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray Burns 279 

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea R. H. Dana 446 
Thou still unravished bride of quietness-. y<3A« Keats 750 

Thou who dost dwell alone Mattlteiv Arnold 321 

Thou whose sweet youth G. Herbert 327 

Three fishers went sailing out into the west 

Chas. Kingsley 576 

Three poets, in three distant ages born Dryden 815 

Three students were travelling over the Rhine 

( Translation of J. S. Dwight) Uhland 77 

Three years she grew in sun and shower Wordsworth 47 
Through her forced, abnormal quiet. ..C. G. Halpine 10& 
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream . . John Logan 2S0 

Thy error, Fremont J. G. 11 'hittier 849 

Tiger! tiger! burning bright Wjn. Blake 430 

Time has a magic wand F. Locker 876 

Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep E. Young bj-j 

'T is a dozen or so of years ago Ano?t. 908 

'T is a fearful night in the winter time C G. Eastman 403 
*T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white 

Shakespeare 63 

'T is believed that this harp Moore 762 

'T is done, — but yesterday a king ! Byron 819 

'T is midnight's holy hour G. D. Prentice 7Z6 

'T is morning : and the sun with ruddy orb ..Cowper 397 
'T is much immortal beauty to admire Lord Thurlow 666 

'T is night, when Meditation bids us feel Byron 376 

•T is night ; within the close-shut cabin door 

From the French of Victor Hugo 577 
'T is o'er, — in that long sigh she past ^. H. Barham 293 
'T IS past, — the sultry tyrant of the South 

A , L. Barbauld 393 

'T is sweet to hear Byron 689 

'T is the middle watch ofa summer's night 

J. R. Drake 769 

'T is time this heart should be unmoved Byron 206 

To bear, to nurse, to rear Jean Ingelow 165 

To be no more — sad cure Milton 713 

To be, or not to be, — that is the question Shakespeare 295 

To claim the Arctic came the sun B. F. Taylor 369 

I To clothe the fiery thought En 

I To gild refined gold, to paint the lily Shakesfiei 

I To heaven approached a Sufi saint {Translation 

of Wtlliatn R. A Iger). . . Dschellaleddin Rumi 327 
To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
I W. C Bryant 30S 

I Toiling in the naked fields John Clare 503 

I Toil on I toil on ! ye ephemeral train L.H.Sigourney 5S0 

I Toll for the brave Cowper 564 

I Toll not tlie bell of death forme Anon. 294 

, To make my lady's obsequies (^Translation of 

Henry F. Ca^y) Charles of Orleans 300 

I To make this condiment yourpoetbegs Sidney Smith 915 

I To me men are for what they are R. M. Mihtes 700 

ly fancy flies Goldsmith 632 

I that hoary wisdom 

Samuel Johnson 724 
Too late I stayed, — forgive the crime ! W. R.Spencer 727 



■ 676 



To prayer '. to prayer ! — for the i 



To sea 
T' othe 
To the 
To the 
Touch 
Toussaint ! 
To weary hi 



I Tread softly, ■ 
Treason doth 



breaks 
Henry Ware, Jr. 335 

to sea ! the calm is o'er T. L. Bcddocs 589 

day, as I was twining Leigh Hunt 151 

3und of timbrels sweet H. H. Milman 164 

■akeofO'Hara R. Buchanan 653 

3 gently, Time I Barry Comivall 1S2 

t unhappy A. Wadsivorth 835 

mourning homes H'hitiier 263 

two is all the praise . ..G. Herbert 326 

the head Carolitu Bowles 256 

prosper Sir J. Harrington 855 



355 Tres Philosophi de Tusculo . 



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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



933 



,-a 



Trochee trips from long to short Coleridge 

True bard and simple Moore 

True genius, but true woman E. B. Browning 

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel Tennyson 

Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn Sydney Dobetl 

*T was a jolly old pedagogue, long ago.. . .G- Arnold 

'T was at the royal feast, for Persia won Dryden 

'Twas in the prime of summe 
'T %vas morn, and beautiful ill. 



r. Hood I 

tain's brow 

IV. L. Boivles ■ 



I the shores that i 



ly. S. Gilbert ; 
..C-C. Moore 
ed in hell 



'T was the night before Ch: 
'Twas whispered in heaver 

Catharitte Fansftawe 
Two barks met on the deep mid-sea Felicia Hemuns 

Two brown heads with tossing curls A nonymoiis 

Two gentlemen llieir appetite IV. B. lynlte 

Two hands upon the breast Dinah M. Craik 

Two little feet Anonymous 

Two pilgrims from the distant plain Mac-Carthy 

Two went to pray? O, rather i:iy .. Richard Crashaw 

Tying her bonnet under her dim Nora Ferry 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree Longfellow 

Under my window, under my window.. 7". IVestwood 

Underneath the sod low-lying J. T. Fields 

Underneath this marble hearse Ben Jonson 

Under the larch with its tassels wet Anonyxnons 

Untremulous in the river clear Lowe/l 

Up from the meadows rich with corn lyhillier 

Up from the South at break of day T. B. Kead 

Upon ane stormy Sunday Charles SiUey 

Up ! quit thy bower ! Joanna Baillie 

Up springs the lark Thomson 

Up the airy mountain IV. AUingham 

Up the dale and down the bourne Geo. Darlcy 

Up the streets of Aberdeen tVhillier 

Veil 1 Here I am, — no matter how it suits T. Hood 

Veni Creator Spiritus St. Gregory the Great 

Veni, Sancte Spiritus Robert II. of France 

Victor in poesy ! Tennyson 

Vital spark of heavenly flame ! Fofie 

Wait a little ; do we not wait ? Lowell 

Wait, wait, ye winds ! till 1 repeat Anonymous 

Wake now, my love, awake, for it is time.. £. Sfenser 

Waken, lords and ladies gay Scott 

Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed 

Campbell 
War's loud alarms. From the Welsh of Tathaiarn 

ofatinybell? John Pierpont 

of greenness rolling down 

M. L. Ritter 

successively rolls on Tuckerman 

Chas. S Prague 

■ laugh ; we Keep. .Barry Cornwall 

jsscan snore upon the flint Shakespeare 

such stuff as dreams are made oX Shakespeare 
'ders, Ro^ermdi. J. T. Trowbridge 
In thy mountain scenery yet.. Hallech 

rimson-tippid flower Burns 

>re. sad fountains ! y. Dowlami 

beastie Burns 

through the town /('. Miller 

C E. Norton 

T. B. A Idrich 

Herrick 



Was it the cl 
Wave after 



! after v 






ffr 



Weehawkei 

Wee, mode 

Weep ye no mo 

Wee, sleekit, co 

Wee Willie Wii 

We have been friends togethe 

We knew it would rain, for all the i 

Welcome, maids of honor! 

Welcome, welcome, do I sing IVilliam Br . 

We parted in silence, we parted by night 

Mrs. Crawford 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain J. Sylvester 

Wenher had a love for Charlotte Thackeray 

We scatter -^ceds with careless hand fohn Keble 



919 ■ We stood upon the ragged rocks IV. B. Glazier 372 

S33 ' Westward the Star of Empire takes its way 

^37 I Geo Berkeley 531 

695 j We the fairies blithe and antic ( Translation of 

117 Leigh Hunt)- T. Randolph 764 

656 ' We watched her breathing through the night T. Hood 293 

6S9 We were crowded in the cabin J. T. Fields 585 

We were not many,— we who stood. .C. F. Hoffman 462 
We wreathed about our darling's head.^/ W. Lowell 270 

What a moment, what a doubt! Leigh Hunt qi8 

What, and how great the virtue and the art 

L ines and Couplets from Pope 746 
What change has made the pastures sweet J. Ingelo'.u 116 

What constitutes a state? Sir IV. Jones 551 

What different dooms our birthdays bring I 7". Hood 2;S 
What do the wrens and the robins say ?. . E. S. Smith 787 
What hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells? 

Felicia Hemans 572 

What hope is here for modem rhyme Tennyson 286 

What is death ? 'T is to be free George Croly 720 

What is it fades and flickers in the fire — L. Larcom i-jb 

What is the existence of man's life? Henry King 303 

What is the little one thinking about ? J. G. Holland 17 
What 's fame ? — a fancied life in other's breath. .Pope 699 

What shall be the baby's name ? R. W. Raymond 23 

What sh.ill I do with all the days and \iom%. .Kemble 200 
What 's billowed ground ? Has earth a clod 

Campbell 712 
What 's this dull town to me? Lady Caroline Kepfel 102 
What was he doing, the great God Pan? 

E. B. Browning 792 
What, was it a dream? am I all alone. ...T. T. Bolton 478 

Wheel me into the sunshine Sydney Dobell 219 

Wlieer asta been saw long Tennyson 903 

When a' ither bainiies are hushed to their hame 

iniliam Thorn 39 
When Britain first, at Heaven's cammmA.. Thomson 515 

Whence could arise this mighty critic Churchill 818 

When chapman billies leave the street Burns 776 

When days are long and skies are bright //.£. Warner 363 
When deeply in love with Miss Emily Pryne 

J. G. Saxe 916 

When Delia on the plain appears Lord Lyttelton 70 

When descends on the Atlantic Longfello-.u 5S; 

When Eve brought woe A nonymous S78 

When first I saw sweet Peggy Samuel Lover 154 

When first thou earnest, gentle, shy, and fond 

r. E. Noilon 32 
When Freedom, from her m.]nntain height 
6'Jo : J. R Drake 516 

When God at first made man George Herbert Ciq6 

220 When I am dead, no pageant train Edward Everett S13 

73'> When I a verse shall make Herrick 815 

182 I When icicles hang by the wall Shakespeare 401 

72S I When I consider how my light is spent Milton 330 

(178 I When I do count the clock that tells the time 
67S ! Shakespeare 727 

492 I When in the chronicle of wasted l\me. ■ .Shakes/>eare 
633 I When in the storm on Albion's coast... 71?. S. Sharpe 

425 I When I think on the happy days Anonymoi, 

677 When leaves grow sear all things take sombre hue 
4.51 Anonvmot. 

24 When I.esbia first I saw so heavenly fairW. Congret 
jS When Love with unconfined wings. . Col. R Lotvlace 
638 When Music, heavenly maid, was young. . W. Collins 

425 When o'er the mountain steeps Rose Terry 

87 When on my bed the moonlight falls Tennyson 

When shall we all meet again A wniymous 

192 ' When stricken by the freezing blast ...O W. Holmes 
85 , When summer o'er her native hills.. ./)«.« C Lynch 
S75 i When that my mood is s.id and in the noise 
677 : W n. Simms 



586 



396 
70S 



-^ 



[&■ 



934 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



-a 



When the black-lettered list to the gods was presented 
IV. R. Spencer 

When the British warrior queen Cowper 511 

When the hounds of spring A. C. S'lVinburne 380 

When the hours of day are numbered . . . . Longfello'w 262 

When the humid shadows hover Coates Kinney 46 

When the lamp is shattered Shelley 225 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended Dickimon 181 
When the sheep are in X\\^{^vi\6, Lady Anne Barnard 205 

When the showery vapors gather Coates Kinney 46 

When the Sultan Shah-Zainan T. B. Aldrich 150 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

Shakespeare 60 

When your beauty appears Thomas Parnell 134 

Where are the men who went forth in the morning 

From the Welsh 0/ Talhaiam 481 

Where are the swallows fled? A.A.Procter 71S 

Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays Brownell 896 

Where did you come from, baby dear? G. MacDonald 18 
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn ? Coleridge 4S2 

Where music dwells IVordsiuorth 692 

Where noble Grafton spreads his rich domain-^ 

R- Blooinfield 497 

Where shall the lover rest Scott 231 

Where the remote Bermudas ride. .Andrew Marvell 5S4 

Whether with reason or with instinct blest Pope 700 

Which is the wmd that brings the cold ? 

E. C. Stedjnan 413 

Which I wish to remark Bret If arte SS8 

While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels ( Trans- 
lation of S. Rogers) Leonidas of Alexandria 24 
While sauntering through the crowded street 

Paul H. Hayiie 734 
While yet the feeble accents hung 

Margaret Davidson 392 
Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream 

M. Akeiiside S59 

Whither, midst falling dew W. C- Bryant 445 

Whoe'er she be R. Crashaw 146 

Whoever fights, whoever falls Emerson 746 

Who Cometh over the hills Lowell 544 

Who counts himself as nobly bom E. S H. 687 

Who did not know the office Jaun of pale Pomona 

green ? Henry M. Parker 652 

Who has not dreamed a world of bliss W, M. Howitt 370 

Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere Moore 414 

Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed 

Robert Buliver-Lyttaii 230 

Whoso him bethoft Anonyftious 713 

Who would care to pass his life Mortitner Collins 877 

Why came the rose ? Because the sun is shining 

Mary L. Bitter 89 

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Her rick 423 

Why looks your grace so heavily Shakespeare S09 

Why, lovely charmer, tell me why Anonymons 86 

Why sits she thus in solitude? A. B. li'elby 742 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?. ..6"/r J. Suckling 226 
Why thus longing, thus forever sighing 

Harriet Winslovj Seiuall 357 
IVide. it was and high Byron 638 



' Widow Machree, it 's no wonder jou frown S. Lover i 
) While sauntering through the crowded street 
: Paid H. Hayne 7 

) ! While yet the feeble accents hung jl/a?-^rtre':' Davidson 3 

! ! Will affection still infold me Anonymmts 

'■> \ Willie, fold your little hands Dinah M. Craik 1 

Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day Shakespeare 1 
With awful walls, far glooming, that possessed 

Leigh Hunt i 

With blackest moss the flower-pots J'entiyson 2 

With deep affection Father Prout t 

With fingers weary and worn T. Hood 2 

Within the navel of this hideous wood Milton 5 

Within the sober realm of leafless trees. . T. B. Read t 
With silent awe I hail the sacred morn Dr. J. Ley den 1 

With sorrow and heart's distress Milton 2 

Woman is crowned, but man in truth is king 

Robert Batson 

Woodman, spare that tree ! G. P. Morris 

Wordsworth upon Helvellyn ! E. B. Broivning i 

Word was brought to the Danish king. . C. E. Norton 2 

Wouldst thou hear what man can say Ben Jonson I 

Would wisdom for herself be wooed 

Coventry Palmare i 
Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng Anonymous i. 
Would you know why I summoned you together ? 

7. H. Payne ; 

Year after year unto her feet Tennyson 1 

Years, years ago, ere yet my dreams IV. M. Praed : 

Ye banks and braes and streams around Burns : 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon Bums : 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers Thos- Gray ; 

Ye little snails Anonymous ^ 

Ye mariners of England Campbell ■ 

Ye powers who rule ihe tongue Coivper i 

Ye say they all have passed away . L. H. Sigourney ', 

Yes ! bear them to their rest .Geo. IV. Beihune ( 

" Yes," I answered you last night... £". B. Brow?ting 
Ye sons of freedom, wake to glory ! { Translation) 

Rougei de L isle \ 

Yes ! there are real mourners Geo Crabbe \ 

Yet once more, O ye laurels John Milton ; 

Ye who would have your features florid Horace Stnith i 

You ask me why, though ill at ease Tenitysoti \ 

You bells in the steeple Jean Ingeloiv 

You cbarm when you talk ( Trattslation) De Montreuil { 

" You have heard." said a youth Robert Story 1 

Vou know we French stormed Ratisbon R. Broivni7ig < 

You lay a wreath on murdered Tom Taylor \ 

You may give over plow, boys Sydney Dobell : 

You meaner beauties of the night Sir H. IVotion 

Young Ben he was a nice young man T. Hood \ 

" Young, gay, and fortunate ! " Each yields a theme 

Young 
Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn 

Samuel Lover 
Your fav'rite picture rises up before me . . A nonymous 
Your horse is faint, my king, my lord J. G. Lockhart . 
Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife W. C. Bennett 
You see this pebble stone C Z.. CalverUy. < 



B-- 



-^ 



-n 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



y^ 



Aobey, Melrose Sir IV. Scolt 

Abou Ben Adhem L. Hunt 

Abram and Zimri c. C<^ok 

Absence ^ nonytnoiis 

Absence p. A. KembU 

Absent Shakaptart 

Absent Sailor, To her J. G. Whitlier 

Absent Soldier Son, The J'. Dobell 

A Bust oJ Dante, Ou T. IV. Parsoiu 

Acadie, Peace in H. IF. Longftllow 

Achbar and Nouimahal T. Moore 

Adam's Morning Hj-mn in Paradise Milton 

Adam to Eve Milton 

Addison a. I'opc 

Address to the Ocean B. IV. Procter 

Adieu, adieu! my native shore Lord Byron 

Adieu, adieu ! our dream of love T. K. Hcr2<cy 

Ae fond kiss before we part R. Burns 

Afar in the desert T- Prin^ie 

After the Ball N. Perry 

Afton Water R. Bur?is 

Agassiz, The Fiftieth Birthday of Long^/e/loio 

Agassiz, The Prayer of J G. IVhittier 

Age of Wisdom, The W. M. Tltackeray 

Agincourt, The Ballad of M. Drayton 

Ah, how sweet J. Dryden 

Ah, sweet Kitty Neil ! D. F MacCarthy 

A hunting we will go H. Fie/ding 

Ah, what is Love ? /?. Greene 

Airy Nothings Shakespeare 

Alabaster Sarcophagus, The H. Smith 

Alas 1 how light a cause may move T. Moore 

Album, Lines written in an IV. Gay lord 

Alexander's Feast J. Dryden 

Alfred the Harper J Sterling 

Alice D. F. MacCarthy 

All's WeU T. Dibdi,, 

All 's Well H. McE. Kimball 

Almond Blossom E. A mold 

Abiwick Castle Fitz-Greene Halleck 

Alpine Heights F. IV. Krummacher 

Althea from Prison, To R. Lovelace 

Amazing, beauteous change \ Ph. Doddridge 

America IV. C. Bryant 

America to Great Britain IV. A listen 

American Aristocracy J. G. Saxe 

American Flag, The J. R. Drake 

Amy's Cruelty E. B. Broiuning 

Anchor, The Forging of the i' Ferguson 

Ancient Hymn J. M. Neale 

Ancient Mariner, Rime of the ..J'. T. Coleridge 

Angel of Patience, The J.G. Whittier 

Angels, Battle of the Milton 

Angel's Visit, An E. S. Turner 

Angel's Whisper, The 5. Lover 

Angler, The J. Ckalkhill 



I Angler, The T. B. Read 

I Anglers' Trysting-Tree, The T. T. Stodaart 

Angler's Wish, The 1. IValt.n 

I Angling y. Thomson 

AngUng, In Praise of Sir H. II 'otton 

Animals, Of Cruelty to M. F. Tuppcr 

Animals, Plea for the J. Thomson 

Annabel Lee E. A. Poe 

Anne Hathaway Anonymous 

Annie, For E. A. Poe 

Annie, Lines to the Memory of H. B. Stowe 

Annuity, The G. Outram 

Answer to a Child's Question ,?. T. Coleridge 

Antiquity of Freedom, The IV. C. Bryant 

Antony and Cleopatra W. H. Lytle 

Apple-Tree, The Planting of the ..W.C. Bryant 

Approach of Age, The G. Crabbe 

Apres A.y. Mundy 

April Violet, An A nonymous 

Arab, The Charles L.Calverly 

Are the children at home? M. E. M Sangster 

Arthur, Death of A. Tennyson 

As by the shore at break of day T. Moore 

Ask me no more A. Tennyson 

Aspasia, Pericles and G. Croly 

As ships becalmed A. H. Clough 

Ae slow our ship T. Moore 

Atalanta Conquered IV. Morris 

Atalanta Victorious IV. Morris 

Athulf and Ethilda H. Taylor 

At Sea y. T. Trowbridge 

At the Church Gate IV. M. Thackeray 

Auf Wiedersehen ! J. R. Lo'joell 

Augusta, To Lord Byron 

Auld Lang Syne R. Burns 

Auld Rohin Gray Lady Barmird 

Aurelia, To J. Dyer 

Author's Miseries, The A. Pope 

Autumn T. Hood 

Autunm P. B. Shelley 

Autumn, A Still Day in S^ H. IVhitman 

Autumn. The Ii\ D. Gallagher 

Autumn Walk, My IV. C. Bryant 

Aux Italiena R. B. Lytton 

B. 

Baby Louise M. Eytinge 

Baby May W. C. Bennett 

Baby's Shoes W.C. Bennett 

Baby, The Calidasa 

Baby, The G. Macdonald 

Baby Zulma's Christmas Carol . ...A. J. Reijuier 

Bachelor's Hall J. Finley 

Balaklava A. B. Meek 

Baltimore, The Sack of T. Davis 

Banks o' Doon, The R. Burns 

Banks of the Lee, The T. Davis 



i 



938 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



-Ri 



Bannockburn R. Burns 513 

Banty Tim J. Hay qoi 

Barbara Frietchie y. G. IVkittier 543 

Barber's Shop, Jones at the Punch 914 

Barclay of Ury J. G. tyiiMier 4S7 

Bard's Epitaph, A R. Burns S29 

Barefoot Boy, The 7. G. M'hittier 36 

Battle-Field, The ;(-'. C. Bryant 485 

Battle-Hymn of the Republic J. IV. Howe 356 

Battle of Blenheim, The R. Southey 489 

Battle of the Angels Milton 454 

Battle-Song of GustavTls Adolphus M. A Iteitburg 468 

Bayard M. L. Kilter 832 

Bay of Biscay, The A. Cherry 586 

Beach Bird, The Little R. H. Dana 446 

Beach, Newport H. Th. Tuckerman y^b 

Beacon, The P. M. yames 57s 

Beal' an Dhuine Sir IK Scott 439 

Beatrice Cenci P. B. S/u-lky 798 

Beautiful Day, On a y. Sterling 367 

Beautiful River, The B. P. Taylor 202 

Beautiful Snow y. IV. Watson 250 

Beauty Lord Thurloiu 666 

Bedouin Love-Song T. Parnell 134 

Before and after the Rain ....T. B. A Idrich 638 

Before Sedan A. Dohson 480 

Beginnings, Small Ch Maekay 697 

Belfry Pigeon, The N.P. irillis 436 

Belgrade, Siege of A nonymous 916 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms 

T. Moore 123 

Belinda A. Pope 66 

Belle of the BaU, The n'. M. Praed 230 

Bells, City R. H. Barham 659 

Bells of Shaudon, The F. Mahony 658 

Bella, The E.A.Poe 657 

Bell, The Passing 7- Pierfont 660 

Benedicite y. G. H 'hittier 53 

Benny A. C. Ketchum 27 

Bertha in the Lane E. B. Browning 208 

Beth Gelert IV. R. Spencer 617 

Betrothed Anew E. C. Stedman 429 

Beyond the smiling and the weeping. . //". Bonar 292 

BillandJoe O. W. Holmes 56 

Bingen on the Rhine C. B. Norton 476 

Bireh Stream, The A. B. Averill 6jq 

Bird Language E. S. Smith 787 

Birds y. Montgomery 433 

Birds by my Window E. Spencer 434 

Bird's Nest, A '^. Hurdis 433 

Birds, Plea for the H. W. ^^gj-cilow 433 

Bird, To a Lord Thurlow 446 

Birth of Portraiture, The T. Moore 103 

Bishop, God's Judgment on a Wicked R. Sonthey 791 

Bivouac of the Dead, The Th. O'Hara 540 

Black and Blue Eyes T. Moore 143 

Blackbird, The F. Tennyson 640 

BL-ick-Eyed Susan y. Gay 185 

Black Regiment, The G. H. Baker 464 

Blacksmith, The Village H. IV. Longfellow 495 

; they that mourn IV. C. Bryant 718 

1 Damozel, The D. G Rosseiti 75S 

Blest as the Immortal Gods Sappho 132 

Blighted Love Camoens 222 

Blind Boy, The C. Cibber 25S 

Blindness, On his Milton 330 

Blindness, On his own Milton 672 

Blood Horse, The B. IV. Procter 430 

Blossoms, To R- Herrick 418 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind Shakespeare 236 

Blue and the Gray, Tl'.e F. M. Finch 483 

Boadicea IV. Cowper 511 



Boatmen, Song of the Negro 7. G. IVhitticr 

Boat, The Pleasure R. H - Dana 

Bobolink, The T. Hill 

Bomba, King of Naples, Death-Bed of — Punch 
Bonaparte, Popular Recollections of F Mahony 

Bonnie Wee Thing R Burns 

Books A JionymcMii 

Books 7 Higgins 

Boone, Daniel Lord Byron 

Borrowing R. IV. Emerson 

Boston Hymn R. IV. Emerson 

Bower of Bliss, The £. Spenser 

Boyhood IV. A llston 

' ' Boz, " A Welcome to IV. H. Venable 

Brahma R. IV. Emerson 

Brahma's Answer R. H. Stoddard 

Brave at Home, The T. B Read 

Brave, How sleep the IV. Collins 

Brave Old Oak, The H. F. Chorley 

Break, break, break A. Tennyson 

Breathes there the man Sir IV. Scott 

Bride, The Siry. Suckling 

Bridge, Horatius at the T. B. Macaulay 

Bridge of Sighs, The T. Hood 

Brierwood Pipe, The C. D^ Shanly 

Brigantine, My y. F. Cooper 

British Soldier in China, The ...SirF. H Doyle 

Brooklet, The Sir R.Grant 

Brookside, The R. Hr. Milnes 

Brook, Song of the A ■ Tennyson 

Broom-Flower, The M- Howitt 

Brougham, Henry, Baron Vaux A nonymous 

Bruce and the Spider B. Barton 

Bruce, The Heart of the JV. E. Aytonn 

Brutus over the Body of Lucretia . . 7- H. Pay7te 

Bugle, The A. Tennyson 

Burial of Moses, The C. F. Alexander 

Burial of the Dane, The H. H. Brownell 

Burial, The Drummer Boy's A nonymous 

Buried Flower, The IV. E. Aytoun 

Buried To-day D. isr. Craik 

Burns E. Elliott 

Bums Fitz-Greene Halleck 

Bums H . N. Powers 

Bums y. G. II ■hittier 

Bums, Robert 7- •£■ Rankin 

Busy, curious, thirsty fly V. Bourne 

Byron R. Pollok 

Byron's Latest Verses Lord Byron 

By the Alma River D. M. Craik 

C. 

Caliph and Satan, The y. F. Clarke 

Camp-bell (Charade) IV. H[. Pracd 

CampbeU, To T. Moore 

Camp, Song of the B. Taylor 

Cana 7- -f" Clarke 

Canadian Boat-Song T. Moore 

Canterbury Pilgrims, The G. Chaucer 

Cape Cottage at Sunset IV. B. Glazier 

Caractacus B. Barton 

CarUlon H. IV. Longfellow 

Casa Wappy D. M. Moir 

Castara IV. Habington 

Castle, Alnwick Fitz-Greene Halleck 

Castle in the Air, The T. Paine 

Castle Norham Sir IV. Scott 

Catalogue. The Captain Morris 

Cataract of Lodore, The R. Sojithey 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes R. Burns 

Cavalry Song R II'. Raymond 

Cavalry. Song of the /;. C. Stedman 



& 



r 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



939 



-a 



tQ^- 



Celestial Country, The B. lic Morlaix 

Centennial Hymn J. G. li 'hitlier 546 

Centennial Meditation of Columbia ..S. Lanier 545 

(Centennial) National Ode B. Ta^'lor 546 

(CentenniaJ ) People's Song of Peace — 7 Mdlsr 549 

Cento Verses — A?touynwus 915 

Certaine Man, Of a Sir 7. Harrington 855 

Chain Verses Anonymtnts 917 

Chambered Nautilus, The O. iV. Holmes 582 

Chameleon, The 7 Merrick 856 

Chancelloravllle, The Wood of D. R. German 541 

Change P. B. Sltelley 683 

Changes R. B. Lytton 230 

Charge at Waterloo, The Sir W. Scott 462 

Charge of the Light Brigade A. Tennyson 464 

Charles XII S.7ohnson S17 

Charlie Machree W. 7. Hoppin 102 

Charlotte, The Princess Lord Byron 819 

Chastity VV. Cliamberlayne 6S2 

Chess-Board, The R.B. Lytton 106 

Chevy-Chase R. Sheale 591 

Child and Maiden SirC.Sedley 85 

Child during Sickneaa, To a L. Hunt 34 

CliUdren's Hour, The H. IV. Longfellow 46 

Children, The CM. Dickinson 181 

Chloe, To Peter Pindar 145 

Choosing a Name Mary Lamb 1 8 

Chord, A Lost A. A. Procter 735 

Chorus of English Songsters — IV. 7. Courthope 432 

Christian Calling, The A nonymous 360 

Christmas Hymn Milton 724 

Christmas in the Olden Time Sir IV. Scott 64 1 

Chronicle, The A. CoiuUy 144 

Church Gate, At the IV. M. Tliackeray 67 

Church Porch, The G. Herbert 327 

City and Country O. IV. Holmes 8S1 

City Bells R.H. Barham 659 

Civil War C. D. Shanly 475 

Clam, Sonnet to a 7. G. Saxe 890 

Chin- Alpine, Song of Sir IV. Scott 467 

Clarence, The Dream of Sfuikespearc 80-? 

Claude Melnotte'a Apology and Defense Btthver 206 

Cleon and I Ch. .Mackay 668 

Cleopatra Shakespeare 644 

Cleopatra IV. IV. Story 13S 

Closing Scene, The T. B. Read b^i 

Closing Year, The G. D. Prentice 726 

Cloud, The P. B. Shelley 749 

Cloud, The Evening 7 IVilson 698 

Cloud, The Little 7. H. Bryant 537 

Cock and the Bull, The C. L. Calnerly 912 

CoUseum by Moonlight Lord Byron 629 

Coliseum, The Lord Byron 624 

Collegian to his Bride, The Punch 895 

Columbia T. Dunght 532 

Come into the garden, Maud A. Tennyson 96 

Come, let us kisse and parte M Drayton igi 

Come not, when I am dead A. Tennyson 230 

Come, rest in this bosom T. Moore 133 

Come to me, dearest 7. Brennan 204 

Come to these scenes of peace IV. L. Bowles 367 

Comfort M. Collins 877 ' 

Comin' thro' the Rye Adapted by Burns 136 

Common Lot, The 7. Montgomery 30*; 

Compliments of the Season, The R. IV. Raymond 26 ! 

Concord Monument Hymn R. IV. Emerson 533 

Connubial Life 7. Thomson 16S 

Constancy Ai.onymotts 699 

Content R. Greene 668 

Contentation Ch. Cotton 670 ; 

Cont-entment 7- Sylvester 66S 

Contentment O. IV. Holmes 660 ■ 



Contradiction IV. Cotvper 

Cooking and Courting A nonymous 

Coral Grove, The 7. G. Percival 

Coral Insect, The 7. Montgomery 

Coral Insect, The L. H. Sigoumey 

Coronach Sir IV. Scott 

Coronation //. Hunt 

Correspondences C. P. Cranck 

Cotter's Saturday Night, Tlie R. Burns 

Countess Laura G. H . Boker 

Country Life, The R. Herrick 

Country, My A. Tennyson 

Country, My 7. Montgomery 

Course of True Love, The Shakespeare 

Courtin', The 7. R. Lowell 

Court Lady, A E. B. Brmoning 

Cowper, Rousseau and C. IVilcox 

Cradle Song, A /. IVatts 

Cradle Song Anonymous 

Cradle Song 7. G. Holland 

Creation Milton 

Cricket, The IV. Cowper 

Cromwell, Oliver 7- Dryden 

Cromwell, To the Lord General Milton 

Cruelty to Animals, Of M. F. I upper 

Cuckoo-Clock, The C. B. Southey 

Cuckoo, To the 7. Logan 

Culprit Fay, The 7. R Drake 

Cupid and Campaspe 7- Lyiy 

Cupid Swallowed L. Hunt 

Cyrus, The Tomb of Anonymous 

Daflfodils .' R. Herrick 

Daffodils IV, IVordsworth 

Daisy, The 7, Leyden 

Daisy, The 7. Montgomery 

Daisy, To a Mountain R. Burns 

Dane, The Burial of the H. H. Browntll 

Dante, On a Bust of T. IV. Parsons 

Darkness is thinning Pope Gregory /. 

Darwin M. Collins 

Davie Sillar, To R. Burns 

Dawn R. IV. Gilder 

Daybreak ff. IV. Longfellow 

Day, in melting purple dying M. Brooks 

Day in the Pamflli Doria, A H B. Stowe 

Dead Friend, The A. Tennyson 

Dead, The Bivouac of the Th. O'Hara 

Death Lord Byron 

Death and Cupid 7, G. Saxe 

Death and the Youth L E. Landon 

Death-Bed, A 7. A Idrich 

Death of a Beautiful Wife, On the H. King 

Death of a Daughter, On the R. H. Barluim 

Death of Arthur A. Tennyson 

Death of Leonidas, The G. Croly 

Death of the Flowers, The IV C. Bryant 

Death of the White Fawn A. lifarvell 

Death-Song, Indian A. H. Hunter 

Death, The Genius of G. Croly 

Death, the Leveler 7, Shirley 

Death, The Secret of E. Arneild 

Death, The Trooper's R. IV. Raymond 

Death, To Gluck 

Deborah Lee IV. H. Burleigh 

Deceived Lover, The Sir T. Il'yatt 

Deep, The 7 G. C. Braitard 

Deep, The Treasures of the F Hemans 

Delight in God F. Quarles 

De Profundis E. B. Browning 

Descent, The X Rogers 

Deserted VUlage, The O. Goldsmith 



38 



cB- 



940 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



■a 



h 



Deaire Af. A rfiold 321 

Diamond, The 7-JG. IVilkinson 735 

Dickens in Camp B. Harte S40 

Die down, O dismal day 1 D. Gray 3S0 

Diego Ordas in El Dorado Anonymous 756 

Dieslrae T. d^ Celano 313 

Difference, The ML. Ritter 1 35 

Dinna ask me Dujilop 107 

Dirge for a Soldier G. H. Boker 482 

Dirge for a Young Girl J. T. Fields 30D 

Dirge of Alaric, the Visigoth E. Everett 813 

Dirge, The H. King 303 

Disappointed Lover, The A. C. S-winburft^ 226 

Disappointment M. G Brooks 223 

Disguised Maiden, The ..Beaumont and Fletcher 6S8 

Dismal Swamp, The Lake of the T. Moore 782 

Diversities of Fortune T. Hood 258 

Divided J. higelow 1S6 

Diviija Commedia //. VV. Longfellow 650 

Domestic Birds J. Thomson 432 

Donald the Black, Song of Sir W. Scoti 466 

Doolkamein, The Trumpets of L. Hunt 6cx> 

Doorstep, The E. C. Stedman 741 

Dorothy in the Garret J. T. Trowbridge 210 

Doubt, A Dr. R. Hughfs 146 

Doubting Heart, The A. A. Procter 71S 

Dover Beach M. A mold 563 

Dover Cliff Shakespeare 407 

Dow's Flat B. Harte 899 

Doxology, A Lancashire Z>. M. Craik 502 

Drake, Joseph Rodman Fitz-Greene Halleck S34 

Dreamer, The A nonymous 246 

Dream of Clarence, The Shakespeare 8og 

Dream of Eugene Aram, The T. Hood 810 

Dreams and Realities P- Cary 55 

Dreams, Sleepless D. G. Rossetti 70S 

Dream, The Lord Byron 6S0 

Dream, The Mariner's Py. Dimond 567 

Dream, The Soldier's T. Campbell 480 

Dress, A Sweet Disorder in R. Herrick 698 

Dress, Freedom in B. Jonson 698 

Drifting T. B. Read 751 

Drink to me only with thine eyes — Philostratus 714 

Driving Home the Cows A'. P. Osgood 482 

Drop, drop, slow tears G. Fletcher 322 

Drop of Dew, A A. Mamdl 392 

Drummer Boy's Burial, The A ?ionymous 479 

Dniry Lane, A Tale of H. Sinith 910 

Dueling /^- Cowper 705 

Dule '3 i' this bonnet o' mine, The E. li'angh 904 

Dum Vivimus, Vivamua Ph. Doddridge 325 

Duncan Gray cam' here to woo R- Bjtrns 152 

Duty A fionytnous 503 

Dying Christian to his Soul, The A. Pope 328 

Dying Gertrude to Waldegrave, The 7". Cafnpbell 193 

Dying Hymn, A A. Cary 356 

Dying Saviour, The P. Gerliardt 336 

Each and All R. W Emerson 365 

Eagle, The A. Tennyson 447 

Earl of Quarterdeck, The G. Macdonald 603 

Early Friendship A. De Vere 61 

Earnest Suit, An Sir T. IVyatt 191 

Echo J.G. Saxe 917 

Echo and Silence Sir E. Brydges 397 

Fcho and the Lover Anonymous 917 

Echoes T. Moore 92 

Education of Nature W. Wordsxvorth i,-j 

Edwin and Pauiinus A nonymous 354 

Eggs and the Horses, The A nonymous 875 

El Dorado, Diego Ordas in A uonymoids 758 



Electrician's Valentine, The A nonymous 

Elegy on Madame Blaize 0. Goldsmith 

Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.. (7. Goldsmith 
Elegy written in a Country Churchyara T. Gray 

Eleonora J- Dryden 

Emigrants in Bermuda, Song of the ..A. Ma*vell 

Emigrant's Wish, The A noftymous 

(Emmett, R.) O, breathe not his name ! . . Moore 

Emmett's Epitaph R. Southey 

Enchantments A- Cary 

End of the Play, The ... W. M. Thackeray 

Ends of Life, The W. Drummond 

Enid's Song A. Tennyson 

Enigma (The Letter H) C. Fanshawe 

Enoch Arden at the Window A. Tennyson 

Epigiea Asleep IV^. W. Bailey 

Epigram, An (Woman's Will) J. G, Saxe 

Epigrams S' T. Coleridge 

Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H B. Jonson 

Epitaph, Emmett's R. Smtthey 

Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke B. Jonson 

Epithalamion, The E. Spenser 

Eton College, On a Distant Prospect of. . T. Gray 

Etrurian Valley, In the Buhver 

Euthanasia H. More 

Evangeline on the Prairie H. li'. Long/elloiv 

Evelyn Hope R- Browning 

Evening Lord Byron 

Evening Cloud, The 7- ^^ihon 

Evenijig in Paradise Milton 

Evening, Ode to W. Collins 

Evening Star, The T. Campbell 

Evening Wind, The IV. C. Bryant 

Eve of Election, The J.G. IP'hittier 

Eve of St. Agnes, The J- Keats 

Example 7- Keble 

Execution of Montrose, The IV. E. Aytoun 

Exile of Erin T. Campbell 

Experience and a Moral, An F. S. Cozzens 

F. 

Fairest thing m mortal eyes. The Duke 0/ Orleans 

Fair Helen of Kirconnell Anonytnous 

Failles. Farewell to the R. Corbett 

Fairies' Lullaby Shakespeare 

Fairies' Song T. Randolph 

Fairies, The IV. A llingham 

Fairy Queen, The Anonymous 

Fairy Song 7- Keats 

Faith F. A. Kemble 

Faith and Hope R P^cile 

Faithful Angel, The Milton 

Faithful Lovers, The A nonymous 

Faithless Sally Brown T, Hood 

Fame ^ Pop^ 

Fame -^- J^^f^son 

Family Meeting, The C Sprague 

Fancy, Delights of M. A ketiside 

Fancy, Hollo, my A nonymous 

Fancy in Nubibus S. T, Coleridge 

Fantasy ^- Jonso7t 

Farewell 1 but whenever '^- Moore 

Farewell, Life ^- ■^■^^''^ 

Farewell of a Slave Mother, The ..J.G. U 'hittier 

Farewell, The Sea-Boy's A nonymous 

Farewell I thou art too dear Shakespeare 

Farewell to thee, Ai-aby's daughter T. Moore 

Farewell to Tobacco, A C Lamb 

Fanner's Boy, The R. Bloojnfield 

Father Land and Mother Tongue S, Lover 

Fatima and Raduau ^V. C. B?yant 

Fay, The Culprit J- R- Drak^ 



-3 



[tr 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



-n 



941 



h 



Fear no more the heat o' the sun Shakespeare 30 1 

Female Convict, The L. E. Landon 294 

Ferguson's Cat Anonymous 891 

Fern, The Petrifled M. L. B. Branch 754 

Fetching Water from the Well. Anonymous 82 

Fight of Faith, The A. Askewe 329 

Filial Love Lord Byron 173 

Fine Old English Oentleman, The A nonymous 866 

Fire by the Sea, The A. Cary 579 

Fire of Love, The Earl Dorset 85 

Fireside, By the L. Larcom 176 

Fireside, The A'. Cotton 177 

First Kiss, The T. Campbell 135 

First Love Lord Byron 6S9 

First Snowfall, The J. R. Lowell 264 

First Spring Flowers Mrs. Howland 281 

Fisher Folk, The Poor V. Hugo 577 

Fishers, The Three Ch. Kingsley 576 

Fisher, The Goethe 776 

Flight into Egypt, The F. lilahony 344 

Flood of Years, The «'. C. Bryant Ixiv 

Florence Vane Ph. P. Cooke 276 

Flotsam and Jetsam Anonymous 574 

Flower o' Dumblane, The R Tannahill 96 

Flower of Finae, The T. Davis 286 

Flowers /-. Hood 421 

Flowers, Hymn to the H. Smith 421 

Flowers, The Death of the IV. C. Bryant 428 

Flowers, The Use of AI. Howitt 429 

Flowers without Fruit J. H. Newman 741 

Fly, Busy, curious, thirsty V. Bourne 731 

Fly, To a y. Wolcott 731 

Fly to the desert, fly with me T. Moore 95 

Folding the Flocks Beaumont and Fletcher 431 

Follow a shadow, it still fliea you B. Jonson 84 

Foolish Virgins, The A. Tennyson 717 

Footsteps of Angels H. W. Long/elloiu 261 

Fop, Hotspiu-'s Description of a Shakespeare 472 

For a' that and a' that R. Burns 257 

For Charlie's Sake J. IV. Palmer thb 

Forest Hymn, A \V. C. Bryant 414 

Forest Primeval, The H. IV. Longfellow 414 

Forever with the Lord J. Montgomery 353 

Forgiag of the Anchor, The .T. Ferguson 500 

Forlorn Shepherd's Complaint, The T. Hood 902 

For love's sweet sake B, Cornwall 94 

Forsaken Merman, The M. A mold 775 

Fortune Fitz-Greene Halleck 696 

Fortune Sir J. Harrington 855 

Fra Giacomo R. Buchanan 802 

Freedom in Dress B. Jonson 6g8 

Freedom, The Antiquity of W.C. Bryant 554 

Freeman, The W. Cowper 552 

Fremont, John C y. G IVhittier 849 

French Camp, Incident of the R. Browning 470 

Friar of orders gray, I am a J. O'Kee/e Sbg 

Friar of Orders Gray, The T. Percy 72 

Friends Departed H . Vaughan 263 

Friendship R, iV. Emerson 59 

Friendship Sltakespeare 60 

From the recesses of a lowly spirit..?". Bowring 337 

Frost, The H.F. Gould 46 

Future Life, The W. C. Bryant 263 

Future, The A. Pope 722 

G. 

Gambols of Children, The G- Barley 3 1 

Garden of Love, The W. Blake 713 

Garrison, William Lloyd y. R. Lowell 846 

Gas-making: An Impromptu ..R. IV. Raymond S92 

Genevieve .S". T. Coleridge 107 

Genius of Death, The G. Croly 720 | 



Gentilwoman, To a OR. 77 

Gentleman of the Old School, A Anonymous 654 

Giacomo, Fra R. Buchanan 802 

Gifts of God, The G Herbert 696 

Ginevra S Kogers 605 

Girdle, On a E. iVuller 86 

Give me more love, or more disdain . . T. Carew So 

Give me the old R. H. Messenger 716 

Give me three grains of 00m, mother 

Miss Edwards 255 

Give place, ye lovers Lord Suney 65 

Glove and the Lions, The L.Hunt 605 

Gluggity Glug G. Colman. yr. S58 

God Derzhavtn 320 

God everywhere in Nature C Wilcox 452 

Godiva A. Tennyson 644 

God's Acre H. W. Long/ellow 305 

Go, feel what I have felt A nonymous 494 

Go, happy rose R. Herricjt 7 1 

Going and Coming E. A. yenks 72S 

Gold T. Hood 705 

iGolden Girl, A B. Cornwall 144 

Golden Ringlet, The A. B. IVelby 275 

Go, lovely rose E. H 'alter 66 

Good Ale y. Still 85S 

GoodBy R. IV. Emerson 719 

Good Bye A nonymous . £3 

Good Great Man, The i". T. Coleridge 676 

Good Night C. Th. Korner 504 

Good Night and Good Morning R. M. Milnes 3 r 

Go to thy rest, fair child Mrs. Sigourney 271 

Gougaune Barra 7. y. Callanan 522 

Gouty Merchant and the Stranger, The //. Smith 867 

Grape-Vine Swing, The y. G Simms 4 1 S 

Grass, The Voice of the S. Roberts 427 

Grasshopper and Cricket, The y. Keats 449 

Grasshopper and Cricket, The L. Hunt 449 

Grasshopper, Soliloquy on a IV. H arte 44H 

Grasshopper, The A nacreon 449 

Graves of a Household, The F. Hemans 305 

Gray, Growing A. Dobson 7 1 5 

Gray Hail-, The One W.S. Landor 715 

Gray Head, The Young C. B. Southey 79S 

Great Britain O Goldsmith 633 

Greatness A.Pope 700 

Great St. Bernard, The S. Rogers 40S 

Grecian Urn, Ode on a J. Keats 750 

Greece (Childe Harold) Lord Byron 526 

Greece (The Giaour) Lord Byron 526 

Greek Poet, Song of the Lord Byron 525 

Green gi'ow the rashes, ! R.Burns 145 

Greenwood Cemetery C. Kennedy 305 

Greenwood Shrift, The R. rnd C. Southey 343 

Greenwood, The IV. L. Bowles 416 

Grief Shakespeare 290 

Grief for the Dead A nonymous 260 

Grongar Hill y. Dyer 406 

Groomsman to his Mistress, The. . T. W. Parsons 149 

Growing Gray A. Dobson 715 

Growth, The True B. yonson 665 

Gulf- Weed C. G. Fenner 5S3 

Guy Fawkes A nonymous 867 

H. 

HaUeck, Fitz-Greene y.G. iVhittier 852 

Hallowed Ground T. Campbell 712 

Hampton Beach y. G. IVhittier 562 

Hang up his harp : he 'U wake no more E. Cook 291 

Hans Breitmann's Party C. G. Leland 901 

Happiness A. Pope 673 

Happy Heart, The T. Decker 495 

Happy Life, A Sir H tVottan 674 



-s 



[fi- 



942 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



-^ 



Happy Man, The h'. C<m,prr 

Hare and many Friends, The y. Gay 

Hark, hark I the lark Shakespeare 

Harmosan R,C. Trench 

Harper, Alfred the y. sterling 



448 



Harper, To the Memory of Fletcher .. Zi. jW. Cr, 

gin of the T. Ma 

5 through Tara's Halls, The . . Afoare 



Humble-Bee, To the R. W. Emerson 

Hlimility Anonymous 

H^lility R.M.Milnes 700 

Hunter's Song, The B. IV. Procter 61S 

Hunting we will go, A H. Fieldi,^ 617 



Haro The Oriffin of the v^ if "'* *f I JJunt, The Stag y. Thomson 6.6 

xiarp, ine urigin 01 the T.Moore 762 , Hunt The Sta? c- i>r c ,. ^ 

Harp that once through Tara's Halls, The.. Moore l,S : Husband '—-■■ - -: •^"' '* ' ■^"" ''* 



^....,..u.i.uucBuuuugniarasjiaus,Xfle..;J/<.^r<. 518 ^ Husband and Wife's Grave The R M n 

■■■■■■-■■■■ Mjlton 7S6 I Hymn : Concord Monument ....R.IV. Emerson 533 

i ■J'""^'"'"" *« ; Hymn to Light, From the A. Cowley 367 

Hymn to Night G. W. Bethune 



Haunt of the Sorcerer, The 
Hawthomi 

Health, A e. C. Pinckmy 

Hearth and Home, A Song for the W. R. Duryea 

Heart of the Brace, The IV. E. Aytoun 457 

Heath Cock, The y. Baillie 441 

Heath this night must be my bed, The . . . .Scott 184 

H^-''^™ 7-Taylor 330 

Heaven tf. A. IV. Priest 331 

Heaving of the Lead, The Pearce 585 

Hebrew Wedding H. H. Milman .65 



678 



I arise from dreams of thee P. B. Shelley 1 40 

Ice-Palace, A Russian IV. Cowper 539 

Ichabod (Daniel Webster) y. G. Whittier 844 

IdiotBoy, The R. SoJilliey 255 

Idler, The H. E. H'amer 

Idle Singer, The IV. Morris 



363 



H:i!ir*^;;^^!::^!!ie^^:-^;^-.f'^'"^^ 677,idonotio;etheeii;rth;;tfair-:::;;::.rc 



Height of the Ridiculous, The O. IV. Holmes 

Heine's Grave m. Arnold 837 

HelveUyn sir ir. Scott 6.3 

Hence, all ye vain delights Beaumont and Fletcher 235 

Henderson, Elegy on Captain Matthew R Bums 830 

Hen, The Claudius 892 

Her Letter b. Harte 8S9 

Her Likeness d_ m, Craik 87 

Hermit, The y. BeattU 674 

Hen, Cras, Hodie R. IV. Emerson 746 

Heroism . 
Heroism, . . 



75 



IV. Cowper 484 

Hero to Leander a. Tennyson 186 

Herve Riel R. Browning 56S 

Hervey, Sporus, Lord ^. /.^^^ 8,8 

He that loves a rosy cheek T. Caretv 75 

Highland Girl of Inversnaid, To the Wordsworth 49 

Highland Mary /j . Surns 277 

High Seas, The Sir IV. Scolt 575 

High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire y. Ingelow 277 

Hohenlinden T.Campbell 469 

Holland O. Goldsmith 632 

Holly-Tree, The R. So,Ul^y 4,7 

Holy Spirit, The R. Herrick 3,9 

Heme Leonidas ,75 

Home o. Goldsmith 179 

Homes of England, The p. Hemans iSo 

Home, Sweet Home y. H. Payne 17s 

Home they brought her warrior dead. . Tennyson 286 

Home, Wounded S. Dobell 219 

Honor fy, tVordsworth 665 

Hood, To the Memory of Thomas . . B. Simmons 836 

Hope PV.S/ienstone 72 

Hopefully Waiting A. D. F. Randolph 357 

Horatms at the Bridge T. B. Macaulay 507 

Horse, The Blood b. IV. Procter 430 

Household Sovereign, The ....H. IV. Long/ello^v 20 

Housekeeper, The C. Lamb 451 

Hotspur's Description of a Fop Shakespeare 472 

How Long? H.Botiar 329 

How sleep the Brave n: Colli,u 505 

How'smyBoy? S. Dobell 570 

How they brought the Good News from Ghent 

to Alx n. Browning 470 

Hudibras' Sword and Dagger j-. Butler 472 

Hudibras. The Logic of .y. Butler 855 

Hudibras, The Philosophy of ,S". Butler 855 

Hudibras, The Religion of i'. Butler 346 

Hugo, To Victor A. Tennyson 840 

Humanity iv. Cowper 703 



If doughty deeds my lady please 

Graham 0/ Gartmore 86 
If it be true that any beauteous thing .M. A ngelo 69 

If thou wert by my side, my love R. Heher 171 

If thou wilt ease thine heart T. L. Beddoes 302 

If women could be fair E. Vere 714 

II Penseroso Milton 710 

I loved a lass, a fair one G. Wither 225 

Imagination Shakespeare 667 

Immortality, Intimations of ...W. Wordsworth 732 

Immortality, Soliloquy on y. Addison 734 

Impromptu: Gas-Making R. W. Raymond 892 

In a Year R. Browning 222 

Inchcape Rock, The R. Southey 576 

Incident of the French Camp R. Broioning 470 

Indian Death-Song A. H. Hunter 290 

Indian Names L. H. Sigourney 737 

Indians c. Sprague 735 

Indian Summer Anonymous 

Indian Summer A nonymons 

Infant's Death, On an A nonymous 

In Heaven T. Westwood 

In Memoriam, Selections from A. Tennyson 

Inner Vision, The W. Words-worth 

Inscription : Faversham Church A nonymous 

Insignificant Existence /. Watts 698 

Intaglio Head of Minerva, On an . . 7". .5. ^ Idrich 708 

Introspection G. Arnold 213 

Inuectiue against Loue, An Anonymous 146 

Invitation, An y. R. Lowell 53 

Invocation to my Lyre A. Cowley 691 

Invocation to Rain in Summer W. C. Bennett 713 

Invocation to the Angel Byron 95 

I prithee send me back my heart Sir y. Suckling S6 

Ireland D. F. MacCarthy 523 

I remember, I remember 7". Hood 41 

Irish Emigrant's Lament, The Lady Dufferin 2S8 

Ironsides, Old O. W.Holmes 575 

I saw Thee R. Palmer 358 

I saw two clouds at morning.. y. G C. Brainard 72 

Island, The . R. H. Dana 637 

Italy 3'. Rogers 62S 

It kindles all my soul Casimir 0/ Poland 333 

It never comes again R. H. Stoddard 52 

Ivy Green, The C. Dickens 42S 

I will that men pray everywhere../]^. Ware, yr. 335 



396 



667 



Jackdaw of Hheims R. H. Barham 

Jaffar L Hunt 



& 



[&-^ 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



943 



-a 



Jamie 's on the Stormy Sea D. M. Moir 574 

Jane ^V. Perry 132 

Jeanie Morrison IV. Motlierroell J95 

Jennie kissed me Z-. Hunt 50 

Jester's Sermon, The G. W. Thornbury 729 

Jewish Hymn in Jerusalem H. H . JMHmait 336 

Jim B. Harte goo 

Jock Johnstone, the Tinkler 7- i^^ogg 5';5 

John Anderson, my Jo R. Bums 173 

John Barleycorn A'. Bur^s S54 

John Brown of Osoawattomie ....£■. C. Stedman 537 

John Davidson Afwuytnous 859 

Jonsou, Ode to Ben R. Herrick 815 

Jonson, Prayer to Bon A'. Herrick 815 

Jonson's Commonplace Book, Ben Lord Falkla7td 815 

Jonson. To the Memory of Ben J. Cleveland S15 

Jorasse 5. Rogers 604 

Judge Not A. A. Procter 440 

June J. R. Lotucll 3S6 

June IV. C- Bryant Ixxvii 

June, The Child's Wish in C Gilman 3S7 

Justice R. U'. Emerson 746 

K. 

Katie H- Thurod 97 

Katie Lee and Willie Grey A ncnymous 99 

Katydid O. If. Holmes 450 

Keep my Memory Green A nouymous 72S 

Kilmeny y_ Hogg- 766 

Kindred Hearts /'. Hemans 58 

King is cold, The R. Browning 805 

King John and the Abbot of Canterbury .Anon. S53 

King of Denmark's Ride, The C E. Norton 2SS 

lOng of Thule, The Goethe 7S5 

Ivissing 's no Sin Anonymous 136 

Kiss me softly y. G. Saxe 134 

Kiss. The R. Herrick 135 

Kitten and Falling Leaves, The IV. H'ordsivorth 25 

Kitty of Coleraine A nonymous 1 37 

Knight's Tomb, The S. T. Coleridge 4S2 

L. 

Laborer, Tlie 7. Cutre 503 

Labor is to Pray, To F. S. Osgood 502 

Labor Song D. F. MacCarthy 502 

Lady Ann Bothwell's Lament A nonymons 231 

Lady before Marriage, To a T. Tickell 161 

Lady lost in the Wood, The Milton 755 

Lady's Looking-Glass, The J/ Prior 74 

Lady's Yes, The E. B. Browning 79 

Laird o' Cockpen, The Baroness Nairn 156 

Lake Leman Lord Byron 633 

Lake Leman, Storm at Night on Lord Byron 634 

Lake of the Dismal Swam.p, The T. Moore 7S2 

L' Allegro Milton 709 

Lamb, Esq.. To John C. Lamb 833 

Lambs at Play R. Bloomfield 431 

Lament, A P. B Shx-lley 243 

Lament for Bion Mosckus 282 

Lament of the Border Widow A nonymous 289 

Lancashire Doxolojy, A D. M. Craik 502 

Landlady's Daughter, Tho Ukland 77 

Land of Lands, The A. Tennyson 5 1 5 

Land o' the Leal, The Baroness Nairn 292 

Lass of Richmond Hill, The J. Upton 90 

La3t Leaf, The O. IV. Holmes 244 

Late I stayed. Too IV. R. Spencer 727 

Late Spring, The L. C. Moulton 243 

Late, Too D. M. Craik 280 

Late, Too F. H. Ludlow 716 

Latter Rain, The 7 Very 395 

Launch, The H. W. Long/ellovj 563 



1 Laus Deo y. G. IVkiitier 

I Law 7- BeaiUe 

I Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The — Browtiell 

I Lear's Prayer Shakespeare 

\ Left Behind E. A. Allen 

I Left on the Battle-Field S. T. Bolton 

\ Legacy, My H, Hunt 

' Leonidas, The Death of G- Croly 

Leper, The N.P. Willis 

Let Erin remember the day5 of old T. Moore 

Let not woman e'er complain R. Bums 

Letters R. IV. Emerson 

Life B. ir. Pro-tcr 

' Life G. Herbert 

' Life R.H. Wilde 

Life and Eternity A nonymous 

I Life, A Psalm of //. W. Longfelloiu 

I Life ! I know not what thou art .A. L. Barbauld 

! Life. The River of 7'. Campbell 

\ Light Bourdillon 

\ Lightning, Song of the G- W- Cutter 

i Like a Laverock in the Lift 7- htgelow 

Lincoln, Abraham 7- B. Lowell 

Lincoln, Abraham (From "Punch") J'om Taylor 

Lincoln, Robert of /f'. C. Bryant 

Linda to Hafed T. Moore 

Lines and Couplets A- Pope 

I Lines to the Memory of Annie //. B. Stowe 

Lines written by one in the Tower Ch. Tychborn 

Lines written in an Album W. Gaylord 

Lines written the Night before his Execution 

Sir W. Raleigh 

Lion's Ride, The F. Freiligmth 

Lions, The Glove and the L. Hunt 

Litany Sir R. Grant 

Little Beach Bird, The R. N. Tana 

Little Bell T. Westwood 

Little Billee // '. M. Tftackeray 

Little Cloud, The y. H. Bryant 

Little Feet A nonymous 

Little Goldenhair A nonyinous 

Little Match Girl, The II. C. A ndcrson 

Little Milliner, The R. Buchanan 

Little Puss A nonymous 

Little Puss S. A. Woolsey 

Living Waters C. Spencer 

Lochaber no more A. Ramsay 

Lochiel's Warning T. Campbell 

Locksiey Hall A. Tennyson 

London W. H 'ordsivorth 

London Churches R. M- Milnes 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 7- B. Lowell 

Lord of Butrago, The 7 G Lo:khart 

Lord Walter's Wife E. B. Browning 

Lord, when those glorious lights I see G. Witlwr 

Lost Chord, A A. A. Procter 

Lost Days D. G. Rossetti 

Lost Heir, The '/'. Hood 

Lost Sister, The L. H. Sigottmey 

Louis XV 7- Wilson 

Louse, To a R. Burtts 

Love A. C. Sivinburne 

Love Shakespeare 

Love T. K. Hervey 

Love against Love D. A. M 'assign 

Love and Time D. F. MacCarthy 

Love Dissembled Shakespeare 

Love. First Lord Byron 

Love is a Sickness .S". Daniel 

Love Knot, The N- Perry 

Love- Letters made of Flowers L. Himt 

Love lightens Labor A nonymous 



-^ 



[& 



94-i 



IXDKX OF TITLES. 



e- 



Loveliness of Love, The Ai 

Lovely Mary Donnelly W. Allingham 154 

Love me little, love me long Attouymous 75 

Lovo me not for comely gi-ace A itonymom 75 

Love Not C. E. XorioH 241 

Love of God Supreme, The y. It 'edcy 355 

Love of God, The li Rasaxs 350 

Love of God, The H. Scuddrr 357 

Lovers, The Ph Cary 919 

Love scoiiis Degrees P. //. Hay tie 69 

Love's Memory Shakesffure 195 

Love's Philosophy /■*. B. ShelUy 136 

Love's Silence Sir Ph. Sidney So 

Love's Young Dream T, Moore 324 

Love, The Gai'den of //'. Blake 713 

Low-backed Car, The S. Lover 154 

Liicusta, To R. Lovelace 194 

Lucasta.To: On Going to the 'Wara..^. Lox'elacr 1S5 

Lucknow, The Relief of R. Loioell 47 1 

Lucretia, Brutus over the Body of. ..J. H. Payne m 

Lucy IV, t^ords^vorth 49 

Lute Player, The B. Taylor 137 

Lycidas Milton 382 

Lyke-Wake Dirge, The A nonymons 298 

Lyi-e, Invocation to my A- Cowley 691 

M. 

Macanlay ;*'. .s". Landor 837 

MacGregor's Gathering Sir II'. Siolt 5 1 4 

Mahmoud L. Hunt 684 

MahoKtmy-Tree, The W. M. T/t.tckeray 7 1 4 

Maidenhood H. ir. Long/ello-.u 48 

Maiden's Choice, The H. Fielding 76 

Maiden with a MUking-Pail, A J. lng,'lo:u 1 16 

Maid of Athens, ere we part Lord Byron 184 

Maid's Lament, The /r. S. Landor 279 

Maid's Remonstrance, The T. Campbell 80 

Maire Bhan Aster 'P. Davis 164 

Maize, The »'. IV. Fosdick 420 

Majesty in Misery CAar/es I. 239 

Make Believe A. Cary 312 

Make way for Liberty \ J. J^fontgomery 528 

Making Port elnonymons 571 

Malone, "Widow Ch. Lever 905 

Man E. y'oiwg 694 

Maniac, The M. G. Leiois 356 

Man's Mortality ,?. Il'aslell 302 

Man, The Seven Ages of Shakespeare 733 

Man — Woman Lord Byron 695 

Man — Woman L. H. Sigonrtiey 694 

March "'. Morris 379 

Miu'co Bozzaris Fits-Greene Halleck 534 

Miu-iana A. Tennyson 233 

Mariner's Dream, The W. Dimond 567 

Miuiners of England, Ye T. CampMl 5S7 

Marion's Men, Song of /f . C Bryant 533 

"Marriage S. Rogers 165 

MiuseiUes Hymn, The R. de Lisle 538 

Martial Klegy Tyrttens 454 

M;u-tial Fi'iendsliip Shakespeare 60 

Miutyrs' Hymn, Th» M. L iither 33S 

Mary in Heaven, To R. Burns 279 

Miuy Leo y. Clare 91 

Mai"y Morison R. Bums 90 

Maiy's Dream y. Loive 380 

Master's Touch, The !/. Bonar 351 

Match, A A. C. Swinhime 89 

Maud MuUer y. G. II 'hittier 104 

May y. G. Percivat 3S5 

May L.Hunt 383 

May Morning Milton 384 

Mazeppa's Ride Lord Byron 609 



Mazzin J L. C. Kcdd>-n 848 

Mejuxs to attain Ha;)py Life, The . .Lord Surrey 177 

Meeting A'. Hrovn:rtg 1 10 

Meeting of the Ships, The P. Hemans 57 

Mooting, The y.G ll'hittier 340 

Melrose Abbey Sir II '. Scott 624 

Melrose Abbey, Inscription on A nonymous 308 

Memory green, Keep my A nonymous 728 

Men and Boys Ch. Th. Alimer 527 

" Mercenary " I^Iamage, A L>. .1/ Craik 78 

Mercy Shakespeare 676 

Merman, The Foi-saken M. A mold 775 

Merry Lark, The Ch. Kingsley 370 

Metrical Feet S.T.Coleridge 919 

Midges daiice aboon the bum, The A'. Tannahill 371 

Might of one fair face. The M. Angela 69 

Mighty foi-tress is our God, A M. Luther 335 

MilkingMaid, The C. G. Rosseiti 67 

Milkmaid, The y. Taylor iS6 

Milkmaid's Song, The J". DoMl 117 

Millais's "Huguenots" Anonymous Si 

Miller's Daughter, The .'I . Tennyson 131 

Milton, To (/■. Il'ordsu'orth 815 

Milton, Under the Portrait of John ..y.Pryden 815 

Minerva, On an Intaglio Head of.. T. B. Aldrich 708 

Ministry of Angels, "The E. Spenser 337 

Minstrel's Song T. Chalterton 2S2 

Minute-Gun, The R. S. Sharpe 5S6 

Miralwau 7- H-'ilson 824 

Misivdventures at Margate R. H. Barham 871 

Mist H. D. Tkoreau 736 

Mist, Ili tile 3". IVoolsey 760 

Mistletoe Bough, The T. H. Bayly 606 

Mistress, The C Patmore 123 

Mithorless Bairn, The II'. Thorn 39 

Moan, moan, ye dying gales H. Neele 235 

Mocking-Bird, The «■". Whitman 434 

Modern Belle, The Stark 8S2 

Modern House that Jack built. The Anonymous 913 

Molony's Account of the Ball, Mr Thacieray 904 

Moncontour T. B. Macanlay s if> 

Monterey C /•". Hoffman 462 

Montrose, The Execution of II'. E. Aytoun 791 

Moods Sir y. Suckiiug 66 

Moonlight in Summer R. Bloomfield 394 

Moon, 'ro the Harvest H. K. II hite 495 

Moore, Burhil of Sir John C. IVolfe 832 

Moore, To Thomas Lord Byron 832 

Moral Cosmetics H. Smith 491 

Morning 7 Ctmuinglmm 368 

Morning Glory, The M. II'. Lo:iell 370 

Morning Meditations P. Hood 868 

Mosquito, Tea "'■ C. Bryant' 451 

Moss Rose, The F. fV Knimmacher 423 

Mother and Child JC C Simms 696 

Mother and Poet E. B. Browning 273 

Mother's Heart, The C. E. A'orlon 33 

Mother's Hope, Tlie L. Blanchard 33 

Mother's Pictuie, My )/ '. Cm-per 739 

Mother's Sacrifice, The J>'. Smith 403 

Mother's Stratcigem, The Leonidas 24 

Moth's kiss, first, The A'. Browning 1 37 

, Mountain Daisy, To a R. Burns 425 

Mourn, Blessed aio they that IV. C. Bryant 7 18 

Mourners came at break of day, The 5". F. .1 dams a6i 

i Mourner, The G. Crnl>/v 192 

Mouse, Tea R; Bums 431 

Mowers, The MB. Ben/on 4q5 

Muff, On an Old F. Locker 876 

1 Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition, Address to the 

' //. Smith 661 

Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition : Ansv.-tr .-Inon 662 



fl- 



IXDE.X Of TITLES. 



94C 



-a 



Murat Lord Byron 

Miu-der, The Sluikespcart 

Muaic Sliakespeare 

Musical Duel, The J. Ford 

Music : Alexander's Feast J. Drydcn 

Musical Instrument, A E. B. Brownius 

Music, Au Ode to : The Passions ....ly. Collins 

Music's Duel R. Crashaw 

My Autumn Walk IV. C. Bryant 

My Bird E. C. Judsoii 

My Brigantino y. F. Cooper 

My Child y. I'ierpont 

My Cottage y. IViUon 

My Country A. Tennyson 

My Country y. Montgomery 

My deal" and only love y. Gra/utm 

My eyes I how I love you y. G. Saxe 

My God, I love thee St. F. Xavier 

My heid is like to rend, Willie . . W. Motherwell 

My Infant Son, To T. Hood 

My Legacy //. Hunt 

My Little Saint y. Xorris 

My love in her attire A nonymous 

My love is always neiir F. Locker 

My Love (Patchwork Verses) Anonymous 

My minie to nie a kingdom is Sir E. Dyer 

My Mother's Picture ly. Co-ivper 

My Old Kentucky Home i". C. Foster 

My Playmate y. G. Whit tier 

Myself, Of A. Cowley 

My Ship E. A. Allen 

My Sweet Sweeting A >tonymoits 

My times are in thy hand A. L. U-'aring 

My true-love hath my heart Sir Pk. Sidney 

My Wife and Child T.y. yackson 

My wife 's a winsome woo thing R. Burns 



N. 



•7. 



Fields 



Nantucket Skipper, The . . . 

Naples S. Rogers 

Napoleon Lord Byron 

Napoleon and the British Sailor T. Camtbelt 

Napoleon II E. C. Embury 

Napoleon, Odo to Lord Byron 

Narcissa E. Young 

Naseby T. B. Macaulay 

National Anthems R. H. Ne-well 

National Ode, The ( ' ' Centennial, " 1876) B. Taylor 

Nature y. Very 

Nature's Chain A. Pope 

Nature, God everywhere in C. IVileox 

Nautilus, The Chambered O. IF. Holmes 

Nearer Home Ph. Cary 

Nearer, my God, to thO-7 S. F. Adams 

Negro Boatmen, Song of the y. G. IVhittier 

Neighbor Nelly R. B. Brojtgh 

Nevermore, The D. G. Rossetti 

New Church Organ, The IV. M. Carletou 

New Enghund in Winter y. G. IVhittier 

New Jerusalem, Tho D. Dickson 

Newport Beach H. Th. Tuckerman 

New Year's Eve A. Tennyson 

New York Bay, Weehawken and the ... . Halleck 

Niagara, The Fall of y. G. C. Brainard 

Nicholas, The Dead Czar D. Af. Craik 

Night y. B. White 

Night y. Montf^omery 

Night Lord Bvron 

Night P. B. Shelley 

Ni j'nt before the Wedding, The A. Smith 

Nightfall: A Picture A. B. Street 

N!"c'it, '^y^in to G. IV. Bethunc 



Night, Hymn to the H. IV. Longfellow 

Nightingale and Glow-worm, The \V. Cowper 

Nightingale Bereaved , The y. Thomson 

Nightingale, Ode to a y. Keats 

Nightingale, The G. I 'icente 

Nightuigale, The 1/ T. Visscher 

Nightingale, The Mother E M. de VWegas 

Nightingale, To the R Barnfield 

Night Piece, The K. Merrick 

Night Sea, The H. P. Spofford 

Night, To P. B. Shelley 

No I T. Hood 

No Baby in the House C. G. Delliver 

Nobleiaau and tho Pensioner, The i*/effel 

Nobly Born, Tho E. S. H. 

Nocturnal Sketch T. Hood 

Noontide y. Leydcn 

Norham Castle Sir IV. Scott 

Northern Fiu-mer A. Tennyson 

Northern Lights, The B. F. Taylor 

Northman R. IV. Emerson 

Nerval y. Home 

Nose and the Eyes, Tho IV. Co^vper 

Noso, To my i. H. Forrester 

Nothing but loaves L. E. Akcrman 

Nothing to wear IV. A . Butler 

Not on the Battle-Field y. Pierpont 

Not ours tho vow.s B. Barton 

Not Ripe for Pulitical Power — Sir y. Bowring 

Now and Afterwards D. M. Craik 

Now I lay me down to sleep A nonymous 

Now or Never O. IV. Holmes 

Nuptials of Adam and Eve Milton 

Nuremberg //. IV. Longfellow 

Nursery Rhymes Anonymous 

Nursery Song Anonymous 

Nurse's Watch C. T. Brooks 

Nymph of tho Severn, The Milton 

Nymph's Reply, Tho Sir IV. R.iUigh 

O. 

Oaths IV. Cowper 

O, breathe not his name ! /'. Moore 

Ocean R. Poltok 

Ocean, Address to the B. IV. Procter 

Ocean, The Ch. Tennyson 

Ocean, Tho y. Montgomery 

Odo for a Social Meeting O. IV. Holmes 

Ode on a Grecian Urn y. Keats 

Odo, The National (1876) B. Taylor 

Ode to a Nightingale y. Keats 

Odo to Ben Jonson R. Herrick 

Ode to Napoleon Lord Kyron 

Odo to Washington // '. C Bryant 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw R. Bums 

Of Myself A. Cowley 

Og, — Shadwell the Dramatist 7. Dryden 

Ob, faii'ost of the i-ural maids IV. C. Bryant 

O, lay thy hand in mine, dear I G. Massey 

Old Ji- Hoyt 

Old Admiral, The E. C. Stedman 

Old Ago of Temperance Shakespeare 

Old Arm-Chair, The E. Cook 

Old Bui-ying-Ground, The y. T. Trowbridge 

Old Continentals, The G. H. McMaster 

Old Familiar Faces, The C. Lamb 

Old Gaelic Lullaby A nonymous 

Old, Give me the R./f. Messenger 

Old Grimes A. T. Green 

Old Ironsides O. IV. Holmes 

OldMaid, The A.B. IVelby 

Old Oaken Bucket, The i". IVoodw.irth 



[&^ 



1^ 



^ 



I4G 



IKDEX OF TITLES. 



-a 



B-- 



Old Schoolhouse, The A notiymoiis 

Old Sea- Port, An Anonymous 

Old Sergeant, The B. F. IVillson 

Old Year, The Death of the A. Tennyson 

O'Lincoln Family \V. Ftagg 

Olivia SImkespeare 

O mistress mine I Shakfs/>fare 

Once M. L . RilUr 

One Gray Hair, The »^. S. Lmidor 

One-Hoss Shay, The O. IV. llobnes 

On Love Sir R. Aylan 

Only a Woman D.M. Craik 

Only a Year H. B. Stowe 

Only Seven H. S. Leigh 

Only the clothes she wore N. G. Sluplurd 

Only waiting A. A. Procter 

Opal, Origin of the A nonymous 

Opportunity Sluikespeare 

Orator Puff T. Moore 

Order for a Picture, An A. Cary 

Org;ui, The New Church \V. M. Carleton 

Orieut, The Lord Byron 

Orphan Boy's Tale, The A. Opie 

Orphans, The AnoiiyDious 

0, saw ye honnie Lesley ? R, Bums 

O, snatched aw.ay in beauty's bloom . Lord Byron 
O swallow, swallow, flying South ..A. 7'cnnyson 

Othello's Defense Shakespeare 

O, the pleasant days of old ! F. Braiun 

Other World, The H. B. Stowe 

O, the sight entrancing T. Moore 

Our Boat to the Waves ly. E. C/ianning 

Our Wee White Rose G. Massey 

Outgrown y. C. R. Dorr 

Outward Bound Lord Byron 

Over the Kiver N. IV. t'ric^t 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Knox 

O winter, wilt thou never go D. Gray 

Owl, The B. iV. Procter 

Ozymandias of Egypt P. B She/ley 

P. 

Pack clouds away '/'. Ifeywood 

Psestum, The Grecian Temples at Raymond 

Palm, The Arab to the B. Taylor 

Palm-Tree, The J. G. Xi^hitiicr 

Pamfili Doria, A Day in the H. B. Stowe 

Pan in Love IK U^. Story 

Paper B. Frank/in 

Paradise Lost, Selections from Mi/ton 

Parrhasius jV. P. U'iliis 

Parting Lovers E. B. Browning 

Parting Lovers, The IV. R. Alger 

Parting of Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare 

Passage F. Mahony 

Passage, The L. Uhland 

Passing Away J. Pierpont 

Passing Bell, The J. Pierpont 

Passioriate Pilgrim's Song, The G. Massey 

Passions, The IV. Col/ins 

Pastoral, A a. J. Mundy 

Patchwork Verses A ?to?tytnous 

Paul Revere's Ride M. IV. Longfellow 

Pauper's Death-Bed, The Mrs. Soulhry 

Pauper's Drive, The T. Noel 

Peace Ph. Cary 

Peace, uo Peace S/tnkespcare 

Peace, Ode to tV. Tennent 

Peasant, The G. Cra'.be 

Peda-;ogue, The Jolly Old G. A mold 

Peddler's Pack, The Shakespeare 

Peg of Limavaddy M' M. Thackeray 



Pelican, The J. Montgomery 444 

Pembroke, Epitiiph on the Countess of B. Jonson S16 

Penseroso, II Milton 710 

Perfection Shakespeare 676 

Pericles and Aspasia G. Croly 506 

Per Pacem ad Lucem A. A. Procter 378 

Perseverance L. da Vinci 699 

Perseverance R. S. S. Amlros 441 

Petition to Time, A B. IV. Procter 182 

Pet Name, The E- B. Bro:vning 35 

Petrified Fern, The M. L. B. Branch 754 

Philip, my King D. M- Craik 17 

Phillida and Corydon .V. Breton 144 

PhUlis ismyonly joy Sir Ch. Sedley 65 

PhilUs the Fail- N. Breton 69 

Philomela MA mold 443 

Philosopher and his Daughter, The Ch. S. Brooks S94 

Philosopher's Scales, The y. Taylor 78s 

Philosopher Toad, The R. S. Nichols 789 

Physics IV. IVhewell 895 

Picket-Guard, The .. 11. L. Beers 474 

Picture, On a A.C. C. Botta 201 

Pictures of Memoiy A. Cary 38 

Pied Piper of Hamelin, Tlie R. Browning 77S 

Pilgrimage, The Sir IV. Raleigh 324 

Pilgrims and the Peas, The Dr. IVotcott 863 

PUlar of the Cloud, The y.H. Newman 326 

Plaidio,The Ch. SiMey 136 

Plain Language from Truthful James.. 5. Pfarte 8SS 

Platonic IV. B. Terrett 61 

Plea for tho Anijnals y. Thomson 704 

Pleasure-Boat, The R. H. Dana 619 

Pliocene Skull, To the B. Harie 892 

Plowman, Tho O. IV. Holmes 496 

Plow, The Useful A nonymous 406 

Poet R. IV. Emerson 746 

Poet of To-day, The S.y. L ippiucott 73S 

Poet's Bridal-Day Song, The — A. Cunningham 169 

Poet's Reward, The y. C. II hittier 667 

Poland T. Campbell 527 

Poor Fisher Folk, The ( '. Hugo 577 

Portrait, A E. B. drowning 45 

Posie, The R. Bums 91 

Possession O. .Meredith 15S 

Possession B. Taylor 168 

Potato, The A nonymous 421 

Praise G. Pferheri 326 

Praxiteles Anonymous 816 

Prayer Mary, Queen 0/ Hungary 328 

Prayer for Life, A ... G. S. Burleigh 342 

Pre-existence P. H . Hayne 734 

Pretty Girl of Loch Dan, The i^. Ferguson 48 

Primroses, To . . -R. Herrick 4^3 

Primrose, The R. Herrick 424 

Primrose, The Early //. A". White 424 

Prince Adeb G. H. Boker 607 

Private of the Buffs, The Sir F. H. Doyle 473 

Problem, The R. W. Emerson 673 

Procrastination E.Young 723 

Profusion A.Pope 702 

Psalm of Life. A H. IV . Longfellow 686 

Pumpkin, The y. G. Whittier 421 

Puritan Lovers, The Marian Douglas 84 

Pygmalion and the Image IV. Morris 113 

Q. 

Quack Medicines G. Crabbe 707 

Quakerdom C.G. f /alpine 106 

Quarrel of Friends, The J^. T. Coleridge 59 

Quarterdeck, The Earl of G. Macdonald ' 603 

Quatrains and Fragments R. IV. Emerson 746 

Queen Mab Shakespe, 



-^ 



a- 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



947 



U 



Quiet from God A nottytuous 

Qniet Life, The A. t'opt 

R. 

RaUroad Rliyme J. G. Saxe 

Eainbow, The /K ll'ordsworth 

Rain in Summer H. ir. Longfctimv 

Rain in Summer, Invocatiou to W. C, Bennett 

Rain on the Roof C Kinney 

Rain, The L;itter J. Very 

Ramon B. Harte 

Raven, The E. A. Pm 

Razor-Seller, The Dr. Wolcott 

Reaper and the Flowers, The ..H.IV.L ongfelloiw 

Reapers Dream, The T. B. Rettd 

Reason and Instinct A. Pope 

Recipe for Salad ,5". Smith 

Red Jacket, On a Portrait of Fits-Greene HnlUck 

Reformer, The J. G. tVhittier 

Reichst;idt(Napoleon II.) E. C. Evtimry 

Relic, A y. K.S. 

Republic, Battle-Hjrmn of the J. IK Howe 

Reputation Skakapeare 

Resi;;uation //. IV. Long/ello-M 

Rest M. W. HowUind 

Rest, True J. S. Du,ig/ii 

Retirement T. li'arton 

Ketiiemeut, The C/t. Cotton 

Retort, The G. P. .Morris 

Ketributrou N. IK L onsfelto-M 

Retrospection A. Tennyson 

Revedu Midi R. T. Cooke 

Revere's Ride, Paul H. IV. Longf^Uovj 

Revival G. Herbert 

Rhine, Ou the IV. L. BmiUs 

Rhine, The Lord Byron 

Rhodora, The R. ;C. Emerson 

Richmond Churchyard, Yorkshire . . //. Knowtes 

Rienzi to the Romans M. R. Mit/ord 

Right must win. The F. ir. F.tber 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner ..S. T. Coleridge 

Rise of Species, The «-■. J, Co:irtli'ope 

Ritter Hugo C. G Leland 

Rivalry ui Love ;;-. U'aUk 

River Song F. B. Santoni 

Roixsted Sucking Pig Punch 

Robert of Lincoln II'. C Bryant 

Robin Adair Lady Ke/^pel 

Robin Goodfellow B. Jonson 

Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale Anonymous 

Robinson he, John P J R. Lo-.vell 

Robin, The J. G. Whittier 

Robin, The English H. Weir 

Rocked in the Ci"adle of the Deep E. IVillard 

Rock me to sleep E. A. Allen 

Rock of Ages A nonymous 

Roman Campagua, A View across £■- B Bro^vning 
Romance of the Swan's Nest. The E. B. Brozuning 
Roman Father's Sacrifice, The ...T. B. Macaulay 

Rome ,y. Rogers 

Kory O'More i'. Lover 

Rosalie \V Allston 

Rositlind's Complaint T. Lodge 

Rosaline . ^- T. Lodge 

Rose and the Gauntlet, The ?'. Wilson 

Rose-Bush, The IV. W. Cahhoell 

Rose of the World, The C. Patmore 

Rose, The B. Taylor 

Rose, The Sir » '. Scott 

Rose, The tV. Cowfer 

Rose, The Moss IK. F. Krummachcr 

Rough Rhyme ou a Rough Matter, A . . Kingsley 



Rousseau and Cowper C. Wilcox 825 

Rousseau's Isle, On J. Miller 625 

Rover, Song of the Lord Byron 5^4 

Royal George, On the Loss of the — W. Cozoper 564 

Royal Guest, The J. IK Ho^ae 59 

Rudolph, the Headsman O. IK. Holmes SS 1 

Rule Britaunia ! J.Thomson 515 

Ruling Pitssiou, The A. Pope 70s 

Russian Ice-Palace, A W. Cozuper 639 

Rustic Lad's Laauent in the Town, The D M. Moir 198 

Ruth R. IK Raymond 23 

Ruth /■ Hood 49 

G. 

Sabbath Morning, The J. Leyden 370 

Sabbath of the Soul, The A. L. Barbautd 353 

Sabbath, The... J. Grahame 340 

Sack of Baltimore, The T. Davis 792 

Said I not so 7 G. Herbert 330 

Sailor's Consolation, The T. Hood 590 

Sally in our Alley H. Carey 154 

Samela R. Greene 64 

Samson Agonist«s Milton 241 

Sandpiper, The C. Thaxler 446 

Sands o' Dee, The Ck. Kingsley 577 

Satan's Address to the Sun Mdton S05 

Satan, The Caliph and J F. Clarke 7S9 

Saturday Afternoon \'. P. li 'illis 52 

Saying not Meaning IK. B. II 'ake S62 

Scandal A.Pope 702 

Scholar and his Dog, A 7. Marston 855 

Schoolmistress, The IK. Slienstone 656 

Scotland Sir IK. Scott 514 

Sea, At y. T. Trowbridge 563 

Sea-Boy's Farewell, The A nonymous 573 

Sea-Fight, The /( nonymous 565 

Sea-Grot, The Lord Byron 63S 

Sea Life J. Montgomery 580 

Sea-Murmurs E. Cook 563 

Sea-Port, An Old Anonymous 575 

Search after God T Heyioood 353 

Seaside Well, The Anonymous 701 

Seasons, Hymn from the y. Thomson 377 

Seasons, The Four A nonymous 378 

Seas. The High Sir IK. Scott 575 

Sea, The B. Barton 559 

Sea, The B. W Procter 581 

Sea, The R. IK. Emerson 562 

Sea, The (Childe Harold) Lord Byron 559 

Sea, The Fire by the A. Cary 579 

Sea, TheNight H.P. Spofford 57s 

Sea, To T. L Bcddoes 5^9 

Sea. Twilight at A. B. Welby 474 

Sea-Weed H. IK. Longfellow 5S2 

Secret of Death, The E.Arnold 295 

See. O, see: Earl 0/ Bristol 366 

Selkirk, Alexander, Verses by /('. Co'.vper 675 

Sempronius's Speech for War y. Addison 511 

Seneca Lake, To y. G. Percifal 410 

September G A mold 394 

Settler, The A B Street 649 

Seven Ages of Man Shakespeare 723 

Seven Times Four y. Ingelo^v 33 

Seven Times One y. Ingelow 33 

Seven Times Sis y Ingelow 165 

Seven Times Three 7. In^elo^v 121 

Seven Times Two y higelo^o 46 

Sevigne, To Madame De Montreuil 825 

"Sextant, "To the A. M IViUson 908 

Shaded Water, The IK. G. Simms 410 

PJiadwell the Dramatist, O,: -. Dryden 818 

t-h,all Itellyou whomllov.^-; ir lir.ione 74 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



Sfaamus O'Brien 

Shan Van Voclit 



Shepherds Life, A '.'.'.'.'.'.' .'.■.■.'.■.■.'.■.■.■ ' ■^""">'"""" 57S Song, Indian Death' 



for St. Cecilia's Day, A 7 



S/inkrspeui 
Wither 



Dryden 694 

,, - 01 --""Jail iyeiitn A f-f U .i 

77 Song, Kdrner's Sword- r /• ^ / "'° 

47 Song, Labor ,: ' Jt ' .i ^.''""''^ 4*3 



Shepherd's Resolution, The 

Shepherd to his Love The r nt ", ■•/ i "-"s, i^auor n s- ,|/^,^ ,, 

Sheridan's Ride ... ^ ^f '^'"S '"t I ^ong, Mignon's ^^ ^- '""^CV^^Mj- 



ShfJft S PJ^antom of deUght ":.W. 'iy,rd:Zr'l'k 

Ships at Sea e n ^ a 

ShipuTeck, The t ^ ,-^' 

SicVita... "^-f;";-''" 

Sidney, Sir Philip . .'.•.■.■.■.'.'. 'm rI'J 

Siege of Be' — ^- ^''^'^' 

Siesta, The 



r Clan- Alpine q- ,,, ^ 

67 I Song Of Donald the Black, Gathering i^./r %Z 'Z 



IV. C. Bryant 



of Belgrade , . . .^ 



_'^ '^'^ C. jSo-fl^/ 

SiinL of Rain '.■.'.■.■.■.'. n'J '^"'"'^"""'' 



j?<ya'f« Si6 Song of the Camp . 
no„y„,m,s 916 Song of the Cavalry 



■^'"' G. W.Cutler 

■ B. Tnylo, 



JOr. E. 7< 
. ly. Cottgreve 
H. M. Parker 65 

Marm.-iduke r"r"i \'''-Morru 665 | Song of the Sea 

<-'■<- olmaii, the 3 ounre 



Silly Fair 
Sinims, M 
Singer, The Idle 



Song of the Rover 



Sit down, sad soul 
Skater-BeU( 



. K'. Procter 



S66 Song of the Shejjherd's Wife . 



Skeleton, Toa . . ! ! ','. T. ■.'. '^J'"'^' 

Skulls, On some 

Skull, The , , 

Skull, To the puocene::;.'.";:;:::;;;:^'"/^:: 

Skylark, The 



B. Harte So 



7- G. Whittier 

Lord Byron 5 84 

R- H^. Raymond 760 

R- Greene 663 

T.Hood 254 

D.M.Moir 415 

Song, RiVe;":.:".:*""' f r-^r " ^"^ 

". .0. CianOorn 755 

:, Sleigh ,; • ^"''"'"- '" 



Song of the Shirt 

Song of the South 

nonymous 736 [ Song of Wood Nymphs. . .V. s'^lv 

nonymous 64 ) I Song, River .£>•"'. 

7S6 Song, Siren' 



IV.Peliee 62 



■--J nogs 436 Songsters, Chorus of EngUsh IV'^r, 

P.B. ShelUy 437 [ Songsters. The . .V ^ ^ ^ C-^-tt'oPe 4,; 



■ J,''^ ?."".''*''V- ■'■'■■'■'■'■'■B^iy"p"octer 



Skylark,' To the'. ' '. '. '„ ' '„ ^""f/ "'^'^ , ^""S^*' 

Skylark, To the '. "li- ii,- ' f '"'i ""^ " 

Slavery **^- ^^ '"■dsworth 438 . .,, __ „„„, „ 

Sleep :.;;: ---IV^Cowper 556! Song, The Market- Wife's'.. 9/,*,/ . 

Sleep E.B.Bro^vnmg 677 1 Sonnet (in prison) ... . ' ' ".^^■■;-^^ ""'!'" ^<"> 

Sleep -^E-iomig 677 Sonnets "- ■ i^- Unrr:,on 554 

Sleep .'.■.■;;;; -J ■ ^'-'I'^'^i 677 sonnets from the Port'uguese 

Sleep ^Shakespeare 677 Sonnet to a Clam ... . 

Sleeping Beauty, The.' j /' ^"^'"'^ ^^'^ Sonnets to George Sand 

Sleeping Beautv den.nrt., Tiil .' '^''''y^"" 124 | Sorrows of Werther .- 



■7- R. Lowell ,66 



oieeping Beauty departs The j -/■ --t 1 ""^luwa 01 wertner ly M Ti.^^i. " 

Sleeping Beauty, The Revival of 'the^' r"""""' "" S°>^'b Cry, The ' "^ ' ^- ^^ 'tZZ 

Sleeping, To lanthe ^"™ « '^e^ /„«j.^<,„ .24 ] Soul's Defiance. The ... . ", A^f""^ 



..y. C Saxe S90 
.5. Brownijtg 837 

875 



eeping, To lanthe p '„ 



i!::pi^ D^^l^r*": ■ ■ ■ • -^--^^^t :^; i ?-^'^.^— <^' ^^^e 



Defiance, The ^ 



Sleeple 
Sleep, The 



^i?.G.^„„«/ 708 ' Spac'ious flrma'm'e'nt 



Stoddard 358 
■ J. Sylvester 721 
■" A'^. Dana 3-12 



3s u^ ,,^ , -"". /:jo opacious nrmament on hiffh TIip v ^ ^v 

Cave of . . . ; ; ; "^^ ^'''"■f -'"•"■' 680 I Spice-Tl-ee, The !^ [ ™« ' ' ' ' J ^Jd.son 



Ijy Hollow 

Sly Thoughts 

1 School, The 
Small Beginnings 



IV -f^f^"""- 753 I Spider, Bruce and the 

r p ;"""^ "' I Spinning-Wheel Song, The 

■ ' "ivptT" '^= Spinning-Wheel, ThI 

' ■ r, fr ,""' '^ i Spinster's Stint, A 

Smile and never hedd me "-Miciay 697 | Spirit-Land, The 

Smiling in his Sleep. '"""' 

Smoke 

Smollett 

Knails, Remonstrance with the 



"u'Vc^\:,7'"" 't" Splendid ShiUiiig, The.... v 

■H. IV. i t.llman 22 Snor„» _ T„.^ w' „!. ^• 



7- Sterli, 
. . . B. Barton 
7- P. Waller 
. A nonymous 

■i. Cary 

7 yery 



■ H. D. Thore 



Sporus, — Lord Hervey 



• Philllfs 856 



736 s;;L;^'..r:r::^:;:::: -/■''"''' 



S18 



7 Clmrchill S18 I Sprint Anacreon 384 

su;;Sn;:::r::";"™ """ ^"^ """r'T" ^=° 1 4ring'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.';.v;.v ■ • ■ ^,;^- j^r^" ", 

.now: I Winter Sketch.'.'.'.-;. ^ ^"'' ^"^ Spring ■:r'^'::"'^tZt t\ 

■* Hoyt 402 I Spring ''.'"" 3S3 

403 Spring, Return of .....'..."..'.'.'.'.'/)'. ' Konsatd ^8^ 



."inow-Flak 
Snow-Shower, The 
.Snow-storm, A 



■ff. ty. Long/elh. 

■ C. Bryant 402 



Sjiring 



■Snow-storm! The'.'.'.'. ^ ?.. ^"'""<"' 4°3 ; Spring] 

Snug Little Island, The. ■ J=-'nr 



Song of IT \- , „ 

^, * ^^ E. \ oul 183 

the sweet Spring •/■ f,^ , '' 

4- [ Spring, The Lawyer's Invocation to. '.'.'.Sro^oZll s!fi 

516 Stabat Mater nnl„,.„=o ■tlro.vneU S96 



:--oitly woo away her breath B 'ir p T" ^'^ ' ®*''^'" ^''*'"' dolorosa '.]',' 7 ' . 

Soldier, rest I tbv ^,,.r„l ..' ' ' ' " '^^ '' •..'^'■■'^''■'- =9= i Stag-Hunt, The . . l^ l?,""^' 



Soldier, rest! thy warfMe''o''er ' ""'<;'■ ',^1"^'' "^^ i Stag-Hunt, The. 

■soldier's Dream, The ■^.''- "' ' ^""' 4S. Stag-Hunt, The 

-n.The ■■''•^'""'^*^'' 480, Stammering Wife, The . 

Grassh;;pper;::.'.'.'.'^:^:2^:^ !?df^!!^^J^«°^is'^' 



Soldier's Return, The .'.'.'. '. )f^«f "'"^^f^ •''° 

i-y on a Grasshopper " ' ' lyu f '' l I ;^"""='a'Js, ine society upon the B ^art, 

SoUloquy on Death.... V/ ^i ' **^ ! Star of Bethlehem, The.. . ■^■•^art, 



Soliloquy ( 



% Thojnsoft 

Sir jy. Scott 

y. G. Sc 



916 



Somebody .... ■S-;4«*«A'«'-^ 295 i Star-Spangled Banner, The p Pt" ^t 

•'ioug :.•;;;;;.■; - ■^'■-'■vnous ,22 St. Augustine, A Passage in the'Life'of V B,rtZ lit 

Song, A Canadian Boat... '*'• ^«J''W 79 Stewart (The Old Admiral) £ c\tfdmZ 



Song,Enid's i-y-Raymond 466 Storm at Night on Lake Leman 

Song, Pa r'.' ' fnnyson 696 i Storm, The 

'^ R"ndolfh 764 I Storm, The .... 



. . Lord Byron 
■G. A. .■Ste.vns 
<.Jl/. Davidson 



S47 
638 
634 



r 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



949 



■a 



stormy Petrel, Lines to the A nmymous 447 i Three Fishers, The Ch. Kingsley 576 

Stormy Petrel, The B IV. Procter 447 Three Lows L. H. Hooper 77 

St. Paul, From F. IV H. Myers 359 Three Sons, The y. Moultrie 30 

Stream, The Biich A. B. Averill 63, ) Three Ships, The y. C. K. Dorr 759 



3S8 



Stiirge. In Remembrance of Joseph y.G. IVhitt. 

Sub Silentio M. L. Rttter 

Sufi saint. To heaven approached a D. Kunti 

Summer Day, The Story of a A. Hume 

Summer Days Anonymous 

Summer Evening, A /. Watts 

Summer Evening's Meditation, A A.L. Barbauld 393 

Summer, Indian A nonymous 396 

Summer, Invocation to Rain in ..IV, C. Bennett 713 

Summer Longings £>. F. MacCarthy 380 

Summer Moods y. Clare 390 

Summer, Moonlight in R. Bloomficld 394 

Summer Morning y. Thomson 3S7 

Summer Noon, A IV.Howitt 370 

Summer, Rain in H. IV. Longfelloiu 390 

Summer Shower, After a ..A. Norton 392 

Summer Storm y. R. Lowell 391 

Summer Time, In IV. IV. Caldwell 387 

Summer Winds, Song of the G. Darley 3S8 

Sun-Flower, The W. Blake 426 

Sunken City, The W. Mueller 752 

Sunset Lord Byron 375 

Sunset p. B. Shelley 372 

Sunset City, The H. S. Cornwell 754 

Swallow, Departure of the IV. Umuilt 442 

Swallow, The C. Smith 442 

Sweet, be not proud R. Herrick 69 

Sweet disorder tn the dress, A R. Herrick 6g8 

Sweetly breathing, vernal air T. Care'M 383 

Sweet Meeting of Desires C. Patmore 1 19 

Sweet stream that winds VV. Cowper 50 

Swell's Soliloquy Anonymous goS 

Swimming Lord Byron 621 

Switzerland y. S. Knowles 529 

Sword-Song, Komer's C. T. Brooks 468 

Sympathy SirT. N. Tal/ourd 6SS 

Syria T. Moore 413 



Tacking Ship off Shore W. F. Mitchell 571 

Take, O, take those lips away Slutkespea re 225 

Tale of Drury Lane, A H. Smith 910 

Tam O'Shanter R. Bums 776 

Tear, A J'. Rogers 762 

TeU me, my heart, if this be love Lord Lytielion 70 

Tell me, ye winged winds Ck. Mackay 352 

Telltale, The A nonymous 440 

Temperance, Old Age of Shakespeare 494 

Tempest, The y. T. Fields 5S5 

Temple to Friendship, A T. Moore 61 

Terrace at Berne, The MA mold 202 

Terrestrial Globe, To the ir. S. Gilbert 914 

Thanatopsis IV. C. Bryant 30S 

Thauksgiving for his House, A R. Herrick 323 

The day returns, my bosom burns R. Bums 167 

The forward violet thus did I chide Shakespeare 64 

The kiss, dear maid Lord Byron 184 

The merry summer months W. Motherwell 385 

There is a garden in her face R. A llison 64 

There 's nae luck about the house . . U'. J. Mickle 201 

There was silence in heaven Anoriymous 352 

The s\in is warm, the sky is clear ..P.B. Shelley 237 

They are dear fish to me Anonymous 272 

Those evening bells T. Moore 237 

ThoseEyes B. yonson 132 

Thought C. P. Cranch 666 

4 Thou hast sworn by thy God .. ..A . Cunningham 
A Thread and Song y. IV. Palmer 



S65 
663 

5S7 



83s j Threnody a nonymous 294 

38 Thrush, The IV. Drummond 43S 

Thy braes were bonny y. Logau 2S0 

Tiger, The IV. Blake 430 

Time £. Young 724 

Time, What is W. Marsden 729 

Tintem Abbey W. Wordsworth 361 

Toad's Journal, The y. Taylor 788 

Toad, The Philosopher R.S. Nichols 789 

Tobacco, A Farewell to Ch. Lamb 491 

To be no more Milton 713 

Toby Tosspot G. Colman 

Toilet The A.Pope 

Tom Bowling ch. Dibdin 

Tommy's Dead S. D obeli 

To-morrow ^. yohnson ^■■4 

Tonis ad resto mare y, Swi/l 896 

Too Late /> ,,^ c»-«,-^- 2S0 

Too Late p. H. Ludlo-j, 716 

Too late I stayed ;; -. r, spencer 727 

Topside Gahih (Excelsior) Anonymous 918 

'^oSeal T. L. Beddocs 589 

To the Memory of Shakespeare B yonson s.i 

Toothache, The R.Burns 102 

Touchstone, The w. A liingltam 748 

Toussaint I'Ouverture, To W. IVordsworth S35 

Transient Beauty Lord Byron 220 

Traveller's Vision, The F. Freiligrath 737 

Treason Siry. Harrington 855 

Treasures of the Deep, The F. Hemans 572 

Tree, On Miss Maria H. Luttrell 833 

Trooper's Death, The R. W. Raymond 467 

Troth-Plight L. C.Motdlon 171 

True and the False, The w. Scott 231 

True Growth, The B. yonson 665 

True Lent, A r. Herrick 324 

Trumpets of Doolkamein, The L. Hunt 600 

Truth ( Chain Verse) Anonymous 917 

Truthful James, Plain Language from. . B. Harte 888 

Tubal Cain ch. Mackay 488 

Twins, The H. S.Leigh Sg. 

Two Anchors, The R. H. .•iloddard 180 

Two Pictures a. D. Green 728 

265 



324 



708 



Two Waitings, The y. W. Chadwick 

Two went up to the Temple to pray R. Crashaw 
IT. 

Una and the Lion E. Spenser 

TJncle Jo A. Cary 

Unco Guid, To the R Bums 

Under my Window T. Westwood 

Under the Cross W. C. Richards 241 

Universal Prayer, The A. Pope 333 

Unrequited Love Shakespeare 210 

Unsatisfactory Anonymous 157 

Unseen Spirits N. P. Willis 2151 

Until Death A nonymous i yj 

Up Hill C. G. RosseUi 336 

Useful Flow, The Anony 



496 



V. 



Vagabonds, The y.T Troivbridge 492 

Vale of Avoca, Tlie r. Moore $9 

Vale of Cashmere, The r. Moore 414 

Valley Brook, The y. H. Bryant 410 

Vanity HP. Spofford 6S4 

.66 I Vanity of the World, The F.Quarlcs 719 

59 ! Vaux, Henry Brougham, Baron A nonyinous 

46 ; Vegetable Girl, The M. Taylor 



836 

-4' 



a-- 



•JoO 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



-a 



B 



Venice s. Rogers 

Veni Creator Spiritus Pope Gregory I. 

Veui Sancte Spiritus Robert II. 

Veraes written in an Album T. Moore 

VeiiUa Regis v. Fortimalus 

Vicar of Bray, The A nouymous 

View across Roman Campagna, A E.B.Brownhtg 
View from the Euganean Hilis ....P. B. Shelley 

Vina Franca y.R. Lowell 

Village Choii-, The Old B. F. Taylor 

ViUage, The Deserted O. Goldsmith 

Violet in her hair, A Ch. Swain 

Violets R. Ilerrick 

Violet, The IV. IV. Story 

Virginius, Lament of y. IVebsicr 

Virgins, The FooUsh A. Tenttyson 

Virgins, To the R. Herrick 

Vii-tue Immortal G. Herbert 

Virtuoso, The M. Akenside 

Vision of Beauty, A B Jonson 

Vision, The Inner W. IVorikworth 

Visit from St. Nicholas, A C. C Moore 

Voice of the Grass, The i". Rr/ierls 

Vow, The MiU-ngcr 

W. 

Waiting for the Grapes VV. Ufagitm 

Waken, lords and ladies gay Sir IV. Scott 

Wake of Tim O'Hara, The R. Buchajian 

Wants of Man, The y.Q. Adams 

War p. B. Shelley 

War, Civil Ch. D. Sluinly 

War for the sake of Peace J Thomson 

Warning, Lochiel's T, Camfbell 

Warnings, The Three H. L. Thrale 

Warren's Address y. Pierfont 

Warres in Ireland, Of the. . ..Sir y. Harrington 

War's Loud Alarms Talliaiarn 

Washington y.R. Lowell 

Washington, Ode to IF. C. Bryant 

Wasltington, George A nonymous 

Watching E. C. yiidson 

Water-Driukor, The E. yohnson 

Waterfowl, To a W.C. Bryant 

Waterloo Lord Byron 

Waterloo, The Charge at Sir IV. Scot! 

Waters, Living C. S. Spencer 

Way, the Truth, and the Life, The . . Th. Parker 

We are Seven \V. Wordsworth 

Webster, Daniel O IV. Holmes 

Webster (Ichabod) y. G. Whitiier 

Weehawken and the New York Buy F. G.Halleck 

We have been friends together C. E. Norton 

Welcome, The T. Davis 

Welcome, welcome, do I sing W. Browne 

Wellington H. IV. Longfellow 

Well of St. Keyne, The R. Southey 

We parted in silence Mrs. Crawford 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain . y. Sylvester 

Westward Ho ! G. Berkeley 

We watched her breathing T. Hood 

What can an old man do but die ? T. Hood 

What constitutes a State •! Sir IV. yanes 

What the Winds bring E. C. Stedman 

When j-. A. IVoolsey 

When I am dead A nonymotis 

When icicles hang by the wall Shakespeare 

When I do count the clock Shakespeare 

When in the chronicle of wasted time .Shakesp. 

When shall we all meet again ? A nonymous 

When the hounds of spring . . ..A. C. Swinburne 
When the Kye come Hame y. H,\^g 



When the lamp is shattered P. B. Shelley 

When the Sultan goes to Ispahaai ..T.B.A Idrich 
When to the sessions of sweet aUent thought 

Sluikesfeare 

Where are the men? Talhrtiam 

Whistle and I 11 come to you ^.R. Burns 

Whistle, The R. Story 

White Rose, The Anonymous 

White Stiuall, The B. IV. Procter 

White SquaU, The W. M. Thackeray 

Whittling y. Pierpont 

Why, lovely charmt^r ? A nonymous 

Why so pale and wt ji ? Siry. Suckling 

Why thus longing? H.IV. Sewall 

Widow Machree 5' Lover 

Widow Malone Ch. Lever 

Widow's Mite, The F. Locker 

Wife, ChUdren, and Friends IV. R. Spencer 

Wife to her Husband, The A nonymous 

Wilkeson, Lieut. Bayard M. L. Ritter 

Willie Winkle W. Miller 

Will you love me when I 'm old ? Anonymous 

Winged Worshipers, The C. Sprague 

Winter y. H. Bryant 

Winter IV. Cowper 

Winter being over. The A. Collins 

Winter, New England in y. G. IVhittier 

Winter Pictures y. R. Lozvelt 

Winter Scenes y. Thomson 

Winter's Evening Hymn to my Fire, A ..Lowell 

Winter Song L. Holiy 

Winter Walk at Noon IV. Coi«fcr 

Winter i wilt thou never go ? D. Gray 

Wisdom C. Patmore 

Wish, A .y. Rogers 

Wishes for the supposed Mistress. . .R. Crashaw 
Without and Within ....P. A. D. B. Metastasio 
With whom is no variableness — A. H. Clough 

Wolsey 's Fall Shakespeare 

Wolsey's Speech to CromweU Shakespeare 

Woman Anonymous 

Woman Calidasa 

Woman's Inconstancy Sir R. Ayson 

Woman's Love, A y. Hay 

Woman's Question, A A. A. Procter 

Woman's WUl y. C. Sajce 

Woodman, spare that Tree G. P. Morris 

Wood of ChanceUorsvUle, The ....D.R. German 

Wordsworth, To F. Hemans 

Wordsworth, On a Portrait of ..E. B- Browning 

Worldliliess //''. IVortlsworth 

World, The F. Locker 

World, The Vanity of the F Quar.'es 

Worn Wedding-Ring, The IV. C. Bennett 

Wounded to Death y. W- Watson 

Wreck of the " Grace of Sunderland " y. Ingelow 

Wrestling Jacob C. Wesley 

Writers that carp at other Men's Books 

Sir y. Harrington 



Tarn ofthe "Nancy BeU," The....//-". S. Gilbert 873 

Year, The Closing G. D. Prentice 73 

Year, The Death of the Old A. Tennyson 727 

Years, The Flood of W. C. Bryant Ixiv 

Ye Mariners of England T. Campbell 587 

You meaner beauties Sir H Wot ton 68 

Young Gray Head, The C. B. Southey 7<)S 

Young May Moon, The 'J'- Moore 151 

Yussouf 7- l^- Lowell 584 



\ Z. 
Zimri 7 Dryden » 



li 









.'^^-?: 



^-:^.. 
*'^, 



.^■.- "'"0 -.• 



